Golden Hope (53 page)

‘Then it's pay-back time. I'm your manager now, sweetheart. You'll earn the money on your back.'

‘Over my dead body, she will!'

The soft, steely voice came from the shadows of the open door. Finch stood with legs planted wide, gripping the rifle he trained at Vlad's head.

‘Let the lady go, or I'll separate you from your balls – one by one. That's if you
have
any balls.'

Vlad dropped the knife and gave a shrug of capitulation. ‘I'll be on my way.'

‘Not so fast,' Finch said.

His glance took in Clytie's clumsy attempts to hold her torn blouse together. With one hand he tore the scarf from his throat and tossed it across to her.

She knotted one end around her neck to cover her breast and said politely, ‘Thank you.'

Finch jerked his head in the direction of the barn. ‘Bring me the rope – now!'

Clytie did not hesitate but at the door she screamed out, ‘No!'

Cornered, Vlad had panicked. He lunged at Finch, wrested the rifle from his hands, raised it and fired point blank at Finch's face. The only sound was a soft metallic click.

Vlad's jaw dropped. ‘It's not loaded!'

‘I never waste a bullet on a mongrel,' Finch said.

He threw himself bodily across the room, crashing Vlad to the floor, his hands around his throat as he repeatedly banged the man's head against the floor.

Clytie's blood ran cold at the expression on Finch's face.

So that's blood lust. Finch will
kill him and be hanged for murder.

The next moment the two men's bodies were reversed. Vlad was now astride Finch, one hand around his throat, the other pummelling his face with his fist, both of them instantly splattered with Finch's blood.

As if cornered by a wild animal, Clytie acted on sheer instinct. She seized the iron frying pan, raised it above her head and brought it crashing down on the back of Vlad's skull.

With a guttural roar he collapsed spread-eagled across Finch's body. His face covered Finch's bloody face like a grotesque mockery of a kiss.

Finch crawled out from under the heavy, inert body and staggered to his feet, angrily warding off Clytie's attempts to mop his bloodied face.

‘Jesus, Clytie, you certainly know how to deflate a man's ego. I'm the one who is supposed to protect
you!'

‘You were. You were wonderful. But he might have killed you.'

Finch eyed her in embarrassment. ‘How about you do as you're told for once? Fetch that rope from the barn – before this mongrel regains consciousness.'

Clytie returned with the coil of rope and handed it over obediently. With Finch's scarf concealing her chest she looked like a small child in a highchair, her dress protected by a baby's feeder.

‘Can I help you?' Clytie asked politely.

Finch barely restrained himself. ‘Give me a break! I fought in the damned war. I know how to take a man prisoner.'

Within seconds he had roped Vlad's legs together and tied his hands behind his back. With one end of the rope he loosely knotted a noose around his neck.

‘Is he still alive?' Clytie asked as if the answer was of little relevance.

‘Who cares?' Finch reached out to steady himself on the back of a chair. ‘I could do with a cup of tea,' he admitted.

Clytie poured the tea into a mug and held it to his lips. ‘What do we do next?'

‘
You
do nothing. You never even saw Vlad, understand? I'll get rid of the evidence – one way or another.'

‘You don't mean Diggers' Rough Justice – tossing him down an abandoned mine shaft?'

‘You've got a better idea?'

‘Yes! There's a horse grazing outside – it must be Vlad's. Tie his body over its back and leave the horse inside Sergeant Mangles's horse paddock at the back of the police station. He'll find Vlad in the morning, dead or alive. And no one will be any the wiser.'

Finch looked up in surprise. ‘Are you sure you haven't done this kind of thing before?'

Clytie gave a resigned smile. ‘I should have done it years ago when he was beating up my mother. I didn't have the courage. I wasn't sure if she still loved him.'

Finch nodded thoughtfully. ‘Decent cup of tea,' he said politely.

‘Sorry I'd run out of milk,' she said, and gave a nervous giggle at the foolishness of her words at such a time.

‘Go to bed, Clytie. Turn out the light. I'll take care of business.'

Finch took a deep breath then heaved the man's huge body over his back and staggered out the door with it.

•  •  •

Leading the horse along the bush track strapped up with its human cargo, Finch was still tossing up whether or not to choose his preferred option and end Vlad's days down some long abandoned mine shaft, when he saw Shadow bounding towards him, followed by the figure of a man.

Doc eyed the body slung over the horse. ‘Who's that, all trussed up like a carcass of beef ready for the spit?'

‘He attacked Clytie with a knife.'

‘So that's the reason Shadow was determined to drag me here.' Doc ruefully eyed the tear in his ruined trousers. ‘A small price to pay. I can't blame him for protecting Clytie.'

Doc examined the body's bloodstained face, lifted the eyelids.

‘He's still alive. Nasty crack on the head. I've seen him before. The Knife-Thrower was Dolores Hart's partner.'

‘Yeah, Clytie's step-father, poor kid,' Finch said.

Doc patted the Kelpie's ears. ‘Good boy, Shadow, you saved your mistress. You're worth your weight in gold.'

Finch bit back the words.
Seems everyone's a hero except me.

‘Thanks, Doc, for coming out in the middle of the night.'

Doc shrugged it off. ‘All part of the job. May I make a suggestion about how to get rid of him?'

‘Why not? Everyone else has.'

‘It would be unwise for you and Clytie to be linked to this villain's injuries – in case he doesn't pull through. Leave him to me. I'll tend his wounds and keep him sedated in case he tries to get frisky with me.'

‘Then what?'

‘Tomorrow I'll have a word with Sergeant Mangles. Dolores Hart had her admirers – including Mangles. Vlad was a known wife-beater. I guarantee Mangles will ensure that this heap of rubbish never dares bother Clytie again.'

Finch was tired and frustrated but he remembered to thank Doc as he reluctantly handed across the horse's reins.

‘I must admit I'm a bit disappointed, Doc. I rather fancied the idea of Diggers' Rough Justice.'

‘Indeed it is a most tempting alternative,' Doc agreed. ‘The problem is that sooner or later skeletons always turn up at the bottom of a mineshaft.'

As Doc led the horse away, Finch tossed in a casual final word.

‘By the way, Doc, I saw Rom again tonight. As large as life and twice as cocky. Have you seen him again?'

Doc hesitated. ‘No. But it seems Adelaide has.'

The darkness swallowed up man and beast except for the sound of their retreating footsteps.

Finch slowly made his way home, led by Shadow, who for once did not set a cracking pace, perhaps out of respect for his obvious injuries.

The priest's house lay in darkness. Unbidden, Shadow took up
his protective position, spread across the doorstep to keep guard all night.

Overcome by waves of fatigue Finch did not bother to remove any clothing except his boots. He lay under the blanket, watching the stars around the Southern Cross through the barn window, lulled by the feathery rustle of gum trees in the wind.

He knew he should be admiring Clytie's courage, her quick thinking that might well have saved his life . . . the tenderness of her hands as she tried to bathe his wounds. Instead, one memory was uppermost in his mind: the sweet recurring image of the whiteness of her breast exposed by her torn blouse . . . and the look in her eyes when she covered herself with his scarf.

Was it simply gratitude? Or something more? Does she feel what I feel?

The mysterious clock that young Harry Levi had delivered from ‘an unknown friend' was an antique, charming and reliable. The hands showed seven o'clock and Clytie felt pleased she no longer had to calculate the shadows in the garden to judge the time. Her first hope was that the gift was from Rom. On second thoughts she suspected it could be Finch, who had witnessed her smashing her old clock in a rage. Whoever the giver was, she decided to respect their wish to remain anonymous.

The table was set for a special meal she had planned to celebrate Finch's first week's pay cheque from Sonny Jantzen who had made it clear to Finch that he valued his advice, hard work and discretion.

She had seen little of Finch since the night of the attack. Vlad's stay in Hoffnung was cut short by Mangles. Rumours were widespread. Mangles had sent the Knife-Thrower packing with the warning never to come within ten miles of Clytie if he valued his manhood.

Clytie was forced to admit Finch had not put a foot wrong since he took up residence in her barn. He had quietly, conscientiously made improvements around her little property without getting in her way. He was playing their agreement by the book. And yet . . .

Clytie knew she was being unreasonable. She felt foolish that she had baked a mutton and vegetable pie and made a blackberry tart so large she would be eating both dishes for a week.

After a solitary meal confiding her resentment to Shadow, she changed into Dolores's kimono and curled up by the fire with the latest copy of Louisa Lawson's newspaper,
Dawn.
She shared Adelaide's pride not only that it was written and printed by a team of women, despite strong opposition from male printers, but also that the three-penny price made it accessible to most families, including ‘women running a home without servants'.

Clytie's eye was caught by the frank and fearless article on Spousal Abuse.

I wish Mama had read this when Vlad was abusing her. No wonder its
influence has spread beyond our shores to Britain and America – well behind us in the fight for women's rights.

Clytie normally read each issue from cover to cover. Tonight her eyes kept straying from the page.

‘I don't want to act like a nagging wife, Shadow. Finch is a free agent, after all. And I
am
Rom's woman.'

She glanced for reassurance at the photograph on the mantelpiece but the sight of it unsettled her.

It isn't in direct sunlight – and it's framed. Yet it seems to be fading!

This startling thought was broken by the heavy sound of a man's boots approaching the house – Finch's unmistakeable footfall. He knocked at the open door and stood propped in the doorframe. There was a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, but his hooded eyes were guarded.

Clytie shivered, recognising the signs. Although far from inebriated, alcohol had broken down his reserve. Things had either gone very well – or very badly.

‘The pie is still warm. Help yourself by all means.' She waved a hand airily towards the stove and continued reading as if nothing else in the world was worthy of her attention.

‘Thanks. I ate at the pub.'

‘Perhaps you could let me know in future.'

‘We're not married,' he said cockily, then quickly tried to repair the broken fence between them. ‘I'm sorry, Clytie, that was uncalled for. I appreciate all you've done for me. I've never been so well fed in my life. You could run a restaurant if you put your mind to it.'

‘Only if I also had the liquor licence – it seems that's where the real money lies,' she said airily, flipping the pages of
Dawn.
‘How's Ginger?'

He ignored the barb. ‘I'm not drunk,' he said defensively.

‘No concern of mine if you are.'

‘I just needed to unwind a bit. My work with Sonny is going well in one sense. He now wants me to work full time. At more than decent pay. But another problem blew up in my face. I'm not sure yet just how to handle it – or even if I have the right to get involved.'

Is this an overture to unburden himself? Something about Rom?

‘It sounds serious. Can I help?'

He took a couple of steps into the room and measured his words as if they cost him dearly. ‘It concerns the past – and the future. It's about Rom. You. And me. Time for me to decide whether to stay or go. A promise between men can only stretch so far.'

Clytie felt her heart beating rapidly. She spoke without thinking.

‘Perhaps I'm the one to solve your dilemma. Your promise to Rom is fulfilled, thank you. I don't need you – I never did. Time for you to move on?' She gestured casually to the door. ‘The door's open, Finch. You're perfectly free to pack your bag and go whenever you want.'

His hands were flexing as if ready to take on an opponent in a prize fight.

‘Don't you understand, girl? I
want
to leave. But I
can't
!'

‘
What's stopping you?' She regretted the words the instant they were out.

It was the point of no return.

‘Don't trust me!'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because you're everything a man could want. Don't say I didn't warn you.'

Finch lunged forward, grabbed the newspaper out of her hands and threw it across the room. He pulled her to her feet. His hands entwined in her hair, he held her face so tightly and close she could not avoid his eyes.

The answer came in a savage cry of anger. ‘Let Rom go! He's the past. I'm here now. Real. I want you.
Take me!
'

His mouth covered hers and she could not breathe. Her hands were free but her body felt it had no life of its own. She tried to push him away but instead her hands pressed against his chest, feeling the heat of his body.