A Wife At Kimbara. Margaret Way
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he would never give up. Many good years remained of his life. Maybe Rebecca was a little young. It didn’t strike him as too young. In their conversations she sounded remarkably mature, in control. Besides, as his wife she would be well compensated. He was definitely a very rich man and if that had to do increasingly more with Brod’s managerial skills he wasn’t about to admit it.
Meanwhile half-way across the field Brod, the centre of an admiring circle, continued to observe this disturbing tableau. They could have been father and daughter, he thought with the cold wings of anger. Only he could read his father’s body language from a mile. Her dark head so thick and glossy reached just about to his father’s heart as it would his. Her face was uptilted. She looked very slender and delicate in her outfit, boyish except for the swell of her breasts. His father’s hand had come up to rest on one of her fine-boned shoulders. He was staring down into her eyes. God, the utter impossibility of it but it was happening. His father had fallen in love. The thought shocked him profoundly. He turned away abruptly, grateful that his friend, Rafe, was approaching with a cold can of beer. A black fairy story this.
Rebecca stood before the mirror holding two dresses in front of her in turn. One was lotus-pink, the other a beaded silk chiffon in a dusky green. Both were expensive, hanging from shoe-string straps and coming just past the knee rather like the tea dresses of the early 1930s when women looked like hot-house blooms. It was the sort of look she liked and one that suited her petite figure. Fee had told her much earlier their guests liked to dress up so now she studied her reflection trying to decide which dress looked best. She was glad she’d packed them, though again Fee had advised her at the outset to bring a couple of pretty evening dresses.
“Stewart likes to entertain whenever the opportunity presents itself.”
Hence the polo weekend. And all for her. Only a couple of weeks ago it would have given her the greatest pleasure. Now the fact that Stewart Kinross had somehow become infatuated with her raised a lot of anxieties. Not the least of them Broderick Kinross’s attitude.
Knowing his father better than anyone else he had immediately divined the exact quality of Stewart’s interest. She would bet every penny she had Brod believed she had gone along with the situation. Even encouraged it.
Becoming involved with a much older man was one thing. Becoming involved with a very rich older man was another. It happened all the time and society accepted powerful influential men could get anything they wanted. Lots of money, it seemed, made a deep impression on everyone.
Stewart Kinross, if he suddenly remarried, could even father another family, increasing the number of heirs to the family fortune. It all left Rebecca feeling freezing cold. Life had been terrible when she had had a man in her life. She’d been so young and she had had no idea what jealousy and obsession meant. But she had learned. How she had learned!
Rebecca stared at her haunted eyes in the mirror. She was standing absolutely still, holding the lovely dusky green dress in front of her like a shield. She told herself she didn’t care what Broderick Kinross thought. His suspicions understandable maybe were absolutely groundless. From her first day at Kimbara she had considered Stewart Kinross to be an exceptionally charming and generous man. Now she saw that might not be the case. The only thing that was becoming increasingly clear was he was smitten. She had seen that look of possession in a man’s eyes before. She didn’t want to see it again.
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