Joy was Buster and rump steak, and even Rachel was smiling.
But… ‘So who are they?’ she asked again and Amy thought: nope, she wasn’t about to be deflected.
‘The old lady’s Dame Maud Thurston,’ she told her sister. ‘She’s been a major patron of the Australian ballet for as long as I can remember. She’s a gem, and her husband was just as lovely. He made a fortune from mining—you must know Thurston Holdings—and together they’ve run one of the biggest charitable foundations in Australia. It’s not just the ballet that benefits.’
‘And the guy?’
For some reason Amy wasn’t sure of talking about the guy. He’d made her… edgy. ‘That’d be her grandson,’ she said.
‘So tell me about him.’ Rachel perched on her seat and hugged her knees.
Rachel? Interested in a guy?
A waft of remembrance flooded back, making Amy wince. Two years ago, Rachel had come backstage after a performance, her normal prosaic, academic self starry-eyed about the Spanish dancer who’d danced opposite Amy. ‘Tell me about him. Can you introduce me?’
It was the beginning of a tragedy which had left Rachel with shattered dreams and aching loss. Now… She must have seen what Amy was thinking because she rushed in.
‘I don’t mean that,’ she said, sounding angry. ‘He’s gorgeous but you needn’t think I’m ever going down that path again. And it’s you he’s interested in.’
‘He isn’t.’
‘He is.’
‘Rachel…’
‘Okay, he isn’t,’ Rachel said, and astonishingly she was smiling. ‘But you know about him. Tell me all.’
‘We’re not staying with them at Uluru.’
‘Of course we’re not,’ Rachel said equably. ‘But tell me about him all the same.’
‘I don’t know much. Only what’s spread in ballet circles and that’s only as much as affects the ballet. We’re a self-centred lot.’
‘But you do know something.’
She nodded, strangely reluctant. What was it about the guy that made her want to shut up, not probe further? But Rachel was interested and, the way Rachel had been for the last twelve months, any interest at all was to be encouraged.
‘The family’s been in the media for ever,’ she said, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘I don’t read gossip mags but because they’re important to the ballet world, I can’t help but keep up with them. Sir James owns… owned… Thurston Holdings. You know it’s one of the biggest mining corporations in the world? It’s also the most principled. Thurston’s has a reputation for fair dealings, for treating their people right, for restoring land after mining’s finished. Sir James and Dame Maud have tried to keep a low profile but, with that much money, that much power, it’s impossible.’
‘I have heard of them,’ Rachel admitted, which was a huge concession from someone who spent her life in books. ‘I did hear Sir James had died—it was all over the papers. So Hugo’s the grandson. Is his dad taking over the reins?’
‘That’s just it,’ Amy told her. ‘He’s dead. Bertram was a disaster but we know nothing about this guy.’
‘We?’
Amy flushed. She was no longer part of the Australian ballet scene, she told herself. Move on.
But Rachel wanted to know, and this wasn’t ballet. She could force herself to gossip a little.
‘The Thurston Corporation sponsors so much—the ballet, the theatre, sports for the disabled, medical research… So many organisations rely on them. But when Bertram was alive and we thought he’d inherit, it seemed like it’d all stop as soon as Sir James died.’
‘So Bertram was Hugo’s dad?’
‘Yep.’ Amy settled back onto her seat-cum-bed and decided she might as well recall all she knew. ‘According to gossip, Bertram was wild. Really wild. He was into parties, gambling, drugs, all the things his parents weren’t. His marriage lasted about two minutes—rumour is his wife suicided later on, but it could have been an overdose. She was a media bimbo. That set a pattern for Bertram. He moved from woman to woman, every one of them media darlings, every one of them self-destructing on the lifestyle. It must have broken his parents’ hearts, but there was no way they could stop him. He finally did the same.’
‘Why did I not know this?’ Rachel demanded.
‘Because most of it happened when we were kids,’ Amy said patiently. ‘I only know because Bertram died in unsavoury circumstances about eight years ago. By then he was so burnt out that even the gossip mags weren’t interested, except to up their interest in Hugo. But I was a baby dancer then, and I heard the relief in dance circles. Our director was trying hard not to be ecstatic. His take was that we’d have more chance of continued support from an unknown grandson than we ever had from Bertram. But Hugo didn’t come home, even then. He’s been in the army since he was a teenager, in some secret unit no one knows about. He’s made a couple of flying visits since and the press has gone nuts every time—Australia’s most eligible bachelor, that sort of thing—but he’s always looked like he hates it. There was a fuss when he came home for his grandfather’s funeral, but then he went to ground again. Everyone’s wondered what will happen to Thurston Holdings—and lo, here he is, on our train.’
‘Home to pick up where his grandfather left off?’ Rachel said doubtfully. ‘He doesn’t look like a businessman about to sponsor the ballet. He looks… tough.’
‘Like a warrior,’ Amy agreed, starting to enjoy herself. They were safely back in their cabin. Why not let herself wallow? ‘I was thinking that,’ she confessed, letting her mind meander over the man she’d just met. ‘That gorgeous, deep black hair, sun-bleached at the tips. All those muscles… And he’s weathered and so fit it’s scary. The bone structure of his face—it’s like it’s sculpted. It must be from years of living hard. And did you see the way his shirt strained? No shirt’s ever been built to accommodate that type of chest.’ She grinned at Rachel, enjoying startling her. ‘And those blue eyes with crinkles at the edges like he spends his time looking into the sun… Whew.’
‘You really did look at him,’ Rachel breathed, stunned.
‘Um… yep. There’s no harm in admiring beauty,’ she admitted. ‘A girl can admire—from a distance.’
Rachel’s smile widened. Maybe she was starting to enjoy herself as well.
‘I guess he’ll have spent his life looking into the sun through machine gun sights,’ she suggested. ‘That’d make anyone’s eyes crinkle.’
‘I bet you’re right,’ Amy agreed. ‘And field glasses. He’ll have stood in dugouts in the searing sun, field glasses trained for the enemy…’
‘Or on hilltops?’
‘I don’t think you look for the enemy on hilltops,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘Wouldn’t you get shot? It’d be such a shame to shoot
