Chapter Four
Scott in his everyday working gear—open necked shirt, jeans, and high boots—was striding briskly towards the front door as Darcey came down the staircase. She had risen early. She needed a head start. There were a few things that remained to be done that morning.
Scott turned as if he recognized her very footsteps. “Darcey!” he exclaimed, laying a mocking hand to his heart.
“Bonjour to you too.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Lots to do.”
“Ah yes! No one better than you at pulling everything together.”
“Part of my training,” she said, lamenting what once had been and would never be again.
“Sophie always did give you a free hand.” He touched a finger to his temple as if to remind himself of something. “Since I’m first on the scene I’ll tell you. You’ll be presenting the Melville Cup to the captain of the winning team this afternoon.”
She couldn’t conceal her agitation. “You can’t be serious?”
“Guess what? I am. No one but you has ever accused me of not being serious.”
“But I don’t understand. Surely Sophie or Sam?”
“No need to fuss. They know all about it. They even approve. It’s to reassure people, Darcey. Don’t you see that? It’s to help make the day a success. No hard feelings and all that. We’ve turned our backs on the past—”
“This is ridiculous and you know it,” she cut him off sharply. “We’ll convince no one.”
“No way you can get out of it. It’s all arranged. But lighten up. It could very well be Duncan.”
“Far more likely it will be you,” she retorted. “I’m not at all comfortable with this, Scott.”
“Come along now,” he urged. “You’ll be fine. You know the protocol. It’s not as if you haven’t done it before.”
All of a sudden she was furious. She flew at him, astounding him by hitting him on the chest. “That’s it!” she cried. “I won’t have you using that quiet, patient tone like I’m some dimwit.”
He caught her hands, circling her narrow wrists. “For God’s sake, Darcey, what on earth are you talking about?” He appeared genuinely puzzled.
“That was the way you spoke to me, remember? As if I were a dimwit,” she accused him. Her beautiful eyes flashed lightning. Her colour was up.
“What the hell!” He drew in his breath, aware of the electric buzz that surged and sparked between them. He wanted to pick her up. Carry her away where no one could get to them. Make passionate love to her until she gave herself willingly up to him as she had always done.
“Poor little Darcey!” she self-mocked. “Poor girl, missing her mother. Never grew up. Not a woman at all. Not much more than a none-too-bright schoolgirl.”
“That wouldn’t sit well with your IQ, would it?” he countered, continuing to hold her hands.
“Don’t try humouring me, Scott. That’s over!” she cried explosively, seeing how easy it was for him to subdue her. “You have no idea what you were like. Master of your universe. I wasn’t your bloody subject. I was your wife. I was afraid of you.”
Shocked, he went pale beneath his dark tan. “You’re talking absolute rubbish.”
“Men! I hate you.” Darcey was locked into her violent jumble of emotions. “I hate your height and your strength. Your physical superiority.”
It was far beyond what he ever expected. “Darcey, I would die before I ever laid a finger on you.”
“I know that!” She momentarily closed her eyes so she could get a grip on herself. “It was my mind. My mind! Do you understand? Why did you have to get so angry with me? Why did you have to talk down to me?”
Scott’s disbelief was visible in his brilliant blue eyes. His emotions were coalescing into anger and shock. “Darcey, you were accusing me of betraying you with your stupid, bloody, treacherous friend. Did you really expect me to sit still and take it?”
“Yes!” she replied, knowing how unreasonable that sounded. “Everything we both said was just wrong. We were so upset. The distance between us I found unbearable.”
“You created it,” he pointed out bluntly. “How could you possibly believe my supposed infidelity was true? Yet you did. You showed you had no respect for me, your husband. I wasn’t the only one to raise my voice, you might remember. I distinctly recall your shouting the place down. Like now. You weren’t the downtrodden little wife you’re trying to make out you were. You gave as good as you got.”
“Ah, the benefit of hindsight!” she said sadly. “Conclusions based on the facts. Okay, I was my own worst enemy,” she admitted, the air sucked out of her. “I thought you should have been there for me no matter what. You felt the same. I’m sorry, Scott. There, does that please you? I apologize for my shamefully immature behaviour. I broke your heart? You broke mine. A lot of people have to live with broken hearts.”
“Only we didn’t have to, did we?” he flashed back. “That’s the thing, Darcey. I didn’t break your heart. You did that all by yourself with the help of your aunt. A woman as dangerous as a taipan. You chose her word over mine. I think I had every right to be appalled.”
Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might fly like a bird out of her ribcage.
“I said I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I just felt like a misfit.”
“Misfit, when we all loved you?” he challenged hotly, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Memory is a very faulty revival system, Darcey. You’ve embroidered what you remembered. The things you actually heard and the things you chose to re-hear in your own mind. Becky—whatever her name was—was and probably still is an out-and-out liar. Where the hell did she get to anyway?”
“God knows!” Darcey said, feeling utterly exposed. “It couldn’t have been easy to trick Aunt Rachael.”
“Aunt Rachael!” There was a world of hostility in Scott’s tone. “The sooner you free yourself of that woman, the better. She is not what you think she is. She’s a woman who would have no trouble disseminating false information if it suited her purpose. You think she loved you? You think she loved your mother? You’d better think again.”
“You honestly think she would destroy my life? You think she wanted to hurt me?” She couldn’t accept it.
“Too bloody right!” Scott answered, forcefully. “She never wanted us to get married in the first place. Don’t you remember? She couldn’t wait to break us up. And you let her!”
* * *
Sophie, looking over the gallery, was astounded to see her son and Darcey facing each other, locked into some furious confrontation. Scott was holding on to Darcey’s hands as though preventing her from lashing out at him. Gentle Darcey?
“Children, children, is anything wrong?” she called, feeling a sudden moment of panic. She was the one who had brought Darcey here. She was the one who had done everything in her power to engineer a reconciliation.
Immediately, they both looked up at her. Both wore strained expressions. “Darcey is a bit put out we’ve asked her to present the cup,” Scott said by way of explanation.
It didn’t stack up. Talk was one thing. Body language was another. Watch and one would learn the truth Sophie had found. “But surely, Darcey, it’s an honour, dear.” Sophie began to move down the stairs.
“Better for you, Sophie. Or Sam. Not me,” said Darcey, her eyes stinging with tears.
Whatever they were fighting about, Sophie saw her son continued to keep a supporting arm around Darcey’s waist. Darcey for her part appeared to be leaning into him. It had the quality of an embrace to Sophie, a recognised expert at reading body language. “I would take it as a personal favour if you would do it for me, dearest Darcey,” she said, her panic ebbing away like the tide.
Darcey bowed her gleaming head in acceptance. Sophie made her feel welcome and wanted. Made her feel like she still belonged. “Then of course I will, Sophie.”
“Hey presto, that’s settled!” Scott announced with great irony, dropping his arm. He turned on his heel, making for the double front doors with the beautiful stained glass fanlight above. Beyond him the playing fountain shimmered like a mirage except for the presence of two gorgeously coloured little lorikeets flying to and fro in the cooling spray, dousing their iridescent feathers. The extreme Outback light was a key factor in perceiving shapes and objects, even colours.
* * *
The game of polo had originated in ancient Persia in the sixth century BC. In the modern polo playing world, a professional match lasted around two hours. Today’s match was set for an hour, scheduled for three o’clock, when the heat would have started to die down. Traditionally it was played on grass on a field four times the size of a football field. Today’s teams consisted of four riders each, with two mounts for chukka changeovers. The term “pony” had always been used, but the horses were full-sized, super-fit thoroughbreds with great speed and manoeuvrability.
Planet Downs polo field was a good ten-minute walk from the main compound, surrounded for shade with a great diversity of mature eucalyptus and a few introduced exotics that had managed to thrive in the Outback heat. Darcey knew it had been quite a feat keeping the playing field in good condition. The station, like the entire Outback Australia, relied heavily on the bore water from the Great Artesian Basin, the largest artesian basin in the world. It covered an area of some 1.7 million square kilometres, the only truly reliable source of water in the arid and semi-arid regions of four states, Queensland, New South Wales, South Australia, and the Northern Territory. The Melville Cup had been named after a much-loved cousin of the MacArthur family and a great horseman who had died in France only days before the end of World War One. Some six thousand Australian war horses had been sent to the front. Only one had returned home, and only then because that strong, brave horse, a “Waler” born and bred in New South Wales had belonged to an Australian general. Australians regarded horses as “mates.” Horses had been the only form of transport in colonial times. Horses in the lonely and remote Outback were often man’s only companion.
Darcey had been taught to ride from an early age. Her skill and her love of horses had been an invaluable asset when she had come as a bride to Planet Downs.
As she was to present the prize, she paid close attention to her appearance. She knew all eyes would be on her. Especially those of close friends and fellow conspirators, Ashlee and Julie.
In the end she settled on a white silk top, sleeveless and oval necked, and a pink loose-legged divided skirt, falling from the tightly shirred waistband to the ankle. The skirt wafted around her long legs, creating a delicious breeze much like an Arab’s long tunic. Silver bracelets on her arm. Silver earrings. Silver wedge-heeled sandals on her feet. She had intended to tie her long hair back, but Sam had talked her into wearing it loose.
“What’s the point of having that glorious mane if you keep tying it back?”
So Darcey parted her hair to one side, allowing her abundant mane to fall around her face, over her shoulders, and down her back.
“Perfect!” Sophie said, casting a last-minute approving eye over Sam and Darcey. “My two beautiful girls!”
Both “girls” took a bow. The news of Darcey’s beauty had spread over great distances when she and Scott had become engaged. In her own way Darcey was a MacArthur legend, Sophie thought. Sam too had taken extra trouble with her outfit, a sleeveless printed top with a royal blue divided skirt echoing the dominant colour in her camisole top. The blue went wonderfully well with her hair. The two young women snatched up their wide-brimmed straw hats, ribbon trimmed, to provocatively shade their faces. An exciting day lay ahead. Hopefully accident free.
* * *
The polo grounds were in full colour. A brilliant blue sky, rust-red earth, bleached-out grass now coaxed into a wonderful green. A happy babble of voices and laughter. Flags and bunting fluttered in the breeze. The men stood around together, rehashing their own feats in the saddle; the women sat talking, laughing, looking as glamorous as they possibly could. This was a stand-out social occasion. All knew they were on show. Some were looking for husbands. This was a good place to do it. Furthermore, a few had suitors in today’s match.
If the women looked their best, it was the players who were the true peacocks. The day belonged to them. To all their female fans, they looked outrageously sexy in their polo gear. All wore the traditional white cotton-denim tight jeans. Duncan’s team wore red polo shirts; Scott’s a light blue embroidered with black. Given the feet and lower legs were the most vulnerable areas under attack, players wore the best boots they could afford. Helmets too were extremely important. Hence, Polo Gear Extreme. No one had to be told this was a dangerous game.
Two very attractive young women, blond, blue eyed, friends from childhood, physically enough alike to be sisters, sat amid the groups of spectators, a striped, navy-fringed umbrella over their heads, sipping slowly at frosty drinks. The match was due to start in under thirty minutes, at which time they would have to leave the shelter of their umbrella.
“Will you look at that?” one of them burst out. Julie Sanderson. “How’s that for disloyalty!” she exclaimed as if she had all but given up. “Didn’t take Sam long to extend a welcoming arm to the traitor.”
Ashlee sat bolt upright. “Where, where?” she asked, looking frantically to her left.
“Right, lovie,” Julie told her, shading her eyes with her hand. “They’re darn nearly hand in hand. Is it some kind of welcome back?”
“How could it be?” Ashlee felt such rage she thought she was going to be sick. “That bitch repudiated him. Scott is not a man to tolerate that. He divorced her. His mother is at the centre of this comeback. Sophie always did dote on her impeccably bred daughter-in-law. Damn. Damn. Damn,” she muttered, her eyes now fixed on Darcey and Samantha strolling along most companionably. She felt shocked. Devastated. Outraged beyond belief. Both young women were smiling as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
“She wants him back,” Julie muttered, thinking the ex-wife was back in. She was just so damned beautiful! Worse, sexy as all hell in her supremely ladylike way. “Is it possible Sophie is working to get them together again? Don’t forget Sophie is a powerful force in the family. She has tremendous clout packed away in that tiny frame.”
“Too darn right she has!” Ashlee let loose her poisonous feelings. “What’s so remarkable about bloody Darcey, anyway? She’s skinny. No bust to speak of. The softly spoken buttoned-up lady. No personality.”
Skinny? More like a nymph. No personality? Really! But Julie saw no point in upsetting her friend further. “She must be clever, though. An award-winning architect, I’ve been told, just like her dad. He’s got scads of money. She really doesn’t have to work at all. Like you.”
Ashlee was too worked up to respond to Julie’s little jibe. “I hate her,” she muttered, clearly telling the truth. “If breaking Scott and me up weren’t enough, she’s back for another go.”
Julie placed a soothing hand on her friend’s arm. There was pity in her voice. “Give it up, Ash. You never had a real chance with Scott, even before Darcey arrived. A few dates in the old days. A couple of recent times. Gatherings. He never did get around to courting you. You’re friends!”
“We’re much more than friends,” Ashlee retorted, with a kind of irrational certainty. “I love Scott. She’ll only trample on him again. I have to stop it.”
Julie gave her friend a level stare. “Take my advice. Love Cy Bishop instead,” she advised. “You’re well suited and Cy won’t wait forever. I’m tempted to have a go myself.”
Ashlee wasn’t listening. Ashlee never listened. Her feelings for Scott MacArthur were too strong and they went back a long way. What she had to do now was devise some sort of scheme. Some sort of trap? Scott had been through the trauma of divorce. He wouldn’t want to do it again. He hadn’t found anyone to replace his traitorous wife. She and her mother had long since agreed all she had to do was wait it out.
If Ashlee had one great gift, it was patience.
It was Samantha who realized it was Julie Sanderson in a very stylish dress that must have rolled off the same designer line as Ashlee’s who was standing up waving at them and making a great show of it.
“Oh dear, can’t we just wave back and move on?” Darcey was loathe to have her pleasure in the day dimmed.
Samantha took Darcey’s arm, assuming a Chinese accent. “You know what Confucius say: Keep thy enemy in plain sight.”
Darcey laughed. “Sam, Confucius didn’t say that. Could have been St. Paul. He was always banging on about enemies.”
“Okay, try this one on. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Will that do?”
“Enemies, plural,” Darcey amended. “We both have them. They’re sitting over there.”
“Exactly.” Samantha was very disappointed in Julie and her deliberate lies about Linc. “Some people believe all’s fair in love and war. It’s a psychological thing.”
“Maybe it works,” said Darcey.
“We’ll exchange a few pleasantries and then move on,” Samantha promised.
* * *
They were greeted with bright smiles albeit through clenched teeth. Ashlee’s cheeks were a hectic pink, betraying the heat of her feelings. Julie was more friendly. She didn’t want to fall out with Samantha MacArthur. She looked around for more deck chairs as if Darcey and Samantha would be pleased to join them.
“That’s okay, Jules,” Samantha said, holding up a hand. “Darcey has a couple of things to attend to. She’s presenting the Cup, as you know.”
“How very un-us-ual!” There was something disparaging in Ashlee’s comment. “We all thought you or your mother would have that honour, Samantha.”
“Who’s we?” Samantha, the redhead, asked in a voice that bordered on snappy.
“Darcey’s being here has caught us by surprise. That’s all.” Ashlee blinked. She had never liked Scott’s quick-tempered sister. She had even worried about red hair when she and Scott had children.
“A nice surprise, I hope?” Darcey glanced from one young woman to the other. Neither of them were her friends. Or ever likely to be.
“A little jaunt Outback?” Ashlee tried a tight smile. “Then back to the city grind?” She was desperate to hear that was the plan.
“Darcey is her own boss,” Samantha cut in. “We’re hoping she’ll stay on for a month or two.”
“How nice!” Julie managed to answer for herself and her lifelong friend. Both would need time to understand the ramifications.
But Ashlee understood all too well. With a superhuman effort, she kept her inner rage off her face. Some part of her knew her behaviour wasn’t normal, but loving Scott MacArthur was like some fundamental force in her life. How to make him love her had been circling her mind since forever. Well, around thirteen when she ran into puberty and started to let out loud squeaks of delight whenever they met up. It was a schoolgirl crush she had never got over. And nothing much she could do about it, especially when she had received unstinting encouragement from her mother, who was an all-knowing woman, like her. So she had become locked in the jaws of obsession. What of it? Only a fool said love like hers wasn’t obsessive. Love wasn’t a comfortable emotion. It gripped you by the throat. She was convinced it was she who had to find a way to get rid of the ex-wife. Her mother’s advice?
“Mean business this time!”
Perhaps the timing was right after all? Darcey had found out about Scott and her two-timing friend. Why not Darcey’s finding out about her and Scott? Her best chance, indeed her only chance, would be after the ball tonight. No use praying for a miracle. Miracles, along with the numbers of saints, had suffered a great decline down the years. Indeed, Ashlee had come to believe miracles were a lost cause. She had to help herself.
Obsessively making plans, Ashlee lost track of time for the entire afternoon, which was a pity because it turned out to be a thrilling match; fast and furious even in the intense heat.
The two captains were unquestionably the best players. Both carried the number 1 on their backs. Player number one was the front attacking player. Linc, known for his speed and quick thinking, was Scott’s number two, playing defence against his opposite number player and helping his captain when needed. The traditional eight chukkas lasted exactly seven minutes with a break to change ponies. Scott’s number three, a bit of a hothead, earned his team a foul for using his mallet too forcefully, in the side umpire’s judgement. That earned him a few terse words from his captain. The team couldn’t afford a foul. The teams were too closely matched.
It was in the final chukka that Duncan was nearly unseated as he tried to prevent Scott, who was brilliantly controlling the ball, shooting home the winning goal. It was just the sort of thrilling cliffhanger finish the crowd wanted. The grounds exploded. The resounding cheers took ages to wind down. Now it was time for the winning captain to receive the Melville Cup, awarded to Planet Downs for yet another year.
Darcey was acutely aware all eyes were on her. She wasn’t simply on her mettle, she was on a high. She stepped right up to Scott, her smile lighting her face to radiance. Scott stood, dark auburn head down bent, regarding her with sparkling, albeit mocking eyes.
“The great thing about you, Darcey, is—”
He got no further. Her whole body stirred under his blue glance. Making a garland of her slender arms, Darcey threw them around his neck, locking her tapering fingers. Next she stood on tiptoe to bring her up to his height.
“Almost there,” Scott softly taunted, his voice pitched low so as not to be overheard.
“Congratulations, Scott,” Darcey said in a clear, happy voice. “Congratulations to your cup-winning team. It was a great game.”
“Time for a kiss, wouldn’t you say?” he murmured beneath his breath, clearly egging her on.
“Which is as far as you’ll get,” she sweetly returned, her smile never faltering. She kissed him on one tanned cheek, then the other, her body reacting to the polished warmth of his skin and the stunning male attraction that bloomed out of him. She didn’t stop there. This was a little game. She awarded him three kisses in all, to delighted if somewhat mystified applause. Everyone remembered the divorce and the horrendous fallout. The MacArthurs were such proud people. And rightly so. They had earned their place. Two years had gone by. Were Scot and his beautiful ex-wife on the verge of making up?
All kinds of currents began to run through the crowd. Anyone who took the time to shoot a quick glance at Ashlee Warrender looked away quickly. Reconciliation between Scott and his ex-wife appeared catastrophic for Ashlee. Everyone knew Ashlee was and always had been a bit on the crazy side about Scott MacArthur. To be fair, she wasn’t the only one.
In response, further fuelling the flames, Scott bent to kiss Darcey’s cheek before slipping an arm around her waist. They looked the perfect couple. Just like the old days.
Cameras clicked. Gossip flew. It scattered around the compound like trained pigeons on a mission. Human beings loved gossip. There was no telling what might happen at the ball. Some went so far as to predict an announcement. After all, the ex-wife had never been replaced, for all the raised hopes. Whether the ex stayed or went, Scott MacArthur needed a wife. As master of historic Planet Downs, he needed heirs. Scott was as much aware of that as anyone. Empires were lost without heirs.