The Cattleman. Margaret Way

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СКАЧАТЬ had put a stop to it. She couldn’t think about that now.

      Moira plucked a long strand of her hair from her cheek. It glittered with drops of sweat. She had been so happy at first. Lost in the uniqueness of this exciting new world. This was real frontier country where nature in all its savage splendour dominated everything. A city girl, born and raised, she had grown to love this strange and violent place. It revealed itself to her every day, this paradise of the wilds. The space and the freedom! The absolute sense of grandeur. She loved the incredible landscape, saturated in Aboriginal myth and legend. The blood-red of the soil, the cobalt-blue of the sky. She looked up at it briefly. It started to spin above her.

      They were heading up the escarpment, the track littered with rubble and orange rocks the size of a man’s fist. The promontory overlooked the most beautiful lagoon on the station, lily-edged Falling Waters. No crocodiles were thought to swim this far inland, though they had done so in the past. Nowadays it was argued that from numerous rock slides the neck of the canyon had become too narrow. Besides, it was a known drinking place for the great rainbow snake, owner of all water holes in the vast arid inland.

      She could hear the falling of water now. It grew louder, sighing, hissing, splashing. From the track, the lagoon appeared like giant shards of glittering mirror lost in the thick grove of trees. White-trunked paperbarks and graceful red river gums adorned the water hole, the sun turning their gray-green leaves metallic.

      She remembered the first time Steven had brought her to this magical place. The two of them alone. Her heart contracted at the memory, one she would cherish until the day she died: how with a tortured oath he had pulled her body close…how her lips had opened spontaneously under his…how his hand on her naked breast had made an indelible brand. She would remember the way he’d picked her up and laid her on the warm golden sand. She had given herself to him willingly, overtaken by a great tide of passion, her blood sizzling, as he played her virgin body, his hands so knowing, so masterly, in turn demanding and tender. One could surrender the world for such lovemaking. Hadn’t she? She had abandoned the tenets of her faith, honor, loyalty, cold reason. So many codes of conduct on the one hand. On the other?

      Steven.

      A world lost for love.

      THEIR ARRIVAL ON THE PLATEAU, heralded by a miniature landslide of eroded earth and rocks, caused a huge congregation of waterfowl to rise from the glittering waters with a thunder of wings. They dismounted. Moira removed her wide-brimmed hat, shaking out her thick blond plait. Her body was soaked in sweat, not only from the heat and exertion. Dark forces were at play and she knew it. She had gone way beyond anxiety, moving toward acceptance. She followed her companion nearer the edge, acutely aware they were keeping their distance from one another as if a contagion were upon her.

      The view from the top was sublime. There was nothing, nothing, like the vast burning landscape. The sacred land. It stretched away into infinity and beyond. She could see the length of the rocky, winding corridor of the gorge, the terraced walls glowing a rich, deep red with bands of black, rose-pink and ochre-yellow. The creek bed was little more than a chain of muddy water holes in the Dry, but the permanent lagoon, an extraordinary lime-green was very deep at the centre. There was an Aboriginal legend attached to it; the Aboriginals had a legend for everything. A beautiful young woman, called Narli, promised to a tribal elder, had drowned herself in the lagoon following the killing of her lover for having broken the tribal taboo. Narli’s spirit was said to haunt Falling Waters, luring young men to their deaths. There was danger in being young, beautiful and seductive, Moira reminded herself. Beauty inspired obsession. Obsession inspired violence.

      Half fainting, she drew breath into her parched lungs. Her tongue was dry. It tasted of dust, making it difficult for her to swallow. She wondered what lay ahead, in part, knowing she had already surrendered. The air still quivered with fierce vibrations. Not by nature timid, she’d allowed herself to be brought low by shame and guilt. She had a sudden image of Steven and her deliriously locked together, his mouth over her, cutting off her ecstatic cries. In her defense it could be said she was incapable of withstanding him.

      The waterfall tumbled a hundred feet or more to the pool below, sending up a sparkling mist of spray, as intoxicating as champagne. In the rains, she’d been told, the flow that today ran like a bolt of silver silk down the blackened granite turned into a spectacle of raw power, with a roar that could be heard from a great distance. At those times, the breadth of the falls widened dramatically as it thundered down the cliff face, tiered like an ancient ziggurat to drop countless tons of water into the lake. So augmented, the lagoon broke its banks, engulfing the floodplains with enormous sheets of water—which become huge swamps that were soon crocodile rich. People and cattle had to be moved to higher ground. Afterward, the earth responded with phenomenal abundance—lush green growth and an incredible profusion of wildflowers, native fruits and vegetables. She’d been so eager to witness that sight. Now she felt she never would.

      There was no redeeming breeze. Nothing swayed. No petals of the wild hibiscus scattered. All was quiet save for the tumbling waters and the heavy thud, thud, thud of her heart. Even the birds that fed on the paperbarks and the flowering melaleuca trees—the honeyeaters, the gorgeous lorikeets and parrots—normally so restless, were strangely silent. Moira dared to look across at her companion, who could at that very moment be settling her fate. Despite all outward appearances of calm, violence simmered just below the surface. Violence generated by perhaps the most dangerous and deadly of sins.

      Jealousy.

      GOD HELP ME! MOIRA WAS BEYOND all thought of trying to escape. Escape to where? This land was hostile to those on the run. She hadn’t seen her parents in many months. The tears started to trickle down her cheeks as their dear, familiar faces swam into her mind. She loved them. Why had she never told them just how much? She should have stayed at home with them where she was safe. Instead, she had betrayed them. Betrayed herself. Betrayed Cecily, who had been kind to her in her fashion. She had inspired a devouring love that overwhelmed all else. In exchange, she had inherited consuming hate. She could feel that hate everywhere, even to the tips of her shaking fingers.

      Moira lifted her unprotected face to the burning sun as if there were good reason to blind herself to what was coming. If she survived this, she would have to live with her sins for the rest of her life. It she didn’t…if she didn’t…

      Hadn’t Sister Bartholomew, in what seemed another lifetime, said to her whenever she landed herself in trouble, “Moira, you have no one to blame but yourself!”

      Slowly her companion turned away from the lip of the precipice, jaw set, grimacing into the sun. The distance between them dramatically narrowed. “I’ve been waiting for this, Moira,” came the chilling words.

      What could she answer? Words died on her lips. There was no chance. None at all.

      Moira’s knees buckled under her. She was tired. So tired. The matter had to be decided. She was guilty. She deserved what was coming to her. She sank to the ground, for one extraordinary second so disoriented she thought there was someone else besides her and her companion on the escarpment. If only she could turn around…

      CHAPTER ONE

      The Present

      RETURNING FROM LUNCH—no fun at all, she loathed hurting people—Jessica found a note from Brett De Vere, her uncle, summoning her to a meeting in his office. It was probably about the Siegal place, she thought, carefully hanging up her new Gucci handbag. It had cost an arm and a leg. She felt a tiny spasm of guilt, but she had decided she must have it.

      And why not? She was single. She had a great job, a challenging, exciting life. Swiftly she took a hairbrush from the bottom drawer of her desk and ran it briskly through СКАЧАТЬ