Outback Sunset (32 page)

It was sickening. The man she had been in love with for years couldn’t take his eyes off Vanessa as she chased a squealing Kyle around the sandpit, scooped him up in her arms and deposited him on the swing.
And, damn it, doesn’t Vanessa look good; so healthy, vital and beautiful
, the voice said. And it was true. Amaroo’s mistress rarely got sick; she didn’t have any mental problems or a drug dependency.
Almost, bloody perfect
, the uncharitable thought ran through Nova’s head.

Several muscles twisted inside her chest, around the region of her heart, squeezing, tightening, until a bubble of bile rose in her throat as she stared at Curtis. Shit a brick, why hadn’t she cottoned on to Curtis’s preoccupation before? Was she blind?
Yes,
it’s clear that Curtis has, or is developing feelings for his brother’s wife
, the voice sniped subtly.

Nova shook her head, wanting to deny what she’d seen and the thoughts tumbling around inside her brain but the proof was there before her very eyes. No, maybe Curtis wasn’t aware of his forbidden interest — she sought excuses.
I suppose that’s possible, yet …?
The insidious voice planted the uncertainty into her head. Angry with Curtis and with the unsuspecting Vanessa, the nerves at the side of her mouth began to twitch. She glanced towards Bren Selby … If he knew he would kill Curtis. Bren was a possessive man and more than once he’d implied that if any one tried to crack on to Vanessa he would enjoy pulverising them.

A deep, spiralling depression began to engulf her, but the sensation was different to her recent breakdown though as intense and all-encompassing. The more she thought about Curtis and Vanessa the more physically ill she felt. Everyone at Amaroo knew Curtis had changed his opinion about Vanessa. At the beginning he had scoffed at her capacity to fit in but over the years, as she’d proven herself, the dislike had softened.
To what?
The voice in her head asked,
infatuation, love?
Her head shook from side to side again as she sought to clarify her thoughts. For a start she didn’t believe that Vanessa reciprocated in any way. No way. She hardly knew that Curtis was alive, except as a brother-in-law and a business partner.
But … that doesn’t matter
, the voice inside drummed over and over in her brain,
Curtis is yours, he belongs to you — he just doesn’t know it yet
. Yes, she agreed with the voice, with all her heart.

Being at Amaroo, seeing him almost every day, doing chores together, sharing jokes, talking with him had confirmed the love she felt for him. His kindnesses, his consideration and his gentleness were, to her, proof that given the right encouragement, over time, his feelings towards her would change and intensify. Now, this … complication. Staring hollow-eyed at Curtis, then at Vanessa, made a nerve near her mouth begin to flick more erratically as a silent, frustrating fury flowed through her. It wasn’t fair, shit, it was not …

Her now thoroughly jaundiced gaze narrowed as it focussed on Vanessa, beautiful, talented Vanessa, and an anger so strong it made her tremble, came over her.
She’s not really your friend, you know, she’s the enemy
, her inner voice insinuated. Even if Vanessa had done a hundred things for her in the past, even if Nova had once considered her an idol to live up to and measure her own success by, none of that counted anymore. By God, it didn’t. A powerful and vicious jealousy was making her stomach muscles tighten as she tried to think what she could do.

The next instant her features took on a feral slyness. She had to do something about
her
to attain her goal — Curtis. Her gaze swung towards Sandy. The dog was barking excitedly at Kyle being pushed on the swing. Hmmm, her thoughts were starting to tick overtime now, planning, scheming. The object of her anger was going to London soon and …
Wouldn’t it be good if she didn’t return
, came the venomous thought. Mmmm, yes, that would be very good.

A cunning smile tilted the corners of Nova’s mouth. There were ways to make life unpleasant at Amaroo,
things
could be done to encourage Vanessa to spend more time away from Amaroo than on it which, she believed, would effectively lessen Curtis’s fascination for her. Her brain began to work double-time as an assortment of ideas, heightened by contributions from the internal voice that dominated her thoughts …

S
tepping out of the shower, Vanessa towelled herself dry. It was still early in the morning and she didn’t have to rub hard; the warm air dried her body in a few minutes. She began to comb her wet hair. The strong, Australian sun had streaked it almost platinum on the top of her head. She gazed critically at her features. No freckles, yet, because her skin tone was too olive, still she dutifully moisturised her face twice a day and applied a fifteen plus suntan cream because she didn’t want to look like a dried-up prune. Some outback women, Fran included, who hadn’t taken care of their skin, aged prematurely because of the outback’s harsh effects.

Her thoughts turned to Bren. He was out on a muster with Reg and Warren, rounding up and moving part of the herd to better pasture. They would be away for three days. A frown creased her forehead as she thought about her husband. It was hard not to, occasionally, when she found time to think about it, to compare the Bren of today to the man who had courted her in England. Oh, he could still be charming when it suited him, but he could also be aggressive,
childish and moody. She had come to know the warning signs, usually triggered by restlessness. He would become short-tempered with everyone, then drink excessively, to relax, he said. But alcohol had the opposite effect on Bren, it made him
more
aggressive. And he would want more sex. She accepted that, but at such times he wasn’t always a considerate lover, being too absorbed in his own pleasures. Then the restlessness would escalate until he took off in the plane or chopper to Broome or, less frequently to Darwin to be pampered by his mother. A change of scene helped because he came back the old Bren, the man she knew and for the most part, still loved.

Vanessa moved to the wardrobe to take out her favourite shirt, a pink cotton that was lightweight, perfect for the hot day ahead. When she pulled the shirt off the coat-hanger, to her consternation there was a large brown stain down the front.

‘What the …?’ she exclaimed, frowning. The stain, across both sides of the shirtfront was brown and looked like machine oil or chocolate. Ruined, she thought. But how? Disappointed, she pulled out another shirt and put it on and, when dressed and with the ruined shirt in her hand, she went looking for Fran.

‘Is something wrong with the washing machine?’ she asked Fran as the latter came out of the pantry with an armful of groceries.

‘Not that I know of, why?’

‘Look at this.’ Vanessa showed Fran the pink shirt. ‘Any idea how that could happen?’

Fran studied the shirt, brought the material close to her nose to smell it. ‘Smells like machine oil. I
washed it the other day, ironed it and put it in your wardrobe. There was no stain on it then, I’m sure of that,’ she affirmed then, scratching her head, added, ‘I don’t know how this could have happened.’

‘Another mysterious happening on Amaroo, I suppose,’ Vanessa said tongue-in-cheek. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of the shirt, but she was puzzled. The other day, when she’d gone to dust ornaments in the living room she had found a photograph of herself — one taken when she’d been on stage doing
The Glass Menagerie
— smashed on the floor and the photo oddly torn, almost in half. No one knew how that had happened either — and it had been positioned on a shelf too high for Kyle to reach! And then, two days ago there had been another incident. She had been about to go out on a trail ride with Nova and Curtis and as she’d mounted her horse the saddle girth had snapped and she’d fallen onto the ground and bruised a hip. All very odd … she concluded.

‘I’m sure it’s not the washing machine, but I’ll get Reg to take a look at it to be sure,’ Fran offered.

Vanessa sighed. ‘Okay, thanks.’

Nova, standing in the hallway, out of sight, smiled as she turned away and moved towards the homestead’s office. She had more plans to unsettle Vanessa before she went off to London. Oh, yes, indeed she did.

The phone rang precisely at 8 a.m., disturbing the morning’s silence in the kitchen. Fran looked expectantly at Nova who was closest to the receiver. When her stepdaughter made no move to answer it,
she clucked her tongue loud enough to show her irritation and picked up the handset herself.

‘Hello.’ Pause, ‘Yes, she’s here.’ Fran wiggled the receiver at Nova. ‘It’s for you. Your manager.’

Nova, her eyes suddenly sparkling, a smile on her face, took the receiver. ‘Anthea, hi. How are things in the east?’

‘Chilly, love. Eight degrees this morning, but then it is the middle of winter in Sydney,’ Anthea answered dryly. Then, business-like as usual, she got straight to it. ‘About those children’s songs you sent me. I have an interested party, a very keen party who wants you to do video clips of them and, if satisfactory, they’ll follow it up with a local recording contract. It’s the foot in the door we’ve been looking for, Nova.’

‘Really?’ Nova’s smile widened. ‘That’s fab.’

‘It is. The production company doing the clips is keen to do them straight away. There’s even the possibility, it’s a long shot, love, but if all goes well, there could be a children’s show presenter’s job for you, which wouldn’t do your country and western singer image any harm; wonderful publicity. Look how well Monica Trapaga’s done.’ She let that sink in. ‘How soon can you come to Sydney?’

Nova’s smile faded. Leave Amaroo. Leave the safety, the peacefulness.
Leave Curtis?
came the thought in her head.

‘I … I’m not sure.’ Her head and heart began a battle royal. She was making progress with Curtis, well, she believed she was. But then, the next instant the lure of fame and a celebrity status she’d only dreamed of tugged at her ambitious side. Anthea, in
spite of the Nashville fiasco, was offering her a second chance to be the success she knew she could be. She was realistic enough to know that another such opportunity would not come her way but to take advantage of it meant she had to leave Amaroo. Shit, how could she decide? Who could she talk to? Dad and Fran would tell her to do what she thought best. Vanessa? No, she couldn’t stoop to ask the person she now considered her nemesis. This was a decision she had to make by herself.

‘Nova, I’ll be frank with you, you know my thoughts on windows of opportunity. This deal won’t be available for long.’

‘I … know, Anthea, and I do appreciate it.’ She recognised the matter-of-fact tone and that she couldn’t stall Anthea Dennison for too long; the woman was too astute. ‘I’ll check flight availability and stuff, and call you tomorrow. Is that okay?’

There was a momentary silence on the line. ‘Very well, Nova. I’ll expect to hear from you then or …’ the threat — this is your last chance with me, kiddo — was implicit in her voice. ‘Got to rush, love. ‘Bye.’

Nova replaced the receiver then went and sat at the kitchen table, cradling her chin in her hands. Bugger, bugger, bugger, but already the tug of adrenaline was pulsing through her as she thought where this opportunity might take her. To the top? Maybe.

‘Sounds like good news,’ an obviously curious Fran said.

Nova looked at the tall woman standing with her back to the sink. She was the only mother she
remembered, but Nova had never been able to accept or call her Mum. ‘It is.’ After which she rabbited on for ten minutes about the opportunities and where they might lead.

‘Is it what you want, Nova?’ Fran asked in that quiet, commonsense way she had.

Both women knew what she was getting at. What did she want most — fame or Curtis? The problem was, she wanted both. She scraped her chair on the vinyl flooring as she stood up.
You want it all, and you deserve it all
, her inner voice said simply as she walked out of the room towards the office. Could she have a career
and
Curtis? That was the question she posed to herself as she sat at the desk and turned on the computer.

After all, Vanessa had a career and a good home life. Could she go to Sydney and make her mark, then return to Amaroo and Curtis? Maybe, and then the tantalising thought came to her. If she left for a while he might realise how much he missed her. The nerve at the side of her mouth began to twitch. Annoyed, she rubbed the offending tic, trying to make it settle. Damned thing acted up when she got into serious thinking mode. Mulling things over while she made flight bookings via the Internet, her skewed thinking came to the conclusion that she didn’t have much to lose by going to Sydney.

Vanessa was going to be away for months, limiting Curtis’s exposure to her, which would allow Nova time to establish herself as a children’s presenter — if that part of the deal came off — as well as a country and western singer, especially with exposure from the video clip. She did want both, she
decided. Curtis
and
a career and with luck, while Vanessa was in London the woman would have second thoughts about spending so much time at Amaroo. Her eyes narrowed as she mentally debated the pros and cons: if Vanessa had it all, so could she …

It was too hot to sleep even in the verandah’s fly-screened sleep-out. Vanessa tossed and turned, unable to settle. She glanced at the clock: 2.03 a.m. Getting up, she went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water from the fridge, then she checked on Kyle. He was sound asleep, as was Bren. Somewhere outside she heard a dingo call to his comrades, another mournful howl following. The noise they made always chilled her blood. She hated their light, high-pitched sounds.

Recently, she’d read an account of Lindy Chamberlain and the dingo that had taken her baby Azaria and, though Lindy had later been exonerated of her child’s death, as a consequence of reading about it, Vanessa couldn’t relax when the heat brought dingoes close to the station and because Kyle was an active youngster who loved to roam as far as the outer paddocks, she had asked Bren to eradicate the animals but Bren said she was overreacting. Kyle, he’d said, was now almost three and was too big and that the animals foraged at night — when Kyle was safely asleep in his bed — and slept during the day because day-time temperatures preceding the wet were stultifyingly hot.