Just what I needed.” He looked at Guy with his extraordinarily blue eyes. “Dad’s in the Second Paddock, if you want to find him. We’re supposed to have a meeting with Bob Turner at three.” Bob Turner was the local wool representative. “Want me to drop you out there?”
Guy shook his head. “I won’t keep you. I know you’ve got plenty on your hands. Any of the other locals been around yet?” he asked. The local wool growers usually turned up to check out the quality of their neighbours’ clip.
Brother and sister nodded golden heads in unison. “Harry Ainsworth and Jack Humphrey,” Kieran said. “The stack’s growing, but it’s nothing like our best quality. Dad is disappointed, though he really should have been expecting it. I’m keen to see what’s happening on Wangaree.”
Wangaree’s clip always attracted enormous interest. At the important wool sales in Sydney buyers representing the leading woollen mills and the famous fashion houses of the world usually found their clip close to perfection, which meant Guy had a good idea of what Wangaree’s clip would bring even before it was auctioned off. No matter the slump in prices, wool of the quality produced by Wangaree could be eagerly snapped up.
“Why don’t we make it one day next week?” Guy suggested. “The clip will have grown even taller by then. It’s superfine, and unbelievably white. Bring Alana. Stay to lunch. Your father is very welcome too, but I’ll speak to him myself when I drive out to see him.”
Kieran moved off with the grace of a trained athlete. “That’ll be great! By the way, I meant what I said about the painting. It’s yours. I refuse to take money for it.”
“Then I’ll just have to find another way to pay you back,” Guy called after him. “I’ll have it framed.”
“Sure.” Kieran waved a hand. “I couldn’t run to a frame. Good ones cost the earth.”
“After which I’ll hang it in a prominent place at the house,” Guy promised. “In the years to come I’ll be able to say, Yes, that’s a Callaghan. He’s a good friend of mine. I was one of the lucky ones. I got in on the ground floor.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THINGS didn’t go well for Briar’s Ridge at the sales. Brother and sister sat together at the Wool Exchange in a tense silence as wool worth millions and millions of dollars was sold off. The market was down. No big surprise. Everyone had anticipated that. But mercifully it kicked up quite a bit when the first of the Wangaree Valley clip came up for sale.
“This is awful—the waiting.” Alana was so anxious she felt sick to her stomach.
“Listen, it’s not that bad.” Kieran, nervous himself, but hiding it extremely well, tried to comfort her, even though he had the gut-wrenching feeling it was going to be. This sale represented twelve months’ growth of wool and a hell of a lot of hard work from him and Alana. They had virtually carried their father, once such a dynamo.
Wangaree’s clip, one of the star attractions of the sale, was recognised as superb. Everyone in the Valley had seen it, marvelling at the quality. Another top producer from the adjoining State of Victoria had called it perfection. Guy’s comment had been, “It’s better than that. It’s damned good!” One didn’t hear him say that all that often. Guy wasn’t one to commit himself, but the Exchange was abuzz with excitement. People in the know were predicting a record price for Wangaree’s clip, and as a spin-off maybe others in the Valley.
If she turned her head she would be able to see him, Alana thought. He was sitting with the top people of the industry. In his group would be her uncle Charles—her mother’s brother, Charles Denby. Uncle Charles was as good as a stranger to her and Kieran, though their resemblance to their Denby mother was most apparent. In fact, Uncle Charles was so remote he mightn’t have been their relative at all. It was no secret he had been deeply shocked when his beautiful sister, Annabel, the apple of everyone’s eye, had married a struggling sheep farmer, an Irishman, “rough diamond” Alan Callaghan. And Denby brother and sister had been near enough estranged since the day of the wedding, which unhappily no Denby had attended. A lasting wound.
The three Denby sisters, Violette, Lilli and Rose, dressed to kill and turning heads, fresh from a splendid lunch at one of Sydney’s top restaurants, had been present at the inspection earlier, but two had since disappeared—most likely to hit the fashion boutiques. Only Violette remained with her father and—need it be said?—Guy. Violette wouldn’t want to miss out on the Denby sales, let alone miss the frenzy of bidding when Wangaree’s clip came up.
“I’m glad Dad’s not here,” Alana sighed, her spirits wilting. Their father had been too nervous to come. Once upon a time he had been right in the thick of it, so proud of having his beautiful wife and family beside him, receiving handshakes and congratulations when his sale prices were good.
An hour later Wangaree’s lot came up. It was sold, as predicted, in the blink of an eye, once again to a leading European fashion house. Italian designers had a wonderful way of mixing wool with silk. Alana loved the top designers, their work cut and tailored by people whose ancestors had been handling the finest fabrics for hundreds of years. She remembered how her untrained mother had cut and woven fabric so it fell into the most beautiful soft folds.
By four o’clock the sale was over, with hundreds of lots having gone under the hammer. Alana and Kieran, though heartsore over Briar’s Ridge’s downspiralling fortunes, remained behind to shake Guy’s hand. All eyes were on him as he stood in the centre of the floor, surrounded by prominent people within the industry, head and shoulders above most of them, clearly The Man. Simon had been spot on when he had found this name for his illustrious cousin.
“Don’t look now, but Uncle Charles and Vindictive Vi are coming our way,” Kieran muttered. “Of course there’s the strong possibility they’ll spot us and shoot off in the opposite direction.”
“And who would care?” Alana asked wearily, fully expecting to be ignored. Charles Denby knew nothing about the milk of human kindness. He was a civilised monster.
“When do you suppose dear old Charles is going to make the transition to a real person?” Kieran asked, with a flash of black humour. “I mean, I’ve never understood a damned thing about the big estrangement. What was so shocking about Mum breaking with family tradition and marrying Dad? The Denbys aren’t Royalty, for goodness’ sake. Even hell bent on wrecking himself, Dad’s still a handsome man. So he was a nobody on the social register? He must have been really something when he was young. Big, handsome, strong. He was hard-working, perfectly respectable. People liked him. He’d even managed to buy himself Briar’s Ridge, though it was mortgaged up to the hilt. He didn’t take Mum to a hovel. And she loved him. Wasn’t that all that mattered?” Kieran broke off angrily, visibly upset.
“One would have thought so!” Alana sighed.
“Oh, no—they haven’t spotted us,” Keiran groaned in dismay.
Charles and Violette were so busy talking, heads together, probably planning a night out on the town with Guy’s party, they all but walked into Alana and Kieran.
“Oh, it’s you two!” Violette reacted with her usual hateful disdain. She looked Alana up and down, her gaze deliberately pitying, as though Alana were dressed by charity shops instead of a smart-casual designer.
Alana, well used to her cousin’s intended put-downs, took no notice. What consumed her was the look in her brother’s eyes. Slow to anger, Kieran had been known to go off like a rocket if
