Shadows Over Taralon Read online

  “At the moment you’re keeping Marise waiting.”

  Tony uncurled himself from beside Jenny and the crushing pressure of his arm around her waist was gone. She took the opportunity to stand up, realizing to her fury that her face was flaming as red as a guilty schoolgirl’s, although she had done nothing to feel guilty about.

  “And Marise lacks patience to wait too long,” Tony agreed cheerfully. He waved a casual hand at Jenny. “Don’t forget that I have first claim on your time when you have some to spare,” he said with his flashing smile, and then disappeared down the veranda steps with Wayne beside him.

  Jenny heard the murmur of voices, then the roar of the sports car accelerating into life, and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. Wayne’s footsteps marched briskly across the veranda and came into the room. His brows were a straight black bar above his blazing grey eyes.

  He grasped Jenny’s arm in a painfully tight grip and propelled her out on to the veranda without saying anything. Her employer still stood against the mantelpiece. He had not farewelled his guests and didn’t seem to notice that Wayne had almost dragged Jenny out on to the veranda.

  Although the light streamed out from the dining and kitchen windows, and in an even brighter bar from the open French windows of the lounge room, the veranda itself was shadowy and Wayne’s face was a paler blur in the darkness.

  From the kitchen came the appetizing smells of food cooking, and the clink of Mrs. Harris setting up the big table in the dining room off the kitchen.

  “While you are employed here, you will not get friendly with Tony Bickerton, and that is an order,” Wayne snapped.

  “I really should check Merry. She is sure to need a bath before dinner,” Jenny said, ignoring Wayne’s odd outburst.

  Much to her surprise, Wayne grasped her shoulders and shook her. “You are a little fool, but I am warning you. Tony is not a suitable playmate for you!”

  “Kindly remove your hands,” Jenny stammered in rage. “Do you realize that what you are doing constitutes assault and battery, and hardly correct behavior. I believe that Bill Williams is my employer, not you, so mind your own business.”

  Wayne released her so unexpectedly she staggered. She could hear his heavy breathing. He was a dark bulk towering over her. She took a step back from him.

  “As I was silly enough to bring you up here, you are my responsibility and my business,” he ground out.

  “What I do in my own time is my own business,” Jenny flashed back, forgetting her original distaste and distrust of Tony in her rage. “I assume I am going to have some time of my own, in accordance with the usual custom of rostered time off for live-in employees.” He remained silent. “Or do you have a waiting cell with a chain with my name on it for my rostered day off?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Wayne drawled. Jenny realized his rage was icy. “Just remember what I said. You are our responsibility while you are employed at Taralon.”

  “I’m big enough to take responsibility for my own actions, thank you,” Jenny returned. “So spare me your feudal attitude.”

  She slammed into the kitchen, breathing hard. She hadn’t lost her temper for years. She prided herself on her self-control. Although she had to admit being physically manhandled by someone was certainly sufficient reason to blow her top. That arrogant man tried to treat her as if she wasn’t any older than Merry, throwing his weight around as if he owned her! She was going to have to stamp on his toes hard to stop him from getting too high-handed. She should have known, she raged to herself, that Wayne Peterson was going to be the one unpleasantness in her stay at this pleasant property.

  “I’ve already put Merry into the bath and don’t worry about the boys. Wayne always supervises their showers,” Mrs. Harris said cheerfully as she came back into the kitchen. She looked at Jenny more closely. “You certainly have got a touch of the sun today, my dear. Your face looks quite red.”

  “Yes,” Jenny said inadequately, and fled to supervise Merry’s bath time.

  One way or the other, her first day at Taralon had managed to prove quite eventful.

  Chapter Four

  Jenny nibbled at the pen, and turned over a new page on the ledger. The door of the small office was open and the sun streamed through like a solid yellow block. It was still too early for the sun to move around to filter through the tangled wisteria along the veranda. She thought about shutting the door, but decided that the heat was pleasant rather than uncomfortable, although it made her feel sleepy and the figures in front of her hard to concentrate on.

  She had been at Taralon for a whole week. Her life had settled into a pleasant routine. After breakfast the boys yelled their farewells as their father drove them off to meet the school bus. She and Merry then retired to the small cluttered office off the veranda. Merry sat at her own little desk, and scribbled on spare sheets of paper until Jenny finished the bookwork.

  When she finished it was time for the excursion around the property to inspect all the baby animals. After lunch Merry was borne off by Mrs. Harris for her afternoon nap and Jenny had a few hours to herself. Sometimes she went for a walk or saddled a horse and rode, or sometimes relaxed on the shady veranda with a book.

  The back of Jenny’s neck prickled. She lifted her head, aware of her visitor even before Merry's delighted squeal of, “Hi, Uncle Wayne,” as she flung herself at him.

  Wayne Paterson caught Merry and threw her into the air, and then waited with her cuddled into his arms. Jenny gave him a distant nod. To her embarrassment, she felt her cheeks flush hotly.

  She was unsure of where she stood with him. She had not seen him to talk to since their argument of the previous week. One of the hands had mentioned he had been supervising the excavation of the new dam at the other end of the property, but the fact he had not the decency to seek her out to apologize still rankled.

  The amusement died out of his eyes as he returned her look. Tiredness and strain were plain on his face and his brows drew across in their forbidding bar. Jenny knew that he put long hours and hard work into the management of Taralon, but then he countersigned the cheques so he obviously had a financial interest in the place. Bill Williams still drifted around like a grey, ineffectual ghost, leaving the decision-making and any practical work to his brother-in-law.

  “I don’t want to interrupt two hard-working ladies,” Wayne said smoothly. “Where’s Bill?”

  “He’s down at the stables,” Jenny said with equal courtesy. “He’s worried about Pretty Boy.”

  Wayne put Merry down without a word and departed. Jenny watched his progress towards the stables. He moved very quietly for a big man, yet he gave off an aura of suppressed energy and power so tangible that Jenny had to admit she could sense his presence before she even saw him.

  “Uncle Wayne’s cross,” Merry remarked as she returned to a jumble of crisscross lines on her paper.

  Jenny ignored her and sat, pen in hand as her mind drifted. Mrs. Harris had been in a talkative mood one morning when Jenny was helping with the jam-making.

  “I never thought Wayne would be such a hard man,” she had sighed. “He’s not grieving like poor Bill and yet he and Gwenda were so close.”

  “Some people hide their grief,” Jenny ventured, suddenly remembering the anguish she had glimpsed on his face when he had talked of his sister’s death.

  “Of course, Bill’s lucky he’s willing to pitch in,” Mrs. Harris rambled on. “He’s supposed to be a silent partner, but he hardly has time to eat between being here and trying to keep an eye on his own place.”

  Jenny continued cutting up fruit and remained silent, but Mrs. Harris was in full spate. So she heard all about Wayne Paterson’s success in building up a herd of good quality cattle and his innovative ideas on cattle breeding, stocking and land management.

  “He’s renovated the cottage on Paterley,” Mrs. Harris mused aloud. “I believe it looks lovely. We’re all wondering if he’s got the idea of marrying. He and Marise have
got very friendly.”

  “They seem very well suited,” Jenny agreed in a colorless voice.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Mrs. Harris sniffed. “Spoilt! She and her brother both, with all those fancy overseas schools and extravagant ideas. Wayne could do better.”

  Jenny turned the conversation back to the practicalities of whether the first lot of jam had been boiling long enough to jell. She didn’t want to listen to gossip, but Mrs. Harris was in a chatty mood.

  Jenny then heard all about the Bickertons, their lavish entertaining, their overseas trips and their expensive cars. The twins had been running their property since the death of their parents in a plane crash.

  “Of course Tony runs their place very successfully.” Mrs. Harris’s praise was grudging. “He’d have to, to afford their expensive tastes. It was his idea that Marise help Gwenda. I don’t know why Gwenda became so influenced by her. She’s got a nasty tongue.”

  Marise did have a nasty tongue, Jenny agreed to herself. She understood why the children didn’t like her. Even Merry’s sunny face shadowed when she came around.

  Jenny sighed and returned to copying figures. Maybe it wasn’t Marise and her antagonism and nasty tongue, but somehow there seemed to be a blight on the place that made her vaguely uncomfortable. The tragic death of Gwenda Williams was shocking, but surely the tension and strain on the faces around her should be easing as they accepted the grim fact of her death.

  Jenny’s eyes studied the neat column of figures. All the well-covered cattle were bringing good market prices this season. Yet, despite the good season, a lot of the neighbors who dropped in had the same expressions of gloom and worry on their faces.

  She was glad that her position was only temporary. Taralon was a pretty place, basking in its pleasant sunlit valley and, under normal circumstances, excluding the feudal attitude of Wayne Paterson, she would have loved working here. The three young hands always gave her shy but pleased grins as they passed. Mrs. Harris was a darling and Merry was a sweetheart. She genuinely liked the two boys and their gentle absent father yet, although she didn't consider herself sensitive to atmosphere, there was an inexplicable tension over the place.

  She shut the ledger with a snap. She was too unsettled to concentrate on figures. Merry had left the office, but her high pitched voice could be heard from the kitchen. Jenny went to investigate. Mrs. Harris was cooking, and looked flustered as Merry grabbed a scrap of pastry. Relief swept over her face at the sight of Jenny.

  “I’ll cook your gingerbread man, Merry,” she coaxed. “You and Jenny go down and visit Pretty Boy until lunch is ready.”

  Merry’s flushed face was sulky. “I don’t want to see Pretty Boy. I want to help.”

  “But Uncle Wayne might be down there,” Mrs. Harris coaxed.

  Merry’s face lit up. She ran out the door immediately. Jenny managed a smile for Mrs. Harris as she followed her out. The stables were the last place she wanted to be if Wayne was there, but keeping an eye on Merry was part of her morning duties.

  Pretty Boy was in the small yard beside the stables. He stood placidly, his chestnut coat glowing in the sun. The two men leaned against him, talking quietly. They stopped talking and waited in silence as Merry approached with Jenny following. Wayne swung Merry up and sat her on the fence.

  “Pretty Boy doesn’t look very sick,” Jenny commented. Pretty Boy put his ears forward and whinnied a welcome. Jenny had been a frequent visitor in her leisure time, and he nudged at her pocket for his expected tidbit. She fed him a lump of sugar. “Why the worried faces?”

  Bill Williams gave a sudden smile and the worried lines on his face eased. “He’s pulled a tendon,” he explained. “And it is only six weeks to the race meeting.”

  For a few seconds, he looked almost normal, his eyes keen and his face years younger. Jenny suspected that his concern for the horse Pretty Boy, his dead wife’s passion and hobby, took his mind off his grief.

  “He looks fit enough to me to win the race with both back legs hobbled,” Jenny ventured with a smile.

  “A loyal statement from an admirer of Pretty Boy,” Wayne teased, smiling down at her. “But we will put our hopes on him winning without that sort of handicap.”

  “And your money too?” Jenny said primly, trying to keep her eyes from dancing her amusement.

  She suddenly felt lighthearted, as if the intangible blight over her was removed. She would never forgive nor forget Wayne’s boorish treatment of her the previous week, she told herself, but it was easy to understand his popularity when he concentrated his teasing smile on her.

  It was a smile that transformed his entire face and he looked a different person. The smiles he gave Merry, or Mrs. Harris or even Marise weren’t like this one. His black brows arched and his face was suddenly younger and alive with mirth. His grey eyes softened as they crinkled up with an understanding twinkle in them. Something deep inside Jenny responded, despite herself. She could feel the warmth of her smile that idiotically refused to fade.

  “You will come and see him race with the rest of us?” Bill demanded, the relaxed expression still on his face as he leaned against the horse.

  “That sounds like fun,” Jenny agreed.

  “The whole district gathers for the meeting,” Wayne explained, still with that smile on his face. “And for the dinner party afterwards, and the ball.”

  “I’m coming too,” Merry said excitedly.

  “For the afternoon only, young lady,” Wayne said. He glanced back at his brother-in-law. “What about staying for the rest of the racing carnival like you usually do?”

  The light died out of Bill William’s eyes and the absent grey look closed down over his face. Whatever memories he had of the rest of the racing carnival were suddenly bleak and unpleasant.

  “I’ll return with Pretty Boy straight after the race.”

  “You have to stay for the celebration dinner when Pretty Boy wins,” Wayne urged.

  He looked anxious. He gave Jenny an odd look of appeal. “And all your employees will stay for the ball. It’s the custom.”

  “I certainly would love to meet all your neighbors and stay for the ball,” Jenny pleaded with a smile. “If I’m allowed to come, that is?”

  “Of course,” her employer assured her, suddenly recollecting his manners. “I suppose it would be selfish of me to spoil everyone’s day out by leaving early.” This earned Jenny a quick glance of gratitude from Wayne that was so warming she could feel the heat in her pinkening cheeks. Bill’s faded eyes focused on her. “Life is quiet enough around here for a pretty young girl like yourself.”

  “Never,” Jenny contradicted eagerly. “I just love being here. There’s always lots of things happening.”

  The silence lengthened and lengthened. The two men exchanged grim looks. Jenny tried to keep the smile on her mouth, but it felt forced. What had she said wrong this time?

  “I want to go back to the house,” Merry pouted, breaking the silence. “Mrs. Harris is cooking my gingerbread man.”

  “Morning tea sounds like a good idea,” Wayne agreed as he lifted her down from the fence. “I heard about Mrs. Harris making gingerbread men.”

  “And I made one specially for you,” Merry called back as she ran on ahead.

  The three adults walked back to the house. The strained, grey, absent look had returned to Bill William’s face. Wayne’s brows had lowered into their forbidding bar and he looked morose and preoccupied.

  Jenny didn’t try to break the silence. Her earlier light-hearted merriment had evaporated completely. Why had she forgotten Wayne’s unpleasant feudal streak so easily to warm to his charm anyway? What had she said to offend?

  She had only been trying to reassure her employer when she babbled that there were lots of things happening at Taralon! Why had her innocent remark caused the atmosphere of the pleasant morning to change so quickly?

  Despite the hot sun, she shivered as she sensed the intangible brooding tension of Taralon creep ba
ck over her.

  Chapter Five

  Her free time after lunch was the nicest time of the day, Jenny decided. She had settled on the veranda with a book, the sun filtering warm through the tangled wisteria. Taralon seemed to sleep in the noonday warmth, and the only sound was the drowsy hum of bees in the purple flowers.

  She listened with half an ear as the discussion about Pretty Boy went on and on. The two men had settled on the veranda to finish their tea and coffee, and Bill roused out of his apathy to argue the merits of the elderly veterinarian who had been so helpful about the strained tendon. Jenny got the impression that Wayne took the opposite view just to get Bill to talk.

  The hum of voices stopped suddenly. Jenny looked up from her book. Tony Bickerton had arrived. He was dressed casually in jeans and a checked shirt. Bill gave him a vague smile and Wayne the slightest of nods.

  With his arrival, the pleasant relaxed atmosphere was suddenly gone. Tony gave them a flashing smile, but addressed himself to Jenny.

  “You promised to come riding, Jenny Wren. I see you’ve forgotten!”

  Jenny flushed. She had evaded Tony’s insistent invitations when he called by, saying she didn’t know when she had any free time. She looked across at the showy grey horse tied to the rails. Tony had now made it look as if she had arranged to go with him without consulting her employer.

  She opened her mouth to come out with a polite refusal and apology, deciding again that Tony Bickerton had encroaching ways when he wasn’t checked. It was the very stillness of posture that alerted her to Wayne. His face was expressionless, the grey eyes under the straight bars of brows like icy chips. She sensed he was furious.

  She stared at him in silent defiance. So he was furious? His smiling charm over the past few weeks had almost obscured the memory of his weird feudal attitude, an attitude that was completely inexplicable. It was no business of his who she went out with and where. He had no right to dictate her actions! She listened to herself answer recklessly.