A Wife At Kimbara. Margaret Way
Читать онлайн книгу.
there was the way Stewart had treated his children, especially Broderick, who had his mother’s glorious eyes although he was clearly a Kinross. Sir Andy had written to her often about his concerns and she had seen for herself Stewart’s coldness towards his children whenever she returned home. Those were the years when her darling Sir Andy was still alive. She wouldn’t be here now much as she loved the place of her birth only for the fact Stewart was trying to talk her into selling her shares in several Kinross enterprises. There were many family interests to discuss. No need for her to run off. This was the home of her ancestors.
Oddly enough it had been Stewart who had begun all the talk about her writing her biography. He had even suggested a possible candidate for the job. A young award-winning journalist called Rebecca Hunt, already the author of a successful biography about another family friend, opera singer Judy Thomas. Dame Judy lest any of us forget. Stewart had read Judy’s autographed book and been impressed. He’d also seen the young Hunt woman being interviewed on one of those Sunday afternoon programs about the Arts.
“Ask her out here, Fee,” Stewart had urged her, laying a compelling hand on her shoulder. “If only to see if the two of you could get along. After all, my dear, you’ve had a dazzling career. You have something to say.”
She’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker, closing her eyes to the past, gratified by his interest, thinking Stewart could be very charming now that he’d mellowed. Clever, clever, Stewart.
She’d done what he wanted. Lured Rebecca into his trap. Stewart had obviously fallen in love with her. On sight. She was just the sort of patrician creature he had always liked with her pure face and haunted eyes. Oh, yes, they were haunted for all Stewart thought they were cool as lakes. Rebecca had a past. Behind the immaculate exterior, Fee suspected Rebecca had her own story to tell. A story involving some very bitter experience. One that lay hidden but not buried. Fee knew all about the wilderness of love.
She threw back the silk coverlet, putting her still pretty bare feet to the floor. Much as she adored the company of her nephew, secretly revelled in watching him outplay his father in all departments on the polo field, she just knew this weekend was going to bring plenty of tension and heartache.
Why had Stewart invited Brod in the first place? He had to know by now Brod outstripped him as a polo player. Then there was the tantalising presence of the beautiful, unusual Rebecca. What middle-aged man, however wealthy, would set out to woo a young woman then expose her to the likes of Brod for goodness’ sake. It didn’t make a scrap of sense unless Stewart was applying yet another test.
Stewart was a great one for putting people through hoops. Such an arrogant man. Perhaps if the seemingly perfect Rebecca didn’t pass the test she would fall from her golden pedestal and be made so uncomfortable she would be forced to leave. Fee was now certain her brother had marriage on his mind and it wasn’t out of the question. Even after all these years. Not that they had been womanless. Stewart had had his affairs from time to time but he had obviously never found the woman he wanted to keep for himself. The prize possession. Lucille lovely as a summer’s day had been that for a time but somehow Lucille had found the courage to run away. The next one wouldn’t be given the opportunity.
Fee didn’t like to think it could be Rebecca. She was worried Rebecca might be someone who’d been hurt so badly she could settle for security. An older man, rich, social, establishment, grounded in the conventions. Rebecca could easily mistake an impressive facade for safety.
CHAPTER THREE
HOURS later, in the golden heat of mid-afternoon, Rebecca found herself watching the main polo match of the day with her heart in her throat. She’d enjoyed the morning matches played with such high spirits and comradeship but this was another league again.
All the players were exceptionally fast and focused, the ponies superbly trained especially with all those clubs swinging near their heads and the competition it seemed to her anxious, dazzled eyes exceptionally fierce.
Once she thought Stewart charging at full tilt would come off his horse trying to prevent his son driving the ball through the goal posts. He didn’t succeed but it appeared to Rebecca to be too dangerous an effort. For all his fitness and splendid physique, Stewart was in his mid-fifties. No match really for the turning, twisting, speeding Broderick, the most dashing player on the field, though the commanding Cameron brothers ran him close. But for sheer daring, Brod Kinross had the added edge if only to beat his father. They certainly acted as if they were engaged in a highly stylised joust.
“That was close,” Rebecca, a little frightened, murmured to Fee who was lounging in a deck chair beside her. “I thought Stewart would be flung out of the saddle.”
Trying to impress you, my dear, Fee thought. “It’s a dangerous game, darling. I had a dear friend, Tommy Fairchild, killed on the polo field. That was some years ago in England but I think of him almost every other day. Brod’s a dare devil. I think it’s important to him to even up a few scores.”
“Meaning?” Rebecca turned her head to stare into Fee’s eyes, finding them covered by very expensive sunglasses.
“Good Lord, Rebecca, I know how perceptive you are,” Fee said. “Didn’t it strike you that afternoon you met Stewart and Brod that they don’t get on.”
“Perhaps a little.” She kept the fact she’d overheard them quarrelling to herself.
“Darling, you can’t fool me. You’ve noticed, all right. Both of them were trying but it’s just something they have to live with.”
“But you said Brod has to even up the score?” Just to speak his name gave her a peculiar thrill.
“Brod has been on the receiving end for a long time,” Fee confided. “I dote on him as you know. And Alison. I’m going to make sure you meet her. Stewart became very withdrawn after the children’s mother left. Brod, despite the fact he’s a Kinross through and through, has his mother’s beautiful eyes. Perhaps looking into them brings up too many painful memories for Stewart.” After all it wasn’t inconceivable.
“Do you really think that?” Even Rebecca sounded sceptical.
“No.” Fee delicately grimaced. “The truth is Stewart wasn’t cut out to be a father. Not every man is.”
“Then Brod and his sister must have suffered?” Rebecca rested back in the recliner prepared to listen.
“Assuredly, my dear,” Fee agreed. “Money can’t bring everything to life, not that I’ve ever been without it,” she had the grace to admit. “But so far as Brod is concerned his upbringing has only made him tougher. Unlike his little mother. Petite, like you. Lucille was her name. Pretty as a picture.” Fee’s mind instantly conjured up a vision of Lucille on her wedding day. Young, radiant, madly in love with her Stewart. She’d flown home to be Lucille’s chief bridesmaid. Her little pal from their schooldays but she’d never been around to lend Lucille her support. She’d been too busy becoming a celebrity.
“She didn’t last long,” Rebecca observed sadly, echoing Fee’s own thoughts.
“No. It was all quite dreadful. You can’t imagine how shocked I was when I got the news. Sir Andy rang me. I always called my father that. He was knighted by the Queen for his services to the pastoral industry.”
Something Rebecca already knew. “Stewart didn’t ring you?” she interrupted gently.
“No,” Fee answered rather grimly, then remained silent for a time.
Sensitive to her pain Rebecca changed the subject. “I have to say I’ll be relieved when the match ends,” she confessed with a wry laugh—Brod’s team had scored another goal. “I can’t really enjoy it with my heart in my throat.”
“You’re a tender little thing.” Fee moved to pat her hand. “Though at this level I agree it’s pretty lethal and Stewart and Brod are going at it hammer and tongs. Half-time coming up. Ten minutes usually. Stewart is bound to want to know if you’re enjoying yourself. If I were you,