Outback Sunset (39 page)

She stopped the ute about five metres from the rough-hewn, wide timber posts with their painted sign that straddled them, declaring it the boundary of Amaroo Downs — the homestead was another fifteen kilometres due west. Feeling for the water bottle on the seat beside her she unscrewed the top and took a long drink, after which she reached into her bag to pull out a small bottle. She put two pills into her hand. For a few seconds she stared at the pills, mentally debating whether to take them. She shrugged her shoulders. Why not? They calmed her, made her feel in control and, besides, now she had her image as a personable TV presenter to live up to. That’s what they expected at Amaroo and that was what she intended to show Vanessa — that she was as good if not better. She swallowed the pills with more water then got out for a minute to stretch her legs.

Underneath the station’s name, in smaller letters were the words:

‘Proprietor: Brendan Selby’.

Standing with her hands on her slim hips, Nova stared at the sign, then, in a slow pirouette, she did a full circle. Her gaze took in the three hundred and
sixty degree view of what could be seen for a distance of about twenty kilometres. A sly, confident smile, made her appear quite beautiful. Her gaze returned to the proprietor’s name and her expression became vindictive. The smile widened as the inner voice chanted for Nova’s benefit,
not for much longer, Bren Selby, not for much longer …

Nova’s return to the fold, so to speak, was sufficient reason for Fran to cook up a celebratory dinner which was waiting for her when she roared into the yard behind the homestead and brought the ute to a bone-shaking halt.

During dinner in the large, friendly kitchen where everyone ate except on special occasions, it was gratifying to be welcomed like a long-lost member of the family. In all honesty, the Selbys were the only family Nova had ever known, having spent almost all her growing up years on the property. She had gifts for everyone.

Kyle loved his set of model cars and the video of her latest children’s song. Regan, with whom she kept up an occasional correspondence, loved the clothes she’d bought her. Her father, who collected records, almost got teary-eyed when she presented him with an original Vic Damone vinyl. Vanessa got her favourite perfume, Curtis received several books and Bren was pleased with a leather-bound whisky decanter. Warren liked his new CDs and Fran wasn’t forgotten either, receiving slippers and several new kitchen aprons.

‘You’d think this was Christmas,’ Fran remarked as she gave Nova a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks, love.’

‘And thank you for the delicious dinner,’ Nova responded.

‘What are your plans now that the TV series is finished?’ a curious Warren asked.

‘I’ve an option for another series. Anthea’s negotiating with the channel for a better financial deal.’

‘Good on you, love,’ Reg said with a chuckle. ‘I’m looking forward to you keeping your old man in luxury in my declining years.’

‘Hah. You mean like now,’ Fran shot back and everyone laughed.

Nova, smiling, let her gaze rest on Curtis. Both he and Bren, who was usually the gregarious one when a party atmosphere evolved, were subdued. The strain of the recent squabble — an understatement if one believed Reg’s version — was evident in their polite, guarded remarks to and around each other. Vanessa, superb actress that she was, behaved as if nothing untoward had occurred but, Nova, as she quietly appraised everyone at the table, knew better. An undercurrent of tension in the room was obvious.

After dessert, and feigning tiredness after a long day’s travel, Nova was first to leave and go to the tidy apartment at the back of the stockmen’s quarters to unpack. Her nerve ends tingled from the excitement of anticipation — the same feeling she got before she performed. How in hell was she going to sleep? Very soon she would be dropping the biggest bomb on those who lived at Amaroo — and the repercussions had the potential to shatter the lives of half the people who lived there. Yet she felt
no remorse about what she planned to do. She saw it as a means to an end, her way of assuring Curtis’s undying gratitude.

Oh, boy. She lay on her single bed in the bedroom whose walls were still covered with the posters of country rock stars she’d been crazy about in her teens. It was going to be spectacular.

Vanessa was supervising Kyle and Regan as they did their School of the Air lessons in one of the bedrooms that had been turned into a schoolroom. Curtis had organised things so that Regan and Kyle had separate desks, and there were bookshelves for school and project books, a computer and printer too. One wall contained several maps thumb-tacked to the wall and on a separate table near the window stood the radio used to contact the School of the Air. After their turn at the microphone, where they spoke to their teacher, Debbie Franklin, she watched the two heads, one blond, one ginger, bend studiously over their books.

Vanessa should have been working but her concentration was poor, and she was doodling instead of checking the final script draft for
North of the Nullarbor
. The movie was scheduled to start production in a few months’ time. Her thoughts kept drifting … She should be pleased and relieved because Curtis had returned to Amaroo. She was, but … things were different between them. The fight had changed everything, including her feelings for Bren, what was happening to them and how, frighteningly, she had been a hair’s breadth from walking away from their marriage.

Something indefinable had been lost between Bren and Curtis, and herself and Curtis, and she doubted that, while Bren had taken the blame for the fight, the special, unspoken camaraderie between her and her brother-in-law had become a thing of the past. The balance had somehow shifted and she doubted that there would be a readjustment. Since his return she had been aware of a distance between them, as if he were uncomfortable when he looked and spoke to her. She had tried to figure out why but had been unable to come up with an answer.

Resolutely, because thinking about it got her nowhere, she turned her thoughts away from Curtis, to Nova’s return. Nova had come a long way, with her share of ups and downs, and was now a success. She had found her niche, and exuded an aura of confidence that had been lacking before. Despite all of that, the question rose in her mind — was this the real Nova or was her confidence and personality being assisted by … drugs? Hmm, she wasn’t sure. Her heart wanted to believe that Nova had outgrown the need, but niggles of doubt prevailed. She had read that addicts usually did something to give themselves away and only time would tell if that were so. Nova had returned because she still dreamt of a relationship with Curtis, and if such a situation came about everyone on Amaroo would breathe a sigh of relief.

Nova would be happy. Reg and Fran would be happy. Vanessa’s thoughts turned to getting and keeping them together, in the hope that doing so would strike a romantic spark. For one thing, the
seven sub-artesian bores throughout the far-flung property were due for checking and who better to do the chore than Curtis and Nova? She hadn’t dabbled in matchmaking before but it was something that would take her mind off her problems with Bren. She believed Kerri would be amused, but, if that’s what it took to get things started then so be it.

The ride to and from the last bores in Spring Valley, so named because of its profusion of wildflowers in spring, had been accomplished in half a day. Inspecting the last bore Curtis and Nova found the remains of a bird impaled on the metal. It had slammed into the blade’s propeller at the top of the windmill tower, bending it out of shape and useless. Because the windmill wasn’t pumping the water up, they had to start the diesel engine and pump water into the tank which filled the circular cement trough to service several hundred head. They cooled their heels till quite a few Brahmans ambled up to drink their fill, then they refilled the trough as they discussed the repairs to the propeller.

‘We’ll need to put a new one in if we can’t fix this one,’ Nova said as she looked up at the bent shaft of the propeller.

‘The cattle have enough water for a couple of days, but with evaporation and use, it’ll have to be fixed by the end of the week or we’ll have some very thirsty Brahmans on our hands.’

‘We could do it Thursday.’ For Nova, spending the day working with Curtis had been like old times. They made a good team, each knowing what the
other wanted or needed without having to be asked. That’s how it was between them, Nova assured herself, they were so compatible.

Two hours later, with the homestead and other buildings in sight, they gave the horses their head and galloped through the bottom paddock towards the stockyards. They dismounted outside the saddle room to remove saddles and bridles, after which they washed, then rubbed the horses down.

‘You haven’t lost your deft touch with a diesel motor, you got it started first go,’ Curtis praised, giving her a wink as he spoke.

‘You and Dad taught me everything I know about motors, and about Amaroo. I can still fix my share of things about the place.’

‘And it’s good that you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.’ He gave her a cheeky glance. ‘What with you being the successful TV star and all,’ he added as he washed his hands under the hose.

‘Do go on,’ she responded, batting her eyelids and joining in with his lightheartedness.

At that moment Nova, prodded by her inner voice hissing dictatorially,
tell him, tell him, now
, made her decision. Now was the time to tell him because he appeared contented and at ease. They’d been working together for two days and he was like the Curtis of old, teasing, sharing a joke or two, friendly. It was time he knew the truth so he could realise his full potential, to step away from and out of Bren’s shadow.

‘Curtis,’ she began, ‘I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you something. It’s important.’

He bestowed a quizzical glance on her then continued to rinse his hands. ‘About you or me?’

‘About you.’

‘What? Have you been making a list of my character flaws?’

‘No, silly. Be serious.’ She turned to face him. ‘I am.’

Studying her in that quiet way of his, he leant against the stockyard’s fence and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. ‘Okay, fire away.’

Nova had rehearsed, over and over, what she intended to say, how she was going to tell him but with the moment upon her, in delivering the words she got tangled up. ‘It’s about your mother, and Stuart,’ she blurted out. ‘How they cheated on your father and, and … had an affair. She got pregnant and …’ she had to take a breath before she said it. ‘Bren is Stuart’s son, not Matthew’s.’ There, she’d said it.

With her heart pounding inside her chest, she exhaled slowly, and not daring to check his expression, waited …

‘A
re you insane?’ his usually quiet voice rose dramatically. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Nova? Who told you such a stupid story?’

‘It’s true, Curtis, every word. I swear.’ She had expected him not to believe her at first, that he would take some convincing. ‘I found out, several months ago in fact. I bumped into Diane Selby at a restaurant when I was in Perth. She was a touch under the weather and we talked. During our conversation Diane said several things and, when she realised her slip of the tongue, she swore me to secrecy but,’ her shoulders shrugged with indifference to Stuart’s wife’s problem, ‘I think you have the right to know.’

Curtis’s gaze narrowed on her sharply, his features taut with controlled anger. He asked through thinning lips, ‘What did Diane say? Tell me, word for word.’

Her confidence rising because he hadn’t laughed at her, or turned and walked away, she began to relate the details of what had been said that night at the restaurant … When she finished, he shook his head in disbelief.
He’s in denial, we knew he would be at first.

‘You know Diane. She’s had it in for Stuart for years because of his indiscretions. She lied and you bought the lie.’

‘At first I thought that but, Curtis, her story makes sense. Think back: remember the stories we’ve heard over the years. How Matthew was often away for long periods of time and that Hilary used to get lonely. How she had a nervous breakdown after Bren’s birth and that her cousin, Claire, came and helped out for two months. Why did that happen when Bren’s was a normal birth? Was it guilt because of what she and Stuart had done? And why was Bren her favourite — more guilt over her affair with him?’ She was on a roll now and though she could tell that he wanted her to stop, she kept going. ‘Also, look at Bren. He doesn’t resemble your father at all but he does look very much like your uncle. They
could
be father and son.’

‘Of course they’re alike,’ he retorted with forced amusement, ‘they are uncle and nephew, after all.’

‘All right, something else.’ She let that one go, she had other points to bring to his attention. ‘Remember when Kyle was ill and you had the highest compatibility rate for the transplant. Why wasn’t Bren more compatible?’ She saw a shadow of doubt creep across his features but it was gone in an instant.

‘The specialist explained that. Sometimes a more distant relative, for no logical reason they know of, can be more compatible.’

‘There is one way to find out,’ she challenged, ‘ask Diane. If she confirms my story, you could then ask your mother.’

‘Why, Nova?’ He stared at her as if she had suddenly developed two heads. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

Tell him why, Nova
, her little voice hissed through her brain. ‘Because I believe that Amaroo is rightfully yours. The station doesn’t belong to Bren.’

‘Jesus …’ All at once the ramifications of Nova’s disclosure began to sink in. Curtis passed a hand across his forehead and ran it through his sandy coloured hair.

‘Curtis, all this,’ her hands swept encompassingly around the shed, the breaking-in yard, to the paddocks and beyond, ‘could be yours.’

His mouth tightened and he put up his right hand, palm raised like a stop sign. ‘Don’t say another word.
Don’t.’