The Cattle Baron. Margaret WayЧитать онлайн книгу.
an excellent student.” He shrugged again. “But things didn’t work out. The simple truth was, she came to bitterly resent my success, though I have to admit she tried very hard to keep it to herself. She wasn’t much good with people, either. Poor social skills. You’ll understand I have to attend so many functions, fund-raisers, that sort of thing. I get invited everywhere.”
And revel in it. “Those television appearances certainly helped put you in the public eye.” All of a sudden Rosie realized she had never liked Marley, for all his suave charm.
“Haven’t I always given you credit?”
“So you have,” Rosie agreed. “For a while. So, where’s Helen now?”
He frowned so ferociously that Rosie wondered if quiet little Helen had lost all sense of good conduct and moved in with another man. “Would you believe she’s gone back to university?” He spit the word out as though it was an accusation. “Good God, she’s nearly forty.”
Rosie swept flying wisps of hair from her face. Ah, yes, the superior male. What arrogance! Hadn’t that been her first impression? “I’m sure you regard yourself as a man in his prime, Dr. Marley. Helen hasn’t hit hers yet. I’m sorry you’ve broken up,” she lied. “Perhaps it’s not final? Helen may want to establish herself. She can’t always do what you want.”
Another tight smile. “There’ll be no reconciliation, if that’s what you mean. Helen chose to leave me when I’ve done everything for her. End of story. I’m forced to face the fact that our marriage was a mistake in the first place.”
“I guess Helen thought so, too,” Rosie offered wryly, completely on the unworthy Helen’s side. She was surprised Helen had it in her.
Marley glared at her. “You know, you might be a bit more sympathetic, but then, women always stick together. It’s been a very unpleasant few months. Toward the end, Helen was almost a basket case. Yet her parents had the nerve to tell me it was my fault. I’d been neglecting their little darling. Didn’t I know she’d desperately wanted children?”
“I thought that was one of the things the two of you had discussed,” Rosie reminded him, looking amazed. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I can see it’s really hit you.” High time to change the subject. “So, any more fabulous finds up your sleeve? World scoops for me?”
He brightened instantly, penetrating eyes entirely focused, taking her back to the first time she’d met him, full of pride in his latest achievement, lionized by the academic world. “That’s why I wanted us to meet, Roslyn.” He reached across the table, took her hands, mercifully not using his bone-crusher grip. “I have in my possession a thrilling object. I’ve used the latest testing to date it at some five thousand years old. It was dug up on a far North Queensland cattle station.”
Rosie was less than riveted. “Well. Okay.” She gestured with one hand. “It can’t be Aboriginal, then? You yourself have dated beautifully finished objects many, many thousands of years older than that. Not to mention the Winjarra paintings.”
“They’re not Aboriginal,” Marley snapped. “Give me some credit, my dear. You’ll easily identify the object just by looking at it.”
“Do you have it with you?” Rosie asked more respectfully, deciding to play along.
Marley raised a dark mocking brow. “You surprise me, Roslyn. I need to be very quiet, very careful about this. Oh, I trust you. I trust your integrity. I couldn’t stand to share my secret with any other person. Certainly not a journalist. I am offering you a great scoop, but what I really need from you is your persuasive power. You seem able to influence people. All sorts of people. I’ve made it my business to study your essays, your articles, your reviews. You have the ability to get highly sophisticated people to tell you what you want. More importantly, to get them to do what you want. That’s not easy. It’s a real gift.”
“More or less,” Rosie agreed modestly. “So, who is this you want me to work on? It might help if you put all your cards on the table, Dr. Marley.”
“Please, call me Graeme.”
He gave her a sort of we-understand-one-another smile Rosie wasn’t altogether comfortable with. Although Graeme Marley was undoubtedly an impressive-looking man, she had never felt an attraction. Perhaps it related to his utter self-centeredness. Besides, he hadn’t mentioned divorce, so he was still legally married to the rebellious Helen, who was at this moment throwing off her years of brainwashing. Still, calling him Graeme was hardly a sin.
He sat back, presenting her with an unexpectedly boyish grin. “Lord, I haven’t asked you if you’d like something to drink.”
She went to say, Not for me, settled for, “A Coke will be fine.”
His snort was almost contemptuous. “Really?” He sounded as if she was having him on.
Rosie shrugged. “I don’t drink when I drive.” Though she was starting to feel pretty desperate for a scotch. “I’ve got the trip home, then I have a dinner lined up. I promise you I won’t be driving myself home, however.”
“Anything changed in that department?” he asked smoothly, signaling a passing waiter, giving his order. A Coke with ice for her. Another scotch for him.
“Meaning?” Rosie quickly said. He made it sound as though they were closer than they were.
“One doesn’t think of a woman like you without a man.” He tried a seductive smile, leaving Rosie to believe he’d drunk too much.
“I’m quite happy on my own,” she said simply.
“No disastrous encounters?” The raised eyebrows suggested there was a story.
Rosie lifted her arm to glance at her watch. “I don’t usually discuss my private life. And listen, I don’t have a lot of time. If you could just let me see what you’re talking about?”
He leaned forward, his rich well-oiled voice just above a whisper as though he was about to impart illicit information. “It’s ancient Egyptian,” he said, blue fire in his eyes. “A magnificent stone scarab.”
“I love it!” Rosie wondered if Helen’s defection had affected his sanity. Speculation about whether there’d ever been an ancient Egyptian presence in Australia had been going the rounds for at least a century. Still, it would pay to listen. For now. “So it was found on this cattle station?” she asked.
The light-blue eyes were those of a religious fanatic. “I’m told there’s a pyramid hidden in the rain forest,” Marley said urgently. “Some parts of this station are jungle. There’s a river running through it with its fair share of crocodiles. The nasty beggars have been protected for too long. Some wannabe Crocodile Dundee ought to start up safaris. Let our adventure-loving tourists shoot a few. Anyway, I’m very serious about this. Egyptology may not be my particular area of expertise, but I’m extremely well-informed. I have other objects, as well. Coins, artifacts, jewelry. A cache, no less. I’ve seen with my own eyes rock paintings showing Egyptian hieroglyphics and pictograms, and I’ve spoken to a trusted colleague in the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo regarding translations. Others have blundered around in the past. Rank amateurs, mere enthusiasts who didn’t know how to get a body of evidence together. Academic interest here has always been in Aboriginal rock paintings. Not non-Aboriginal.”
Rosie shrugged, surprised by the intensity of expression on Marley’s face. “Well, I’m no Egyptologist, either!” she said. “Although I was fascinated enough to study ancient history in high school. I know there was a set of gold boomerangs discovered by Professor Carter in the tomb of Tutankhamen.”
“Indeed there was!” Marley smiled at her encouragingly. “There’s also significant evidence that the ancients were well aware of the Great South Land. It’s also certain that the ancient maritime civilizations were quite capable of undertaking extensive ocean voyages. Who’s to say an entire fleet didn’t land in our far North?”
“Certainly not me.” Rosie