Heart of the Outback (22 page)

CJ drained his glass. “Not so fast, my girl. You won’t be packing your bags yet. I want you to look something over at Cooktown. Come into the study and we’ll talk about it.”

So … Cooktown
was
on the agenda. Les smiled, satisfied as he watched CJ and Francey head off down the hallway to his study. Good. Very good.

Trish Pentano watched Natalie replace the phone receiver with a resounding bang. Her dark eyebrows lifted in apprehension as she followed the tall woman’s long, angry strides to the picture window from which an unparalleled view of the Brisbane River could be seen. While she contemplated whether to risk asking what was up, her gaze roamed about the luxurious penthouse apartment.

Off-white thick pile carpet, a sea-green leather lounge in a futuristic modern style, two white lacquered wall units and strategically placed ceramics, paintings and lithographs adorned the walls. It was like a miniature version of Natalie’s art galleries. She thought of her own modest one bedroom unit — even though she spent more time here — with a touch of envy. The best of everything was Natalie’s motto. She had it all.

“What’s wrong?” Trish asked finally, as she was meant to. She joined Natalie by the window. “More trouble with your builder mate, Nick?” Natalie had told her that Nick had behaved like a lamb ever since their confrontation and that the new gallery at Port Douglas was almost finished. What else could it be?

Natalie remained silent but inside she was fuming. Myriad doubts and confusion bombarded her brain and her senses which caused her stomach to tighten up until it almost cramped. And she could feel another tension headache coming on. Something strange was going on at Murrundi Downs, she felt it deep within her and it had the potential to affect her personally.

“What is it?” Trish encouraged. Running her arm across her lover’s shoulders she gave her a hug. “Tell mamma, hey?”

Grey eyes that had darkened to slate turned on Trish.
“You
are not my mother,” she spat. She ran her right hand agitatedly through her short hair as she tried to control the black mood which threatened to engulf her. These moods were becoming more frequent of late, clouding her reason, altering her disposition. She had to fight hard to keep the darkness at bay. Stay calm. Think, Natalie, think. Breathe. The darkness began to lighten, the racing of her pulse eased and her breathing relaxed.

Seeing that Trish had moved away to regard her pensively, she pirouetted about and chameleon-like, gave her a brilliant smile. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to snap.” She shook her head and her features lost their bleak, angry expression. Softened. “Sometimes … I…”

This wasn’t the first time Trish had witnessed Natalie’s mercurial mood changes. One minute light-hearted and laughing, the next, contorted with an unreasoning and unreasonable anger. “It’s all right, forget it. I’ve got to go down to the
Courier Mail
to pick up a cheque. We’re still on for the theatre tonight, aren’t we?”

Natalie looked at her blankly. “The theatre?” Then she remembered. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Trish picked up her jacket and headed for the door.

“I’ll be going back to Murrundi tomorrow. First flight to the Isa if I can get a seat.”

Astonished, Trish turned. “But the Whiteley exhibition. The Lord Mayor’s opening it tomorrow night. Surely you want to be there?”

Natalie shrugged as if it wasn’t important. “Hugh can manage, I’m sure. There’s something’s going on at Murrundi and I have to find out what it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Francey Spinetti, the architect, she’s still there. The woman should have gone back to Sydney a week ago. I think something funny’s going on.” Seeing Trish’s uncomprehending look, she added with a meaningful lift of an eyebrow, “Between CJ and Francey. She’s pretty, in a foreign sort of way, and intelligent. CJ’s filthy rich and hasn’t looked at a woman since Mumsie died. He likes her. I’ve seen how he looks at her, how Les looks at her too,” she ran her tongue around her lips, “as if he could eat her right up. So, do you get my drift?”

“CJ and Francey!” Trish’s eyebrows lifted in turn.
An item.
She laughed nervously, then realised she shouldn’t. Oh God, Natalie in a black mood wasn’t to be underestimated or trifled with. She had seen her flashes of rage and cruelty first-hand, even been on the receiving end once or twice and had the scars to prove it. “There’s such an age difference, I can’t believe it.”

“I’m going to check things out. I’ll put an end to it if they’re having an affair.”

“Why not just let things run their course?”

Suddenly Natalie’s features twisted. “You fool!” she screamed, “what if he wants to marry her? Where does that leave me? On the outer, that’s where.” Stalking from the window to the lounge, she chewed furiously on her lower lip as her mind conjured up all types of scenarios. Francey walking down the aisle in white, maybe another child,
a new heir.
“I won’t allow it to happen, I … I won’t. I can’t.” She stared wild-eyed, almost trance-like at the other woman. “The Ambrose inheritance belongs to me. Me.”

Seeing that her lover was working herself into a frenzy again, Trish tried to calm her down. “Get a grip, love. What you have is a severe case of fertile imagination. Maybe Francey’s doing more work on the conference project, who knows? I’m sure your suspicions are unfounded.”

This time Natalie managed to get the panic under control and held the demons at bay. “Yes,” she said tight-lipped, “you’re probably right. Still, I’m going home to Murrundi to check the situation out, first thing tomorrow.”

Trish saw that it was useless to try and deal with her in this mood. “Okay, fine. I’ll see you tonight.” Shaking her head she reached for the door knob and exited the apartment.

Natalie barely registered that Trish had gone.

What could she do if it were so, if Francey and CJ were romantically involved? Her gaze narrowed on a ceramic vase displayed on a marble column. Her hands balled into fists and she forcibly uncoiled them, bringing them to rest on the back of the lounge. If her suspicions were found to be true the situation would
have to be handled carefully. She didn’t want to get CJ offside. But there were ways.

A sly, contemplative smile spread across her face. She would concentrate on Francey, make it clear to her that she wasn’t wanted at Murrundi. She knew her type; warm-hearted, sensitive. Weak. Yes, she was sure she could convince Francey Spinetti that Sydney was a much happier, healthier place to be.

As he arrived at the Murrundi homestead Steve Parrish saw two bulldozers pushing mounds of earth on the other side of the row of conifers, levelling a huge area. CJ didn’t believe in wasting time. Typical of the man. Once he had something in his line of vision, whether it be the acquisition of a company, a new project or the destruction of someone’s hard-earned reputation, he went straight for it — like a killer shark.

And
she
was still here. That was good news as far as he was concerned. He’d talked to Lisa Dupre the other day in town and learned that Francey was staying on to draw up a preliminary design for some newfangled resort project at Cooktown. He didn’t care what kept her here — he’d stopped pretending indifference — so long as he got to see her on whatever pretext he could think up.

As he got out of the police four-wheel drive he squinted against the morning sun. There she was, coming out of the stables. Dressed in faded blue jeans that clung almost indecently to her long, long legs, and a red figure-hugging skivvy, it covered her upper body but gave scant protection against the cool morning. She looked bloody marvellous.

“Good morning,” he tipped his hat to her.

Francey recognised the sergeant the moment she exited the barn. There was no way she could avoid him as she walked towards the homestead. But … why should she try to? If she could only understand why he made her feel uneasy and protected at the same time. Perhaps it was the job thing, or could it be the sheer, intimidating size of him? Or, if she were totally honest with herself, was it because she found him strangely attractive? more so than Les, more so than Aden. Though why that should faze her now that she was almost over Bryan confounded her too.

“Hi, Sergeant. Lovely day.”

“Bit cool, Francey. Nice for a change. Grapevine told me that CJ chose your design. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” She groaned mentally as the telltale flush of pleasure spread through her cheeks and continued on through her body all the way down to her toes.

Steve laboured desperately to keep the conversation going. “You’re staying on, I believe. Doing another project for CJ. You must have an easygoing boss.”

Francey found herself laughing. “Gee, it’s hard to keep a secret around here.”

Steve seized on that. “Where exactly is back home?”

“I live at Potts Point now but I grew up in Glebe. The place had a real village, small town atmosphere to it, kind of like the Isa.”

“We were practically neighbours. I was raised in Redfern.”

“Then the Isa must have been something of a culture shock for you?”

“Not for long,” Steve admitted. “I amazed myself and the locals with how quickly I fitted into the place. It probably helped having the odd holiday on my uncle’s farm down at Braidwood when I was a teenager.”

“I’d heard you’d come up from the NSW police. You might know a friend of mine, Meredith O’Connor?”

He nodded. “Never met her but I know the name. Has a reputation for being a top officer.”

“That’s Meredith,” Francey said with a grin.

They followed the path around the back of the homestead and went up one of the side verandah’s set of steps.

“Well, now that you’re here for a while, I might see you in town more often. I’d enjoy buying you a coffee or a wine at one of the pubs. If I’m off-duty, of course.”

Was this the backhanded way policemen or perhaps country people suggested a date? Her lips twitched with the effort of not smiling. She’d keep her options open. “Maybe,” she said enigmatically as she opened the French door into the living room. “I presume you’re looking for CJ?”

“I am.”

“He’s in his study. I think you know where it is.” Then, as he turned away she had a thought. “Steve, perhaps you could do me a favour. I have some film I want processed. Would you mind …?”

“Of course not. No trouble at all.”

“Come into my office and I’ll get it for you.”

She beckoned for him to follow her out through the kitchen to a small room, hardly bigger than a
broom cupboard. While she rummaged around for the film rolls he took a peek at what she had on the drawing board. Having worked as a carpenter’s assistant on a couple of Sydney projects before he’d joined the service, he could read building plans. Impressive. She was halfway through drawing a rough layout of what appeared to be a hotel complex, complete with pool, courts and golf course. He read “Stage One” centred at the top of the page. On a pad beside the drawing were rough sketches, a lot of calculations, loads, weights, room dimensions, that sort of thing. Yes, indeed, Francey Spinetti knew her stuff.

She turned back to him, noticed but ignored his interest in the plan and said, “Three rolls. Tell the chemist, the one in the mall, that I’ll pick them up at the end of the week. And thanks.”

Her smile, which showed a set of perfect white teeth and a perfectly curved, generous mouth, made Steve go all tense.

“Oh, Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve turned around to answer Les Westcott’s question and glimpsed the put-out expression before he masked it. Interesting! “Just doing an errand for Francey,” he answered truthfully as he shouldered his way out of the small room. “I’ll take care of these for you,” he promised as he put the rolls into his breast pocket. “Now, I really should see CJ.”

Les’s gaze was as cool as his tone. “You know where his study is.”

Pleased with himself, Steve whistled tunelessly as he made his way to CJ’s study and knocked on the door.

“Come in, Steve. What news have you for me?”

Steve closed the door behind him before he started to speak.

Ten minutes later, after Steve Parrish had left his study, CJ sat motionless in the chair, deep in thought. The plot thickens, as the saying went … The policeman’s information had been succinct, to say the least. He had tracked down a girlfriend of Richard’s, a young school teacher by the name of Penny Ormond. Their relationship hadn’t been serious but the fact that Penny had broken up with her former boyfriend, Paul Andronicus, to date Richard, could be significant. Steve had ferreted out that Paul, a carpenter by trade, had been quite upset and had once threatened — in front of witnesses — to get Penny back.

Exhaustive checking through the considerable township of Mt Isa had drawn a blank. Andronicus had disappeared, moved on to places unknown shortly after Richard’s death. Steve said that a statewide police bulletin was going out to all stations about Andronicus, that he was wanted for questioning, and Steve was confident that this was a good lead, the best so far. But with regard to the ownership of the rifle that had fired the bullets, he had no information whatsoever.

CJ grunted and then shook his head. Parrish was doing a sterling job, no doubt about it, and, no matter that he’d said to keep things quiet, maybe it was time to let the family know that Richard’s death had been no accident. Maybe someone at Murrundi knew something or had information that might help Steve’s case and perhaps didn’t realise it.

Yes. Tomorrow he would assemble all the staff and tell them the situation in the hope that it might jog someone’s memory.

Francey swished her body this way and that, checking how her long skirt clung to her in all the right places. The gold thread lurex long-sleeved top, together with a long strand gold chain and matching earrings proclaimed a touch of elegance for the party she’d been invited to: Pierre Dupre’s fortieth at their home in town. CJ, Les, Natalie and Shellie had also been invited and she was going with CJ in his Rolls while the others travelled in the homestead’s Range Rover

Nothing like a bit of class for the migrant’s daughter from Glebe, she thought as she applied a final sheen to her lips. She remembered being in Aden’s BMW — it seemed so long ago. Their fragile, emotional involvement seemed a distant memory too and lately she was finding it difficult to recall his features and the thrill of being with him. When had her feelings towards Aden started to cool? Had it happened because she was out of the office? Was it the phone call, during which he’d made it obvious that their relationship came second to business? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Brett O’Connor putting business before Meredith … but maybe she shouldn’t use the O’Connors as a yardstick to compare relationships.