Bride at Briar's Ridge Page 4

  You’re crazy, Mastermann! His inner voice said in disgust. Give up while you’ve got a chance.

  He was so far gone he was indifferent to the voice. There could be nothing remarkable about his calling in at the bistro, he reasoned. Say hello, then ask her if she would like to see over the property he had so very recently acquired. He knew she was resisting him at one level, as if she knew she ought to—wasn’t he feeling something of the same thing?—but they seemed to share a powerful kinship. How was that so? In many ways she was a mystery to him, yet he had been seduced on sight. Drawn closer. He thought he recognised her soul. When they had danced together at Guy’s wedding he’d felt as though she belonged to him. Even their bodies seemed to recognise one another.

  That sort of thing didn’t happen often. It had never happened to him, and he had held lots of pretty girls in his arms, made love to them, learned much. But he had never come close to a grand passion, the great enduring love lady novelists liked to write about. He remembered hearing his mother crying quietly during the nights his father was away from home. That had been when he was just a little kid, stealing along the hallway, checking on her but not wanting to intrude on her very private time. He couldn’t have borne to humiliate her, but the sound still haunted him.

  What had she been crying about? His old man’s infidelities? The way he had turned from her when she’d first been diagnosed? Or how he never touched her after she had lost a breast and her glorious mane of hair? His dad had an irrational fear of sickness, but that didn’t excuse his cruelty. Linc thanked God he had been around to console his mother. Even Chuck hadn’t wanted to know how sick their mother was, though he’d been heartbroken and contrite afterwards.

  Since leaving home, Linc had kept in regular touch with Chuck. Chuck sounded as if he was missing him like hell—especially in running the big sheep farm. But Chuck, good brother that he was, had been genuinely thrilled for him when he’d told him about Briar’s Ridge.

  ‘Man, I couldn’t be more pleased for you. You always have to do things in your own way. And do them better than anyone else.’

  ‘For the love of God don’t tell Cheryl where I am.’

  Chuck, who had eyes in his head that had been very uncomfortable with their stepmother’s attraction to his younger brother, had assured him he wouldn’t say a word.

  ‘Dad still mad?’

  ‘Filthy!’ Chuck had crowed. ‘Maybe he never told you—it would have killed him to do so—but he relied on you one hell of a lot. Come to that, so did I.’

  ‘I’ll keep in touch, Bro.’

  At least Chuck would have his Louise. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they didn’t set a wedding date some time soon. And eventually Chuck would inherit half of Gilgarra; he would get the other half. His dad couldn’t do anything about that. It had been Lincoln money, his mother’s dowry, that had given their father his giant step-up. Never let that be forgotten. They were entitled. Linc wouldn’t believe in Cheryl’s providing their father with yet another heir until he held the baby in his own hands.

  When he arrived at the bistro he found it crowded with happy customers. Aldo, a most genial man, caught sight of him and hurried towards him, beckoning. ‘Buon giorno, Linc. You want lunch? I can find you a table.’ His dark eyes swiftly scanned the room for a spot to fit in a single table.

  Linc smiled, looking around him. ‘Everyone looks happy. Business is booming.’

  ‘My darling Daniela must take the credit,’ Aldo said, good-naturedly leaning a hand on Linc’s shoulder. ‘She’s running the kitchen. Word gets around. We’re banked up Wednesday through Friday. We like her to relax at the weekend. She’s a genius in the kitchen. She is teaching us all such a lot.’

  ‘In that case, it’s lunch.’ He smiled. ‘And I was hoping to speak to Daniela when she’s not busy.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Aldo looked closely into Linc’s eyes. ‘You’ve bought the Callaghan farm?’

  ‘All settled. I was hoping Daniela might like to take a look at the homestead. You, too, when it suits. It’s good to have a woman’s opinion on furnishings. Especially one with such style.’

  Aldo blew a gentle breath. ‘The man who wins my Daniela will be getting a goddess,’ he said.

  ‘Lovely thought!’ Linc smiled back.

  For the next hour Linc enjoyed food the gods might order. Aldo was right. His little Daniela was one hell of a chef. He didn’t have to wonder why she had chosen that particular career. Her family had always been involved in restaurants, Aldo had told him. It had been a big upheaval coming to Australia, and they had arrived with little money, but in the end it had been well worth it.

  Linc had found that eating and drinking was a national pastime in Italy, and that little bars, cafés and bistros were the mainstay of Italian life. He had loved the markets and all the wonderful fresh produce. Every city, every town, every village had at least one. He remembered how the women had appeared to spend a large part of their day—every day—going to the markets. Food and its preparation was a very serious business.

  Daniela would have gravitated to a chef’s career naturally. Not that what was on the menu here was solely Italian food. Definitely no pizzas. Linc started off with smoked eggplant with a marvellous crab sauce, followed by abbacchio alla Romana, which simply meant baby lamb, Roman-style. It melted in his mouth. He thought he couldn’t fit in a dessert—he wasn’t used to eating a big meal midday, or even stopping work a lot of the time—but a slice of the mascarpone sponge with a berry and rum sauce looked irresistible. A man could fall in love with Daniela for her cooking alone, though she looked as far away from being a chef as he could imagine.

  Aldo beamed at him, staying to share a glass of wine, treating him as a favourite customer. At least he was in favour with Daniela’s grandad. The mother and father—the Adamis—were an exceptionally good-looking couple but, although charming, weren’t quite so warmly welcoming as Aldo. Linc supposed they were wondering about him. Who he was. What he wanted. On the couple of occasions he had called in he must have betrayed his interest in their beautiful daughter.

  He was lingering over his coffee when Daniela surprised him by coming to his table. Most of their customers had left by now, expressing very positive comments and indicating they would be coming back.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  That was the biggest understatement of all time, he thought, overtaken by dense emotion, fierce in its strength.

  He stood up immediately, his heart wrenching yet again as he looked on her beautiful face. There was such grace about her, such refinement, sensitivity, the promise of passion. She was dressed very simply, in a crisp white shirt and black skirt, her lustrous hair clipped back behind her ears.

  ‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘Could you join me for a minute?’ He moved swiftly to hunt up another chair.

  ‘I’m finished for the afternoon,’ she said, sitting down and looking up at him—half expectantly, half what? He wasn’t sure, but her great eyes glittered. ‘So I take it the deal went through?’

  He resumed his seat. ‘It was settled yesterday. I am now the master of Briar’s Ridge.’

  ‘Now, why does that sound like Briar’s Ridge is the first in a chain?’ she asked.

  He was a bit startled. ‘I like a challenge.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘More of that woman’s intuition?’ His eyes locked on hers. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not knocking it. I have ambitions, Daniela. But you must know all about ambition. You’ve studied and worked hard. Le Cordon-Bleu, wasn’t it, in Paris? Then London? You’re rising to the top of your game. And you’re what—twenty-four, twenty-five?’

  ‘Does that matter?’ She gave an expressive shrug of her delicate shoulders.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered bluntly. ‘I can tell you I’m twenty-eight, so why can’t—’

  ‘Twenty-five,’ she supplied. ‘It is as you’ve said. I did have to study and work extremely hard to rise to the top in a very tough
business. There was a time when I wanted other things.’

  ‘Like what?’ he asked, needing to know.

  Her beautiful eyes were distant in thought. ‘I wanted to go to university full-time. I was a good student. I could have got into any course I wanted. I was very interested in art history, psychology, the law—oh, lots of things. I wanted to stretch my wings. But there simply wasn’t the money. I had to accept that. All of us have had to work hard. We’ve had to make a go of things. I was needed at home. It was actually an elderly relative who eventually became my benefactor and sent me to Paris. I had four years of schoolgirl French, which was a help. The deal was it had to be food. I was to become a chef.’

  ‘Well, do you enjoy it?’ His family had lacked lots of things, but not money.

  Her lovely mouth curved in a smile. ‘Of course I do. I’m Italian. I’m a woman. You could say my career was clear cut. My benefactor, for instance, wouldn’t have advanced the money had I wanted to study Fine Arts.’

  ‘How strange,’ he said, thinking it was. ‘But going on the reaction of your lunchtime customers you’re a big hit. I was one of them, and what I had was superb.’

  She gave a little laugh. ‘I can do better. Lots better. I have to consider what our customers would like.’

  ‘So you’re telling me I don’t know the best?’

  ‘No, no.’ She shook her head, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m just saying…’

  ‘I know.’ He relented.

  ‘You went to university?’ She stared at him, unable to help herself. He was almost a stranger, yet she had a real sense of familiarity.

  ‘I have a degree in Economics,’ he told her. ‘Not entirely useless.’ Abruptly he caught hold of her fingertips. He hadn’t meant to. It had just happened. ‘Who’s been cruel to you?’

  She tried to withdraw her hand.

  He held on. ‘Well?’ The tormented look on her face stopped him. He let her go.

  ‘This is a mistake, Carl,’ she said.

  ‘Please don’t go.’ He was terrified she would. ‘I’m sorry. I came to ask if you would like to see over Briar’s Ridge.’

  She paused uncertainly. ‘What? Out of curiosity?’

  ‘Not at all.’ There was a brilliant sparkle in his light eyes, neither silver nor green, but a blend of both. ‘There’s another reason. I want a woman’s opinion. Your opinion. You’re a smart woman, a woman of taste. The homestead doesn’t come with furnishings. I wouldn’t want them in any case. I want to start out afresh. I want the place to be my own.’

  She studied him strangely. ‘How can that be, with my taste?’

  ‘To be honest, I believe with you I can’t go wrong. You have style. You’ve had time to acquire sophistication on top of your own inherent polish.’

  ‘You flatter me,’ she said. She put up a hand to remove a gold clasp from her hair, so one side went for a silken slide.

  He watched in fascination. Everything about her was just so damned romantic, even exotic. ‘I don’t think so. I’m certainly not trying to.’

  ‘It’s a bad time,’ she announced, suddenly losing her composure.

  ‘Not a bad time at all. Please—no more excuses, Daniela. Aldo told me you’re always free at the weekend. Please say you’ll come.’

  Again she hesitated. ‘You’ve asked me first?’

  He frowned. She seemed to be making some point. ‘Who else?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’ She shook her head, looking as if she had concerns. ‘You appeared to be getting along very well with Alana’s cousins, Violette and Lilli.’

  ‘So?’ He gave her another puzzled frown.

  ‘One of them might be perfect for you,’ she said, really looking into his face. ‘They come from your world—pastoral families, establishment, that kind of thing.’

  He sat back, caught in a moment of empathy. ‘I think I’m a lot wiser than that, Daniela. The people I most admire are those who make something of themselves, like you. You have ambition. You’re a fighter. You’re twenty-five. You haven’t stepped back. You’ve stepped forward. I happen to know Violette and Lilli haven’t done a day’s work in their lives. In my book even rich girls have to do something.’

  She began toying with one of the wine glasses. ‘Sometimes I’d like to be rich,’ she said with a brittle laugh.

  ‘Would you do things differently?’

  ‘What a question!’ She stared away.

  ‘Riches don’t bring happiness, Daniela. A lot of the time money brings conflict. Anyway, a beautiful young woman like you would find it easy to attract a rich man. He need only see you. Maybe one of them did? Maybe he saw you often? It would be normal for you to have many admirers.’

  ‘All these questions,’ she said, returning her gaze to him.

  ‘And no answers,’ he said crisply. ‘Will you come with me tomorrow? I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘I need to think about it.’ The words implied she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him again. Only he knew differently.

  ‘Okay, that’s fine.’ He sat back. ‘I’m not doing anything in particular.’

  She started to run a slender finger around the rim of the unused white wine glass, bringing a certain solemnity to it. ‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ she said at last.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at two?’ His gaze pinned hers.

  ‘Yes, two is fine.’ She rose with faint agitation, as though if she stayed a moment longer she would change her mind.

  At the same time he knew they couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Either something wonderful would come of it, or nothing good.

  After breakfast at the truly excellent Hunter Valley motel where he was staying, Linc hopped in his car and drove out to Briar’s Ridge.

  A foreman, appointed by Guy, had been left in place to oversee the farm until he took over. Guy had told him he could, if he wished, take on this foreman, whose name was George Rankin. In his fifties George was a gentle giant, quiet but affable, who knew what he was about. George had lived in the valley all his life. He was well known and well liked. A bachelor—he said not by choice, that he had lost his sweetheart to someone else—he and his father had worked a small family property until his father had passed away a year before, after which the property had been sold. George had figured he didn’t need much in the way of money, he had enough to see him out, but he quickly found he didn’t like a lot of time on his hands. When Guy had offered him part-time work he had jumped at it, and Guy had subsequently shifted him across to Briar’s Ridge to work the place until it was sold.

  From what Linc had seen of George he did propose to keep him on. Full-time, if George were agreeable. George Rankin was a good man to have on the team. There was a bungalow he could have, so George could live on site as a young aboriginal lad did—Buddy. Alana had told him Buddy came with the place. There had been the sweetest plea in her eyes as she’d said it. It was Buddy’s job to look after the stables complex—only two horses remained, but Linc would get more—and generally help out. What had endeared Buddy to Linc was the fact that the young man had taken it upon himself to look after the late Mrs Callaghan’s rose garden. To Linc that seemed like an incredibly nice thing to do. For that reason alone he would have allowed Buddy to stay put, but he had also found Buddy to be hard working and reliable—in other words an asset.

  Some of the stock had been sold off. The best of the flock—the remainder—came with the property. Linc had plans to expand every which way, and that was why he had taken on a mortgage: use the bank’s money while he held on to a good part of his own. He would need it. The homestead—not big, but appealing, with a great view of the rural valley from the upstairs verandah—had to be furnished, and the surrounding gardens had been kept under control. But they needed a woman’s hand to work their magic.

  When Linc arrived, both George and Buddy were out mustering the woollies, to bring them down into the home paddock. As he looked up to the high ridges he could see their distant figures. The ridges were dominated by the
eucalypts—the reason for the marvellous fragrance in the air, a combination of oils and all the dry aromatic scents of the bush. Briar’s Ridge had once been one of the nation’s premier sheep stations. The Denbys—Alana’s family—had been around for ever, since early colonial days. Landed aristocracy with impeccable credentials. His own mother’s side of the family, the Lincolns, were descendants of the old squattocracy too, but the Mastermanns, although highly regarded, hadn’t been in that league. It had been a step up for his dad to marry a Lincoln. It had given him the seal of establishment approval.

  Guy, as a Radcliffe, had always had it. The historic station he had inherited usually cleaned up all the competition in the wool sales. He had seen stacks of Grand Champion Fleece ribbons in Guy’s study. Wangaree fleece was as white as snow and superfine. Everyone in the business knew the big overseas fashion houses showed enormous interest in it.

  It was going to be tough for Linc. Sheep farming was a costly business, and the man on the land always had to contend with drought. Still, he knew he was up to it. It wouldn’t be too long and he would be winning awards in his own right. He had won them for Gilgarra, of course. Chuck had helped, too, but their dad had taken all the credit. He’d have to get himself a couple of really good sheep dogs. A really good dog could work a couple of thousand sheep. He, like Alana, favoured Border Collies. Guy had pointed him in the right direction, but he would need to train them his way. He loved dogs. He loved animals. Sometimes he thought more than people.

  It was very quiet, very peaceful, except for the birds flying through the air or diving ecstatically into the nectar-filled wilderness. This was the first time he had visited Briar’s Ridge on his own. Now it was his. It gave him a sense of accomplishment and fresh purpose. He hunted up the right key, unlocking the front door. Cleaners had been in. Everything was spick and span. Slowly he walked through the empty rooms, his mind already outlining what steps towards renovation he would take. Guy had given him the names of trades-men who worked in the area—carpenters, painters, plasterers, tilers, electricians and so forth. This wasn’t a grand house like Wangaree, and it didn’t approach Gilgarra homestead either, but he was eager to put his own stamp on it. His boots were making quite a clatter on the polished floors—a bright yellow-gold, Queensland maple, he thought. He liked polished timber. It made a nice contrast with the pale walls. He would, however, need rugs…