Marriage At Murraree. Margaret Way
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short, everybody,” Casey said, sounding brisk and assured. “So will someone offer me a drink?”
“Why not!” Darcy shrugged, finding for all her air of challenge she somehow liked this strange young woman who might or might not be her half sister. She was shockingly like Jock. She even talked like him. “Perhaps a meal?” Darcy suggested.
“That would be lovely.” Casey broke out another smile, drenched in sunshine. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. That was at Koomera Crossing. I’d have been here a lot earlier, only I had a few problems with the ute I had to fix.”
“You fixed it yourself?” Courtney who had no talent for fixing anything mechanical was amazed.
“Who else?” The goddess shrugged carelessly. “I take pleasure in keeping it running.”
“So why have you come here, Casey?” Curt asked, suddenly in Guardian mode.
She flashed that startling blue glance at him. “Why, to get to know my family of course.”
“But Casey,” Adam said gently, “we don’t know that you are family. Despite the remarkable resemblance, Darcy and Courtney have to have proof. We all do.”
“Sure, you’re a lawyer,” Casey said. “Just wait till you hear my story.”
They did over dinner. After their visitor downed a cold beer, Darcy had shown her to a recently refurbished guest room, leaving her to get the dust and the grime of her journey off her and settle in.
“I always knew this was going to happen,” Darcy confided to Courtney. “It has an inevitability about it. Dad had so many affairs. The only thing I got wrong was I thought it would be a son.”
“Watch out, there’s still time,” Courtney warned. “Any number could pop out of the woodwork. If Casey has waited until now, she probably read about Dad’s death in the papers. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Sure.” Darcy didn’t sound worried. “She wants money. But she has to prove her identity first.”
“She looks pretty authentic to me,” Courtney said. “Fact is, I kind of like her though she’s not the sweetest young woman I’ve ever met. And that handshake! For a minute I was frightened she was going to toss me over her shoulder.”
“She could do it, too.” Darcy’s aquamarine eyes looked into the middle distance. “I have the feeling Casey has done it hard. But she’s never let anything stop her. I figure she’s a fighter.”
“So do I,” Courtney agreed with some feeling. “You don’t think she’s here to threaten us?”
“Let’s wait and see,” Darcy advised.
“Sorry I couldn’t run to a dress,” Casey said, eyeing the other women. Pretty as a picture, Courtney had on something ultra-feminine in a lovely shade of violet. It floated on the air. Darcy, who was unmistakably a beauty, wore an outfit not unlike her own. A silk shirt over lean designer jeans. Casey loved the way Darcy carried her tall slender body with confident grace. She looked as at home in her body as Casey was in hers. Marian, the mother—probably Courtney would look just like her at the same age—hardly looked old enough to have two grown up daughters. She, too, was a pretty sight, calm and gentle with tender blue eyes. As a type she wasn’t unlike her own mother. A cloud drifted over Casey’s face. Her mother, too, had been a very pretty woman before poverty, unhappiness and the drugs she couldn’t live without had changed all that.
As for the men! Berenger, the Outback aristocrat. Very impressive. Maynard, the lawyer, suave as James Bond. Peter, the second husband, a nice man but beside McIvor in his prime, hardly worth looking at.
It surprised Casey little five-feet-two-and-a-bit Courtney was the cook. And a very good cook as it turned out. They ate well and deliciously. Casey didn’t peck at her food daintily like Marian, who seemed to her a fragile person. She tucked in because she was hungry. She was always hungry since she’d made her escape from The Home. At any time she led a very active life. Her long journey into the Back O’Beyond had been exhausting. They left her alone until the main course of melt-in-the-mouth spiced loin of lamb with pine nuts served over a bed of spinach was taken away and little strawberry jellies with ice cream were brought in. Then the inquisition started just as she expected.
“When did you first find out Jock McIvor was your father?” Maynard asked, his keen dark eyes sweeping over her. “Did your mother tell you?”
“No, she didn’t,” she said briskly.
“You have your birth certificate?”
“I didn’t think I needed one since I’m so obviously here,” she answered facetiously.
“You need your birth certificate for many things, Casey,” Darcy intervened quietly. “Why don’t you tell us your story in your own words.”
Casey finished her strawberry jelly first. It was very refreshing. “It’s not a pretty story,” she said.
Nothing was pretty around our father, Courtney thought.
“You don’t need Peter and me here,” Marian spoke in a wobbly voice, looking uncertainly around the table. This stunning-looking creature might well resent their presence. Casey McGuire had a combative air about her. Marian was much more at home with a sweetness of manner like her beloved Courtney.
“Mumma, please stay.” Courtney put out a staying hand.
“Very well, dear.”
As she spoke Casey could see their faces change. She told them about her early life in far North Queensland. She spoke about her mother with a tightened throat. She could see that upset them. She skimmed over The Home, her voice emotionless. She told them how she’d set about getting an education. Of the courses she had taken, the jobs that included waitressing, cleaning, drawing beer in pubs, unloading trucks, working in nurseries where she’d picked up quite a lot of information about horticulture, finally her career as a singer-songwriter.
“Is this your future? Is this what you want to do?” Courtney asked, sparked by interest. Listening to her speak, there was no doubt Casey McGuire had a voice.
“Maybe.” Casey shrugged. “I’m getting to like the writing more than the singing.”
“So when did you find out Jock was your father if your mother didn’t tell you?” Curt asked, disturbed by her story. Especially what she hadn’t said about the orphanage. That in itself spoke volumes.
“An old friend of my mother’s,” Casey answered. “It seems she’d been suffering from the guilts for years. She knew of my mother’s affair and her leaving home in disgrace. Some time later she saw my mother and Jock McIvor together. A few days after that she saw him again on television, being interviewed about something in the bush. She put two and two together. It must have cost her a big effort because she took years and years before she decided to track down my mother. By then, of course, my mother was dead.”
“As was Jock,” Curt said quietly. “The way you tell it it’s impossible not to believe your story, Casey—a very sad story—but it doesn’t actually prove Jock was your father.”
“Dig him up,” she suggested, her heart slamming. She’d just told them Jock McIvor had destroyed her mother’s life.
Marian looked appalled. “How old are you, Casey?” She swallowed on emotion.
“Twenty-four. A few months younger than Courtney here.”
It fitted, Marian thought dismally. Jock had had no time for her when she was pregnant. Not with Darcy. Not with Courtney. She recalled his numerous city trips at those times.
“I’ve done a lot of research on Jock McIvor,” Casey was saying. “He was a serial adulterer. Sorry if I offend anybody.” She didn’t look sorry. In fact she looked like she’d desperately needed to say it.
“We