Dear Plutocrat Read online

  Accepting the cup of coffee Mark drank deeply of it, his eyes again wandering, over the brim of his cup, to the garden outside.

  'You've all been working extremely hard,' came the unexpected comment spoken in that lazy drawl which almost from the first Kate had been forced to admit sounded inordinately attractive, more so with Mark than with Paul… although why this should be so Kate could not for the life of her explain.

  'We have worked hard,' she returned, sitting down with her coffee cup placed on the arm of her chair. 'It's been fun, though,' she added with a hint of defiance. 'One derives an enormous amount of enjoyment and satisfaction from achieving what at first appears to be the impossible.' Curtains fluttered in the breeze, and sunshine, flaring undiluted through the branches of the casuarinas, fell like golden tresses on to the flowers in the garden and invaded the room, spreading light and warmth over the shining furniture and flowered cushions and the hand-made rugs which had been all the fashion in English cottage homes about fifty years ago. They were made of rags—any old coats or skirts, cut into strips and 'pegged' into a canvas backing. Many of the old cloth garments had been found by Kate in a tin trunk in one of the rooms which now served as a bedroom; they had obviously belonged to one of David's female relatives long since dead, but had come in very useful, and a voluminous red velvet cloak had been washed and carefully unpicked by Kate and then made up into a pair of draw-curtains for the sitting-room where they made an attractive frame for the pretty nets which were now billowing out into the room as the breeze began to blow a little stronger. It was welcome, for the excessive heat of midsummer was fast approaching and already temperatures were over twenty-six centigrade.

  A faint smile hovered on Mark Copeland's lips; Kate's small trace of defiance had amused him, apparently.

  'You sound proud of your achievement.'

  'We are proud.' She fluttered him a glance and added, 'Wouldn't you be proud, Mr. Copeland, if you had made something out of nothing?'

  His brows lifted and he raised her a look which reflected the humour still lingering on his mouth.

  'The house is quite delightful,' he owned, bypassing her question. 'But it's the land which is important. You're making absolutely nothing out of it, and you never can.'

  'We're growing some very fine produce,' again with that tinge of defiance. 'We're managing to live, Mr. Copeland, and we haven't the least intention of going back to England.'

  Kate rather thought she would encounter a sharp and glinting expression when after voicing those words she looked at him. But to her surprise he seemed to accept that with equanimity, merely saying that they wouldn't be managing to live had it not been for the assistance they were receiving from his brother.

  'That's true,' Kate was swift to accede. 'Paul's been wonderful right from the start.'

  A flicker of a smile again and then, slanting her a look:

  'There's a pointed implication there, Miss Beresford; I haven't been—er—wonderful, as you term it.'

  'Well, have you?' she challenged, picking up her cup and regarded him over the rim of it.

  Readily he shook his head, holding back what he had to say as half a dozen or so screeching pink galahs flew across the garden. They settled in one of the coolibah trees fringing the creek, where their raucous chatter continued, but with rather less volume than before.

  'I expect you're still smarting under your humiliation,' he said at length, unsparing of her feelings, as he invariably was. 'You asked for that small punishment; I had extended a friendly warning—'

  'Friendly, Mr. Copeland?' She stared at him. 'Your letter was enough to get anyone's hackles up!' Colour fused her cheeks, angry colour this time, born of vexation that he should so baldly talk of her mistake and the 'punishment' he had considered fit to mete out as a reprisal for her lack of co-operation by refusing to sell her property to him.

  'It was?' with a frown of surprise not untinged with concentration as if he were endeavouring to recall the contents of that letter. 'I outlined the pitfalls, and explained that this land was harsh and hostile—'

  'And no place for women,' she put in, taking a sip of her coffee.

  To her surprise he laughed, flashing that row of strong white teeth and regarding her through humourous eyes.

  'You're quite right, I did say that. What I meant was that the Outback is no place for three totally inexperienced girls—' Breaking off, he surprised her still further by adding with some amusement that he had forgotten, but she did have a small amount of experience… on the smallholding of under one acre she had previously mentioned. At which her eyes sparkled, not the pure colour of hazel now but more green than brown. Mark's own eyes widened at the change and she wondered if it were her imagination, but she did think she saw a hint of admiration enter into their ice blue depths.

  'I'm sorry I mentioned that,' she retorted, lifting her chin. 'Had I known you would snigger I most certainly would have held my tongue!'

  'A temper…?' Softly spoken words, and yet he appeared more interested now and actually leant back in his chair as if to position himself in a way more easily to regard her. 'I had no idea I sniggered, Miss Beresford. It's neither a pretty word nor a commendable action. Allow me to say that you exaggerate.'

  The rebuke was accompanied by a slight tightening of his hard firm mouth; the fanned threads of white became visible and all amusement was wiped from his face by their appearance. He looked hard and formidable—a man of authority whose very silence now seemed to demand an apology. Kate's cheeks were hot; she found to her surprise that the trend of conversation hurt in some indefinable way, but shirked any further dwelling on this. Mark Copeland did something to her… something of which she was afraid and so in consequence she fought against analysing it.

  'Perhaps I shouldn't have used that word,' she murmured at length, looking down into her cup in order to avoid his gaze. 'What I really meant was that my admission provided you with a considerable amount of amusement, apparently.'

  'What else did I put in my letter that got your hackles up, as you term it?' he inquired, allowing her words to pass without comment.

  'You said you were staggered that three Englishwomen should for one moment contemplate taking over the holding.' She stopped, but the word had registered and the fan lines of paler skin faded as his eyes narrowed with returning amusement.

  'You didn't care for the term "holding", it seems. It should have given you a clue as to the size of this place.'

  'It should,' she had to agree, but added that she thought he was being sarcastic.

  'Sarcastic?' he repeated, frowning in a puzzled way.

  'We concluded that your own station must be even vaster than this—I mean, than High Creek Downs, which I believed was mine.' She met his gaze and this time there was no mistaking the sudden change in his expression. It had definitely taken on a degree of concern and regret.

  'I believe I mentioned something about the size of the property, and that it would be more difficult to run than a larger one.'

  Kate was shaking her head even before he finished speaking.

  'You didn't word it like that, Mr. Copeland. You merely asked if I had noted the size of the property and compared it with others in the Outback. When you implied that it would be difficult to run I thought—thought…' Her voice faltered before fading into silence. To her surprise gravity now entered his eyes and he said, an unmistakable hint of sympathy in his slow Australian drawl.

  'You concluded that I was suggesting that the place would be difficult to run on account of its vastness.' It was a statement; Kate allowed it to pass without comment and for a while no words were spoken as each became lost in thought. The bush was also shrouded in silence now that the galahs had flown off, a primeval silence, heavy and profound, like the breathless hush which must have descended after the birth-pains of the earth had died away. Heat created its shimmering haze, colouring the mountains with pewter and distorting the cattle grazing the runs, and the stockmen looking after them. Eroded dome
s of two bizarre residuals gleamed metallic in the sun's hard rays, like enamelled upturned bowls, relics of pre-Cambrian mountains spumed up by the molten earth two or three thousand million years ago and since worn down by the forces of nature over countless eons of time. It was a terrifying landscape in some of its aspects, awesome and harsh in its austere immensity, yet there was an unmistakable gentleness about it on occasions when its greys and greens and umber were softened by the yellow scented acacias and relieved by the charming tracery of tree-foliage capturing the colours of dawn or the purple shades of twilight. It commanded respect, as did the men of its soil. It bred men like Mark Copeland and Paul, men who challenged the land and fought it, but never quite conquered it, men who lived all the time with the strength of purpose in their veins, tough men more at home in the saddle than on any drawing-room couch.

  Stirring at last, Mark slanted Kate a glance as he prepared to rise. The sun caught the bleached hair at the front and it became lighter than gold. The contrast with the brown hair around it was both startling and attractive. The bronzed features were relaxed, the blue eyes unmoving. Vibrations filtered through her, gaining strength as with a languid sort of grace he rose to his feet and stood a while, looking down at her with an odd expression, an unfathomable expression which was disturbing and yet in some way thrilling. That was the matter with her? she wondered half angrily. What nonsense to allow herself to be affected by this man, and affected in so strange a way that she could not even understand her own feelings. She was conscious of an aura of magnetism and power emanating from him, while at the same time convinced that he himself had no notion of it, much less did he have the least inkling of the influence he had on her emotions.

  He thanked her for the coffee; she went with him on to the verandah from where he nimbly vaulted over the rail and remained long enough to tell Kate that he was having a dinner-party at his house and there would be a film show afterwards. He extended invitations to her and her two friends.

  'It's to be on Saturday,' he added. 'The film will be an old one—we always give our own film shows, as you probably know, since there aren't any cinemas to visit. The film's being flown from Brisbane and I can't tell you what it is until it arrives.'

  'Thank you very much for the invitation.' She spoke a trifle shyly, as it had come as a complete shock that she would be invited to his home—although she and her friends did receive an invitation to the shed dance and barbecue he gave, but, like that of his brother, it had taken place away from the actual homestead.

  'It's a pleasure.' With a foot in the iron he did another vault, this time on to the stallion's back. Touching his hat, he rode away; Kate stood quite still on the verandah, hands resting on the rail, eyes following the horse and rider as they rode away, leaving a cloud of burnt-sienna dust behind them. Surprising Kate yet again, Mark turned his head and lifted a hand in salute before he and his mount disappeared as the grove of trees came between him and Kate.

  For a long while she remained on the verandah, conscious of the vibrations and strange quivering of her nerves. And not for the first time she was warning herself to take care, reminding herself that Mark Copeland was too dangerously attractive. At last Kate turned into the house, making a strong mental vow to put him out of her thoughts—and to keep him out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the evening of the dinner-party Paul called at High Creek and picked up the three girls. Lin had been looking forward to the treat with great enthusiasm, saying she would find her hunk of Outback manflesh yet. But somehow Kate sensed a gravity beneath the familiar laughing and carefree veneer and she could not help wondering if Lin were viewing with faint trepidation her coming meeting with James, whose offer she had turned down. Cherry had also been happy at the prospect of the treat; her eyes would become dreamy whenever Mark Copeland's name was mentioned, but as yet Kate alone had noticed this. Had Lin done so she would assuredly have remarked upon it.

  As for Kate's own feelings regarding the party, they were mixed to say the least. At times they bordered on the irrational as one moment she viewed the prospect with breathless anticipation and the next moment she was not sure if she wished to attend the party at all—seeing that she had made a determined vow to keep her thoughts free of the disturbing and far too attractive Mark Copeland.

  Paul and the other two girls chatted as they drove along, but Kate was lost in self-communings, while at the same time fully alert to the breathtaking phenomenon unfolding all around her. The earth was tilting up to meet the sun as dusk approached, and the whole vast bush was bathed in a miracle of changing colour. The mountains in the sunset turned to fiery crimson—un-quenchable, it seemed, and yet its life was brief, cut by the invasion of mellowed bronze—so unbelievably beautiful and yet itself transcended by the spectrum of orange and yellow and incredible shades of lilac and blue. Twilight was brief, and by the time Paul turned the car into the tree-lined approach to the homestead sundown had melted and purple shadows hovered over the plains, and the far mountains were becoming one with the darkening sky. The stillness was absolute, but the sound of dingoes in the tall grasses could be faintly heard above the purr of the car engine. Kate shivered at the chilling coyote cry, as she invariably did, for it seemed to freeze her blood. But warmth swept in again as the homestead lights flared across the forecourt. Memory also swept in, bringing a very different kind of warmth, that of embarrassment which swiftly rose within her. Would she ever come to the point where that humiliating experience could be viewed without this surge of discomfort?

  People were sitting on the front verandah having pre-dinner drinks, served by a dusky girl with a flashing white smile. Mark, suave and distinguished in a beige linen suite and white silk shirt, came forward and soon they were seated with the others in comfortable wicker chairs on the brightly-lit verandah where vines and exotic flowers decorated the strong stone pillars, and sprayed the still evening air with perfume. Questions were put to the girls as to how they were getting along at High Creek. Their answers brought varied reactions, some of the guests receiving the news that they were settling in very well with admiration, while others seemed quite unable to suppress the amusement they were experiencing. Others were a trifle condescending, shaking their heads in a gesture meant to assure the girls that they were wasting their time and they might as well save their labours since defeat was inevitable. Harriet Courtenay, sitting close to Kate, gave an amused laugh on hearing that the homestead had been made habitable. Kate wondered what the girl's home was like and soon concluded that it was as luxurious as that of Mark, as her father's ranch, Kennilong Downs, was almost as large as High Creek Downs, so Paul had said. The two homesteads were over forty miles distant from one another, and the lands adjoined on the Cunya River side.

  'I can't imagine that place being made habitable,' Harriet said when Mark had moved out of earshot. 'It was just about ready to fall down the last time I saw it.'

  Glances passed between Lin and Kate, Cherry being a small distance away, sitting next to Paul. Lin's face was a study in repressed anger, Kate's set and flushed, and when she spoke the high-pitched tone was there, quivering, yet curt and cold.

  'People have different ideas of what makes a place habitable. Perhaps our place is patched up and held together by improvisation, but it happens to be a home—a home in every sense of the word, Miss Courtenay. And because it's a home it must in consequence be habitable, mustn't it?' She managed a smile… an acid smile, which was noted with interest by one or two people sitting close, one of whom was Harriet's mother, an ultra-smart woman who might have bought her outfit in Paris. She had a lined face partly repaired by make-up; her greying hair had received a blue rinse which matched her long sapphire earrings. A diamond or two glittered on manicured fingers and an exquisite gold bracelet adorned one thin and loose-skinned wrist. With an irrepressible flash of imagination Kate saw the woman as Mark Copeland's mother-in-law and a heavy frown creased her brow. Harriet spoke, her eyes insolently fixed on Kate whose acid smile rem
ained, despite her sudden frown.

  'I think it's rather a case of what one is satisfied with, Miss Beresford… or what one has been used to.'

  Her mother's mouth curved at that, the curve of a sneer involuntarily appearing before it could be repressed. Kate's hazel eyes sparkled, yet she could not voice what trembled on her lips—that Harriet's manners left a great deal to be desired—because several people would overhear it. So reluctantly she ignored Harriet's words, and Harriet as well as she turned to Lin and began talking of something else altogether. But the sparkle remained, as did the angry flush, and she noted the swift raising of her host's eyebrows when a short while later she found herself seated just a little distance from him at the dinner table. And because she was still furious she glared at him, which only served to increase his perplexity and his straight brows lifted even higher. It was only later, as he sat between Kate and Cherry at the film show, that Mark had the opportunity of questioning her.

  'Was something not to your liking earlier, Miss Beresford?'

  She feigned an uncomprehending manner as she said:

  'How do you mean, Mr. Copeland?' Her eyes strayed to Cherry, who was listening with interest to what was being said.

  'Temper fairly blazed from your eyes,' he told her with the familiar disregard of her feelings. 'You appeared to have been engaged in a quarrel with someone?' So subtle that question, she thought, realizing that he must have seen to whom she was talking out there on the verandah. Well, if he wanted a straight answer he could have one!