Wedding at Wangaree Valley

“You must have been put on earth just for me, Lainie!”

That had been when the two of them had been standing hand in hand before the manger at a midnight service one Christmas Eve. She had given him a big squishy hug. What a pair they must have been!

Simon had lost every playground fight when she wasn’t around. The kids—and there had been some fair terrors around the Valley—had known not to mess with her. She’d been tough, and her big brother Kieran tougher. Simon was a Radcliffe—Guy’s first cousin—and that should have made him bullet proof. But it hadn’t—rather the reverse. Simon just seemed to be a natural-born victim. A big factor in his timidity could well have been the untimely loss of his playboy father before he was into his teens. Philip Radcliffe had died at the wheel of his high- powered car. His companion on that fateful day had not been his wife, but a Sydney socialite.

Simon’s widowed mother had not gone mad with grief. She had become as bitter as ever a scorned woman could, clinging tight to Simon, her only child, and smothering him in an unhealthy possessive love. Simon, who was very bright, like all the Radcliffes, had eventually gone off to university, where he’d thought himself safe from his mother’s excessive love—only to have to come home to Augusta Farm to a mother “terrified of being alone.” Though anyone who saw Rebecca Radcliffe throw up her narrow dark head, flash her black eyes and flare her thin nostrils would have been forgiven for thinking she wasn’t terrified of anyone or anything. It was the other way around.

Armed with an economics degree, Simon had been taken into the family firm as a matter of course. He worked on the business side of Radcliffe Wine Estates, which was now producing very high-quality chardonnay and shiraz wines. The estate’s chardonnay was reaching near iconic standards. Everything Guy touched turned to gold. Another example of the rich getting richer, Alana thought. If only a bit of Guy’s Midas touch could land on her father!

“It’s wonderful just to see the grapes grow,” Simon had once told her happily. “And Guy is the best boss in the world.”

Of course he was! Guy was Simon’s hero and his role model. Sometimes it put her teeth on edge, the way Simon drooled. She knew it wasn’t fair of her. Guy had huge responsibilities. He took them in his stride. It was freely acknowledged that he was doing wonderful things for the Valley. Surely, then, he richly deserved everyone’s devotion? There was no getting away from it. Guy Radcliffe was the driving force in Valley life. He drew people to him, men and women alike. Not that it made her love him the more. He didn’t take any special notice of her either. Neither could she truthfully say she was invisible to him. There was something about the way he looked at her from time to time that caused moments of elation she tried hard not to show. Underneath, of course, she found Guy as impressive as everyone else. It was just that she felt compelled to keep it to herself.

“How’s it going?” Simon called as he stepped out of his vehicle. As usual he had nosed it into his favourite parking spot in the shade of the lemon scented gums.

“Getting there,” she answered, waiting for him to crunch across the gravel to join her.

A beautiful stone fountain was the central feature of the driveway: three tiers, topped by a life-size bronze of a little boy. It was the work of a famous Australian sculptor—another treasure her mother had brought with her, along with the urns and stone statues that were dotted around the fairly extensive garden. These days the fountain never played.

“I was about to get myself something to eat. Come and keep me company.”

“Love to.” Simon showed his sweet, vulnerable smile. He had been a delicate and sensitive little boy, and sometimes it still showed. “Well, for a little while. I have to be getting back soon.”

“How did you get off in the first place?”

They mounted the short flight of front stairs.

Simon took off his hat and threw it onto the seat of a white wicker armchair. “I had to do a job for Guy. I was on my way back, but I thought I’d stop in here first. You look great.”

“You’re an awful fool!” she laughed. “I look terrible. I’m hot, sweating and starving.”

“You still look great.” Simon thought one of the best things about Alana was that she either didn’t know or didn’t care that her natural beauty was startling. Alana was his life. He had been running to her for peace and comfort ever since he could remember. “Your dad around?” His eyes slipped beyond her into the spacious entrance hall, as though Alan Callaghan was about to make another one of his slightly terrifying appearances.

“I guess he should be up by now,” Alana said, leading the way into the house. “Go into the kitchen while I check. You could start the coffee if you like.”

“Will do.”

Simon was as familiar with the Callaghan homestead as his own. He made his way through to the big farmhouse kitchen at the rear. It looked out onto the summerhouse where he and Alana had enjoyed endless after-school snacks prepared by her lovely mother. How he had wished he had a mother like that! The white lattice sides were covered in a very beautiful climbing rose, a creamy yellow with glossy dark green foliage, and a heavenly perfume wafted into the kitchen. He would always associate it with Annabel Callaghan. He missed her too. She had been such a radiant woman—beautiful, warm, welcoming. She and his own mother, Rebecca, could not have made a greater contrast.

Alana found her father in his study. He was dressed in knee-length khaki shorts and a clean white singlet. His heavy brown-rimmed glasses were sliding down his nose as he made his way through a fresh pile of bills.

“How are you, Dad?” Alana walked around the king-sized desk to give him a kiss.

“Awful, if you must know,” he grunted, putting an arm around her waist and resting his head briefly against her shoulder.

“Your own fault.” It was a mistake to give too much comfort.

“I know, but it ain’t easy,” he commented dryly. “The wethers have to be drenched.”

Alana slumped into a leather armchair. “Unless you can help me, it will have to wait until Kieran gets home.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” he said, just a shade testily. In her whole life Alana had never heard a harsh word from her father. “If you’re up to it we’ll do it this afternoon.”

“If I’m up to it? I like that!”

“Okay, okay—I know you’re a good, brave girl. The very best.” He broke off as emotion threatened to overcome him.

“My heart bleeds for you, Dad,” she said, very gently. After all, she didn’t know what it was to love someone like her father had loved and continued to love her mother. Passion between a man and woman was a different kind of love. She hadn’t experienced it as yet, and maybe she never would. Not everyone found a soul mate at will.

Alan gave himself a little mental shake. “I’m not quite the weak blubbing fool I must appear, but your mother was my shining star. She was there for me. In the morning she was there. When I came back at night she was there. Always shining. I still don’t know what she ever saw in me, the descendant of a wicked Irish convict.”

“Who was transported for the term of his natural life to Australia because he’d poached a couple of rabbits to feed his starving family,” Alana said darkly. “And who by the way went on to become a well-respected pastoralist.”

Her father allowed himself a smile. “Be that as it may, my Belle could have had any man in the Valley and way beyond. She could have had David Radcliffe.”

For a stunned moment Alana thought she hadn’t heard right. She started up in her chair, her expression aghast. “What?” She couldn’t control her rising tone. “Guy’s father?”

“The very one—God rest his soul!” Alan Callaghan, hands locked behind his head, rested back in his chair, staring up at the pressed metal ceiling.

“B-b-but—” Alana found herself stuttering now. “I’ve never heard a word of this.” In itself this was absolutely extraordinary. “Not one word, not from anyone in the Valley—and everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

“Obviously they don’t know it all.” Her father’s tone rasped as he took in her stunned expression. “It wasn’t common gossip. Neither your mother nor I ever spoke about it during our marriage. I’m sure the Radcliffes didn’t either—especially after David married Sidonie Bayley a few months after we married. The rebound, of course. And she’s a snob like the rest of them.”

“Guy isn’t. Simon isn’t,” Alana said fairly. “But this is unbelievable, Dad.” She felt immensely disturbed. “Are you saying Guy’s father could have been in love with Mum?”

“Is that a problem?” His eyes cut to her. “I don’t know why I mentioned it. It just slipped out. Everyone was in love with your mother, sweetheart. She was a beautiful, beautiful woman— inside and out.”

“And she’ll always be remembered for it.” Alana tried hard to pull herself together, but she was shocked. “Mum never made any mention of an old romance to me, and we talked about everything. That took in the Radcliffes as a matter of course. Why, she used to laugh whenever I made my little barbed comments about Guy.”

“She knew you were kidding. Guy Radcliffe is a—”

“Don’t tell me!” She passed a hand over her eyes. “A prince!”

“A real gentleman. There’s your own Denby cousins, treating us like riff-raff—leave out little Rose—but I’ve always found Guy the most egalitarian of men. He could teach the Denbys a thing or two about courtesy and respect. His dad was the same way. No side to the man. The whole valley was devastated when Dave lost his life on the Ravenshoe site.”

Alana nodded bleakly. It had been an appalling freak accident on a Radcliffe development site, when a ten-metre-high brick wall scheduled to be demolished later in the day had suddenly collapsed. David Radcliffe had been killed instantly, and his chief engineer, a short distance behind him, had narrowly escaped with significant injuries.

Alana began to wonder about certain things. “I remember coming upon Mum at the time,” she confessed. “She was crying her eyes out, terribly upset. One didn’t see Mum crying.”

Her father took long moments to answer. “No,” he rasped, and then inexplicably slammed his big hand down on a book. “David Radcliffe was a fine man, an honourable man. He left behind a fine son—a young man to be proud of. Let’s leave it at that. I don’t actually like talking about this, Lana. The drink loosens my tongue. I was very jealous over your mother when we were young. She was mine. I won her.”

Was that belligerence in her father’s dark blue eyes? Whatever it was, it made Alana swiftly drop the subject. “Simon is here, Dad,” she said, rising to her feet. “He called in on the way back to work. Want to come and say hello? Have you had anything to eat?”

Alan shook his head. “Buddy wanted to get me breakfast earlier, but I said no. There’s another good, loyal kid. I don’t feel like eating, love.”

“Well, you must. I insist. I’ll make you a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea.”

“All right. But leave it until after Simon has left. I’ll come and wave him off, but I don’t want to spoil his precious time with you. He’s hopelessly in love with you, poor fella. He has been for many a year.”

Alana turned back at the door, her expression vaguely troubled. “Who says?”

“Me.” Her father thrust a thumb at his chest.

“Well, you’re wrong,” she corrected him, emphatically. “Simon loves me like the sister he never had. Simon is not in love with me. There’s a huge difference.”

“Believe that, you’ll believe anything,” her father muttered dryly. “He’s a nice boy. Always was. But he’s not man enough for you, my darlin.”

The coffee was perking by the time she walked into the kitchen. Simon had set out cups and saucers.

“I didn’t know what food you were going to have…” he said.

“Just a sandwich,” she said. She considered then rejected questioning Simon about any old love affair in the Radcliffe family. Better let it lie. That was certainly what her father wanted. “Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Only about an hour ago. I will have a cup of coffee, then I must be off. All set for Saturday night?”

She flashed him a reassuring smile. Simon would have been devastated had she said no. “I’m looking forward to it. So is Kieran.” Her brother got on a lot better with Guy than ever she had. They were of an age, with Kieran some six months or so older.

On Saturday Guy was giving a small function at Wangaree for visiting guests—an American couple, Chase and Amy Hartmann, members of a leading wine family in California’s Napa Valley.

“Your mother’s decided not to come?” she asked, striving to keep her tone non-committal. Rebecca Radcliffe’s presence would put a damper on anything.

The muscles of Simon’s face abruptly clenched. “Yes, and I have to say I’m glad. Sorry if it sounds disloyal, but Mum can’t be relied upon to say a pleasant thing in public. It’s just endless barbed comments that seem to bring all conversation to a halt. Guy only asked her because she’s family and he’s Guy. Lately she’s taken to criticising my friendship with you.”

“But she’s always done that.” Alana looked up from pouring the coffee. “Heck, she used to blame me for all the bullying that went on with those awful O’Brien boys. Oddly enough, they’ve turned out quite well.”

“Yes—can you believe it? But Mum’s jealous of anyone I care about, and you’re the closest person in the world to me.”

“What exactly is she worried about?” Alana was attacked by concern.

Simon directed his grey glance out of the window. “She’s terrified I might get married to someone she doesn’t approve of.”

Alana couldn’t help laughing. “Well, that just about wipes out every girl in the valley. No question of marriage for me, thanks,” she added briskly. “Put her mind at rest about me, at least. We’re best mates. Darn near brother and sister. It would be incestuous.”

Looking unbearably embarrassed, Simon grasped her hand and held it. “Can’t we take a step up from that, Lainie?” he begged. “No, don’t pull away. You mean everything in the world to me.”

She didn’t have it in her to be unkind. “Well, I’m happy about that, of course. But, Simon, dear, I’m not your girlfriend.” Gently she removed her hand. “I’m your best pal. After The Man, Guy, of course. What’s the matter with you, Simon?” she asked bracingly. The idea of making love with Simon simply wasn’t on. He was very dear to her, but no—decidedly not. “You and I, at twenty-two, are just babies in the marital stakes. You haven’t actually met a lot of girls.” Almost impossible with a psychotic mother. “I thought—I rather hoped— you liked Rose?”

Glumly Simon slumped back in his chair, stirring too much sugar into his coffee. “Come on, Lainie. Rose is really sweet—unlike the terrifying Violette—and I do like her, but she’s not a patch on you.”

“How do you know?” Alana challenged. She had previous knowledge that her cousin Rose thought Simon equally sweet. “You have to get to know her. Rose is not only sweet and seriously pretty, she has a lot of hidden depth.” Or she could have, Alana thought. She had a soft spot for Rose.

Simon rejected that idea. “I wouldn’t care to get mixed up with that family.” He actually shuddered. A gesture, she suddenly realised, very reminiscent of his mother.

“Your beloved Guy squires Violette around,” she reminded him, with a little touch of malice. Or could it have been envy? “Whenever it suits him, that is.” Whatever did Guy see in Violette? Apart from the fact she was stunning, always marvellously turned out and she could ride. Violette knew all about sheep farming—and wine as well. Ah, heck. Violette’s assets were starting to mount up.

“Violette, like many another, is praying that one day he’ll pop the question,” Simon answered. “But it’s not going to happen.” His tone couldn’t have been more positive.

“Then isn’t he being rather cruel to her?” Alana asked sternly. “I can hardly believe she confided in me, but she once told me he only uses her.”

“Guy most certainly isn’t a user. How dare she?” Simon burst out wrathfully. “He and Violette grew up together. That’s all.”

“Oh, please!” It came out with more vehemence than Alana had intended. “Are you trying to tell me they’ve never been lovers?” She bit her lip, regretting her betraying outburst, though Simon—bless him—didn’t appear to notice.

The very thought of Guy and Violette being lovers made her ill. There really was something weird about her feelings for Guy. On the one hand she pretended scorn; on the other hand just to catch sight of him induced the most extraordinary quickening in her body. Was it possible she was actually two people when it came to Guy Radcliffe? The Alana on the outside and the Alana on the inside?

“Now what deep thoughts are you thinking?” Simon startled her by asking. Mercifully he didn’t wait for an answer. “Guy’s no playboy, but he’s no monk either. Women fall for him in droves. We all know that.”

“He’s too sexy for his own good.”

There I go again!

“Lucky devil! I wish I had a bit of it.” Simon spoke with a mix of admiration and lamentation. “But it’s natural, Lainie—just like your sex appeal. You’re either born with it or you aren’t. Don’t believe anything Violette has to tell you. She’s only trying to put you off Guy, for some reason. Like I said—she’s not the right woman for Guy.” He put down his coffee cup, staring soulfully into Alana’s eyes. “But you are the only girl in the world for me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Alana said.

Simon left soon after, leaving Alana feeling on edge and jittery. If Simon suddenly started coming over all romantic, she would have to join her father and take to the drink.

CHAPTER TWO

WANGAREE’S lovely mansion homestead stood on top of a knoll in the most beautiful part of the Valley. Everyone knew the magnificent rural property had been acquired by an Englishman, Nicholas Compton Radcliffe, in the early 1850’s. Radcliffe, a man of vision and enviable private means, and set about building a homestead to rival any in the colony of New South Wales, and the style he’d chosen was Colonial Georgian. A double-storey central section dominated a serenely imposing façade flanked by one-storey wings with big handsome bays at both ends. To accommodate the hot Australian climate, canopied verandahs had been added at a later date. Rosy brick married wonderfully with the frosting of classical white pillars and beautiful white cast-iron lace. When the building had been completed it had been described in the colonial gazette of that time as “a splendid gentleman’s residence.”

These days only a rich family could maintain it, Alana thought, staring up the hill at the mansion. It was ablaze with lights, putting her in mind of the great liner Queen Mary II at night. She and Kieran had seen the ship make its majestic entry into Sydney Harbour a few months before.

They were late. She had fretted about it at first, and then she had begun to worry when Simon hadn’t turned up on time. Finally he had arrived at the farm, a good forty minutes overdue. He’d looked handsome in his dinner suit, but pale and upset. It had only taken Alana a few seconds to establish why. Simon and his mother—known rather cruelly behind her back as The Widow—had had “words”. But then Rebecca would much rather have “words” than bid her son a fond, Goodnight, darling. Drive carefully. Have fun.

“About what?” Alana had asked.

“Oh, let’s forget it,” Simon had begged, putting his arm around her and giving her an exquisitely gentle kiss.

She hadn’t been able to think of a thing to say that wouldn’t have sounded dreadfully impolite. It was high time Simon stood up to his mother.

Now they were going to be the last to arrive. She could see all the parked cars, among them Kieran’s. He had left on his own, almost an hour before, with the wry comment, “Simon won’t want me along as a passenger.”

Did even her own brother think she and Simon were an item? Alana found herself oppressed by the idea. As fond as she was of Simon, she shrank from being so labelled. The only one on her side appeared to be Simon’s mother, who always greeted her so grimly she might have been hatching some plot to snatch Simon away. Even on the odd occasion when Rebecca offered afternoon tea, she never left them alone, but stood guard.

Together, they mounted the broad sandstone steps to the pedimented portico, waiting quietly in line behind other late arriving couples to gain admittance to Wangaree’s delightful entrance hall. Alana had been inside the house often enough to be familiar with it—the black and white marble floor tiles, the coffered ceiling with rosettes, the dazzling chandelier and the romantic sweep of the staircase.

There was an antique console that stood against the wall to the right of the front door, with its lovely fanlights and side lights, flanked by Chippendale chairs. She knew they were Chippendale. Guy had told her years ago when she had asked. A tall gilded mirror hung above the console, and tonight it reflected a marvellous arrangement of yellow and white liliums trailing green vines. Gilt framed watercolours of the valley had been placed precisely to either side of the antique mirror.

It suddenly struck her she really loved Wangaree homestead. She just loved it. There was no question Violette that would look perfectly at home there. Perhaps not perfectly, she consoled herself.

“You look gorgeous!” Simon mouthed reverently.

She might have been a National Treasure. “Thank you, Simon.”

It was maybe the fourth time she had thanked him, but she wasn’t going to knock back a compliment. She thought she looked rather gorgeous too, considering it was her eighteenth birthday party dress, halter necked, golden green, with a tiny waist and a lovely full skirt. She hadn’t put on an ounce of weight. Rather she had lost a few pounds since then.

For tonight she had gone to a lot of trouble. An incredible lot of trouble, for her. Who was she trying to impress? Not her best mate, Simon. The results, however, were pretty good, if she said so herself. And she could rely on her hair not to let her down. Great hair, inherited from her mother. Its honey-gold thickness and shimmer gave a girl a lot of confidence.

They were moving now. Alana counted herself lucky to be invited. Did Guy think she was Simon’s girl? Perhaps she should seize a moment to set him straight? Why, exactly? Would the knowledge make him rush to rearrange his life? Hardly. Simon took her arm, drawing her so tightly to him she might have been trying to make a break for it. For a minute she considered socking him—but there was the mesmerising Guy.

She had never seen a man look so intensely, magnificently male. Guy Radcliffe could be the archetypal hero of some heart warming romance. She thought she could safely speak for all the women of the Valley.

With that, however, came a warning.

Fall In Love With Him At Your Peril!

Wasn’t she blessed that she attended that warning? She had no intention of allowing herself to fall in love with Guy Radcliffe—not even in an abstracted kind of way, like a daydream. Nevertheless, her eyes absorbed him. He looked wonderfully elegant in his evening clothes. They fitted as though they had been cut for him by a master tailor—which they probably had.