Mail-order Bridegroom Part 30

"Housekeeper," Roslyn announced flatly.

"So?" Dave turned his head in surprise.

"You're not a sn.o.b, are you?"

"I am and you'd better believe it! Where my mother is concerned. I can't bear to see her at anyone's beck and call. Especially not them.

I worked like a demon all through school and university. I graduated in thetop three of my cla.s.s. Seymour took me on and they don't take just anybody,as you know. I make good money and I can look after my mother. " There I goagain, she thought. A fixation. I can't leave the subject alone.

"Are you quite sure she can't look after herself?" Dave asked as gently ashe could.

Roslyn closed her eyes.

"Oh, Dave, you can't know. One has to experience what I'm talking about.These people are enormously rich and powerful. They aren't like you and me.They say the rich are different. They are. They have super and oftenunwarranted confidence in themselves and their opinions. They move throughlife like the lords of creation. Some of the women can be unbearable. I've known a few who were affronted I would dare speak to them. Others found me quaint. Some women like throwing their menfolk's power around." She gave alittle embarra.s.sed laugh.

"I know I sound like I've got a giant chip on my shoulder. I have. But I grew up a kid people could, and did, hurt."

"Well, it doesn't show," Dave said comfortingly. "Hardly a girl in the school doesn't dream of looking and sounding like Miss Earnshaw."

Roslyn shook her head, smiling slightly."It's my skin they like, Dave. Spots can make the teen years a torment.Don't think too badly of me. It's just that I want a better life for mymother."

"It hurts she won't come and live with you?"

"It does. Rather badly. It's all I've worked for, but she says I must befree to live my own life. She's content where she is.""So why don't you accept it?"Roslyn shrugged."You wouldn't, either, Dave. This isn't a nice family situation like the Brady Bunch. Anyway, I don't believe her. My mother is only fifty yearsold. She's a beautiful woman but she's had such a hard life. At least, not one of her own. Think what other women are doing at her age. She hasn't really lived at all."

There was a short pause while Dave considered.

"I can see your point, Ros," he said finally, "but it's your point, isn't it?Your mother's tragedies may have robbed her of a lot of fight. So, what isthis place we're talking about? You're terribly secretive."

Roslyn glanced down at her locked hands.

"I suppose I am. I like to keep my private life private, but end of termdepletes my reserves. I start harking back to the old days. Always amistake. They're there waiting for me if I let down my guard. I've told youmore than I've told most people. The name of the station is Mac.u.mba. Mac.u.mba Downs."

Dave looked flabbergasted.

"But that's the Faulkner place!"

"Snap out of it, Dave. They're human."

"They're not Why, the old guy--the founding father--is an icon.

I'll be honest with you, Ros, I'm amazed. Wasn't a Faulkner killed in a plane crash a few years ago? "

"Sir Charles, the owner," Roslyn said, her expression turning sad.

"His plane came down in a freak electrical storm en route to one of their

northern properties. Sir Charles and Lady Faulkner were killed, along withtwo pa.s.sengers. One was a lifelong American friend. The other was Sir Charles's younger brother, Hugo." She didn't say Marsh had been scheduled togo with them but some crisis had kept him on the station. She often had nightmares about Marsh dying in that crash.

Dave was engrossed."What a tragedy!" he breathed. "It must have been the son on televisionrecently. Something to do with beef cattle exports to j.a.pan and SouthEastAsia. I haven't a lot of interest in the subject, but he made me sit up and take notice. Electrifying kind of guy. Founding family. Old money.Doesn't have to prove anything.Is he married? Bound to be. "Roslyn shook her head."No, he isn't.""He must be the biggest catch in the country!" Dave chortled."He knows it.""I imagine he might. His name is Charles, too, as I recall."Roslyn looked out the window."Everyone calls him Marsh. Marshall is his middle name. It was Lady Faulkner's maiden name. The Marshalls still control the Mossvale PastoralCompany."Dave made another little howling sound."Mossvale! Gosh, isn't it always the way. Money marries money.""It keeps it all together.""And how do you feel about Marsh Faulkner?" Dave asked.

"He seems like the kind of guy to arouse powerful feelings."

Roslyn smoothed her skirt over her knee.

"He is."

Dave was intrigued by the thread of steel in Roslyn's attractive, low-pitched

voice.

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"Not a chance! Let's get off the subject, Dave."

"It does have a disturbing ring," he agreed.

Ten minutes later they turned onto Roslyn's quiet, tree-lined street made a

glory by the summer flowering of the poincianas. Dave commented on their spectacular beauty as they drove past the comfortable, modern homes until he came to Roslyn's low-set house.

Once the most ordinary house on the street, she had transformed it with a stylish brick and wrought-iron fence and a replanted garden.

"I'll bring the carton of books in, shall I?" Dave asked hopefully.There was absolutely no point in encouraging him. "Thanks, Dave, but it'snot heavy," Roslyn said gently.

"Then I'll be off!" Dave answered breezily, covering up his disappointment.

"Take care, Ros. Enjoy your holidays." He bent quickly, kissed her cheek,then lopped back to his car.Roslyn stood at the front gate, waving him off. Dave was nice. A pleasant companion on several occasions this past year. What did she want? Anotherbolt of lightning? 7: There was mail and she skimmed through it. Her headwas aching from too much talk about Mac.u.mba. She unfastened the clip at hernape, shaking her dark cloud of hair free. Ah, that was better! She alwaysthought of her prim knot as a form of disguise.

The gardenia bushes she had planted in a shady corner

of the garden were smothered in blossom. She veered off to pick one, twirling it appreciatively beneath her nose. If only camellias had this wonderful scent! When she had changed her clothes, she would turn the sprinklers on. She loved her garden.

Everything she had planted was thriving thanks to all her hard work. It was hard to believe she had her own home even if it would take her a lot of years to pay it off.

Her mother had wanted her to buy a home unit, thinking she would be more secure, but Roslyn, reared to the vast, open s.p.a.ces, couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up. Besides, she loved a garden and she had to have somewhere for her piano. An accomplished pianist, the piano, a baby grand, had been her mother's twenty- first birthday present to her. Roslyn treasured it, even if it never ceased to bother her that her mother had spent so much of her savings on it.

Yet, wasn't it part of the pattern? Her parents had lavished their last penny on her. She had gone to an excellent boarding school from age ten to seventeen. A straight-A student, her mother had insisted she go on to university, which was what Roslyn desperately wanted but had accepted as out of the question. Where was the money to come from?

Somehow, between the two of them, they had managed. Roslyn had worked her way through university, waitressing in a friend's mother's restaurant and tutoring at a coaching college; an exhausting grind with all her a.s.signments, but she was young, eager, and she had a goal. To look after her mother. She had gone straight from university to Seymour, a top-rated private school for girls. She considered herself one of the lucky ones. She had several good friends from her university days and as much social life as she wanted. So why did she feel so empty, so unfulfilled? Teaching wasn't enough, though it did give her a sense of satisfaction and purpose.

The great sadness of her life was that her mother had chosen the Faulkners over her. She had endured all those years under Lady Faulkner. Dreadful to speak ill of the dead, but Lady Faulkner had been an unbearable woman.

Imperious, brook-no-nonsense, full of demands that were never properly met.

Roslyn had a stark vision of herself as a child sprawling in the dust because Lady Faulkner had struck her with a riding crop.

She could see Lady Faulkner now, her strong, high- boned features too severe for beauty, but handsome, as a lioness is handsome, tawny-haired, ice-blue eyes, freckled, weathered skin, in her riding boots, six feet tall. A terrifying sight to a child, yet Roslyn had shouted up at her, "You horrible, nasty woman! I did not frighten Rajah!"

A stockman's child to dare answer back the mistress of Mac.u.mba and in such a fashion! Sir Charles coming on them, had broken up the incident, shocked andstern. Marsh had raced to her, picked her up and brushed her down. From that day he had placed himself between Roslyn and his mother. A state of affairs that had continued right up until Lady Faulkner's death. Lady Faulkner hadnever struck her again, but there had been barbs galore and a chillingcondescension. The whole outback had mourned Sir Charles's death. LadyFaulkner's pa.s.sing had elicited private sighs of relief. Sybill Faulkner hadalways been deferred to in her lifetime, but never liked. All the warmth in her had been reserved for her only son. Even her daughters had understoodthey could not compete with Marsh for their mother's love and attention. Yet both of them had inherited her height, her tawny colouring and autocraticways. The Marshall In N heritance, most people called it. It had madeMac.u.mba no place for Roslyn and a difficult one for her mother. Yet hermother had stayed.

Why? What had been the hold? Mostly Roslyn closed her eyes to it as though investigation would only open a Pandora's box.

Lost in her reflections Roslyn was almost at the short flight of steps that led to the veranda, when her heart gave a great, warning leap. A man who had been sitting in one of the wicker chairs suddenly rose to his feet, giving Roslyn a glimpse of a tall, rangy figure in elegant, city clothes.

Yet hadn't she been expecting if!

He moved along the veranda with indolent grace, out of the cool, golden-greenshadows into the full sunlight, a saturnine expression on his marvelous face.Marsh. A man no woman could forget. Certainly not Roslyn.The old, dark excitement struck."You" She was aware, as always, of the magnetism that pa.s.sed between them."Me. Sweet Rosa!" His dazzling, bluer than blue eyes moved over her as if reminding her they knew every inch of her and she'd been his for the taking."What are you doing here?" she asked in her coolest tone."Never mind that. What do you think you're doing with another man?""I'm a free agent. Marsh. Just like you.""Fine words, Rosa. Come closer." Blue eyes narrowed and a taunting smile played around the beautiful, sardonic mouth."Thank you. Marsh." She shrugged."This is my house." Studiously casual, she tossed the gardenia into the shrubbery and walked quickly up the steps. Into, as

she thought, the lion'sden. Her whole body was warning as the dark flames moved through her and shehoped the telltale colour wasn't showing in her cheeks.

"And very nice it is, too," Marsh was saying in a mock conciliatory voice."I love the garden. All your work? I was thinking maybe a small sculpture?"Her dark cloud of hair flew around her face as her quick temper sizzled."Don't start patron ising me. I can't stand that.""Goodness, no!" he answered, and there was an infuriating little hint of laughter in the vibrant tones.

"It's like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Settle down, poppet. I haven't seen you in months.

The last time a bare ten minutes at your school and you were freezingV "What

were you expecting? A dazzling display of affection?"

"Easy enough in the old days," he reminded her with more than a touch ofcruelty.The days when he had total dominion over her. Roslyn flushed."Istopped caring about you a long time ago. "He only smiled at her, his teeth a flash of white against a dark tan."I'll live with it, Rosa. So why are you so miserable?"Roslyn touched a quick hand to her forehead. It seemed to be burning."That's the whole point, Marsh. I'm not. The only thing that bugs me is not having Mother.""Her choice, Rosa. Don't keep blaming me. Liv's not like you. Life ha.s.sobered her. She's not determined and headstrong, like you. She's a gentle, retiring person. Not an argumentative, p.r.i.c.kly little fire-eater. Liv feels safe at Mac.u.mba."

"More like you have some hold on her, like your

father before you!" Roslyn blurted, wanting to strike him physically she was so angry at his easy, instant effect on her.

"And who said you could call her Liv?"

"She likes it," he snapped.

"I'm the new regime, Roslyn. You can't seem to get that into your head.

Now, I'd like to go into the house, if you don't mind. One of yourneighbours has been eyeing me suspiciously for the past fifteen minutes.""That's no surprise! Most women give you open mouthed attention."Roslyn moved down along the veranda.

"It's a wonder you didn't find the key.""As a matter of fact, I did. Casually pushed down the side of that basket oforchids you're making for. Not a good idea, poppet. A beautiful young womanliving alone can't be too careful."

"Who said I was living alone?" The key retrieved, she swept past him, her

every movement as mettlesome as a high-stepping filly.

"Aren't you?" Without appearing to move, he had her by the arm. A touch that weakened her knees and brought back a terrifying leap of rapture.

"Take your hands off me. Marsh," she managed with commendable calm.

"What I do is none of your business." ' The mesmeric gaze sharpened intoirony."After all these years? Face it, Rosa. I'm always going to keep an eye on you.""You'll get tired of it." Cold reason demanded she pull away."What are you really in town for? I'm sure it's not to see me.""Come on," he lightly jeered."Would I pa.s.s up the chance? It so happens I'm meeting up with a few of my colleagues. Business and pleasure. Liv explained your reluctance to come tous."

"I think I put it with more vigour." Roslyn inserted the key in the lock.

"The truth is. Marsh, I've had enough of you and your precious Mac.u.mba tolast me a lifetime.""You don't mean that." He followed her in."What's regressive about you is, you keep harking back to the past. You're not the only one who felt pain."Inside the quiet house his presence was doubly disturbing."So you admit it? There was pain?" Her question was a challenge.' "Of course I admit it. Stop working yourself up. You always were too d.a.m.ned sensitive to everything. Offer me a cup of coffee before I'm forcedto make it myself.""When did you ever make yourself anything?" she flared.He stared at her so she felt the full weight of his natural authority.

"Are you trying to tell me I don't do a day's work?"

"All right, so I put that unfairly." Roslyn shook her head as though to clear it of little demons.