The Cattle Baron. Margaret WayЧитать онлайн книгу.
looked at him thoughtfully. “The cattle station—which one is it?”
The archaeologist knit his fine brows, gaze intent. “My dear, can I swear you to secrecy?”
Rosie sat back, put a hand on her heart. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. But don’t expect me not to check it out.”
“Good for you!” Marley beamed at her admiringly. The waiter set down their drinks and turned to Rosie, giving her an exaggerated wink. Once he’d left, Marley continued. “You’ve probably heard of the place. Three Moons?”
That changed everything. “Now, why didn’t I think of it!” she exclaimed, rubbing her tall frosted glass. “Legendary station and all that. Cattle barons of the Far North. Give me a minute and it’ll come back to me. Something to do with a tragedy.” She picked up her Coke. “I was one of those who covered Senator Lamont’s trip to that part of the world some years back. Banfield. I remember. I met the owner at a fund-raiser.”
Marley looked absolutely delighted. “God, you know him?”
“Met him, Dr. Marley. As in shook hands, exchanged a few words. A largely aloof man, as I recall. Projected a great sense of distance, of incredible detachment. Very refined, wealthy, classy in an iceberg way. Older than you. Early fifties. At that time.”
“But, my dear, he’s not the owner at all,” Marley lamented, all but grinding his teeth. “That’s Porter Banfield. The uncle. He was Chase Banfield’s guardian after his parents were killed.”
Rosie had to think no more. It all came back. “That’s it! A fire.” She shuddered at the very word, plagued by her own coverage of fires over the years. The ferocity of the orange flames, the smoke, the soot, the terrible odors, the human fallout. A fire at Three Moons. How shocking it must have been. The agony, especially for the boy. That could have easily accounted for the coldness of Porter Banfield’s manner. She recalled that, for the brief time they’d spoken, she’d had the sensation they weren’t really speaking at all. But he’d had no hesitation in throwing his money around. The Banfields were royalty in the North. The senator hadn’t qualified for an invitation to Three Moon’s homestead, but it was said to be quite a place, a tropical mansion no less. “That’s okay, then, if Porter Banfield isn’t the person you want me to talk to,” she said with relief. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think he’s very interested in women. Not gay—I think I’d have sensed it. More that he’s one hell of a misogynist.”
“Actually,” said Marley, sounding as if he quite liked the man, “I’ve met Porter Banfield on a number of occasions connected with my work. He’s very well educated, with an encyclopedic knowledge of ancient Egyptian civilization. He’s also a great collector of antiquities.”
Now it was Rosie’s turn to cock a brow. “I thought governments didn’t like their antiquities disappearing out of the country. Like the Elgin marbles,” she added. “I really do think the British Museum should give them back. I’m on Greece’s side.”
“Hardly surprising, with Australia having the biggest Greek population outside Greece,” Marley said facetiously. “Now, if we could concentrate on the matter at hand?”
Rosie frowned at his condescension. “You don’t think I’m capable?”
There was a pause while Marley took another look at her glittering cloud of hair, gold, amber, topaz. “Roslyn, Roslyn, I didn’t say that,” he told her. “I’m just eager to enlist your aid.”
“I hope you don’t want me to be a snoop?”
“I want you to somehow get to Chase Banfield.” Marley gazed earnestly into her face. “He’s not willing to entertain me or even listen to my theories. The station isn’t exactly accessible. The man even less so. He likes his privacy. I have it from his uncle that he strenuously disapproves of any kind of search on his property.”
“I guess he regards the idea of an ancient Egyptian presence in Oz a romantic notion?” Rosie said a little flippantly.
Marley’s handsome face took on a brooding expression. “Probably he has no sense of history. No adventure in his soul.”
“Well, what do they say on the grapevine? For me, I’m just hoping he’s a handsome dashing guy.” Rosie smiled. “Why don’t we just write him a letter? Tell him what you’ve discovered so far. Request his cooperation. I’ve never met anybody—and I’ve met a lot of very rich people—who can’t do with a bit more money. Mention a big reward. The admiration and respect of your peers all around the world. A great scoop for me. A great adventure for him. He’s a frontiersman, after all. But before we really get under way, maybe I’d better look at your findings.” As opposed to your etchings. Rosie’s direct sparkling gaze made that point clear.
“How about dinner tonight?” Marley asked.
Rosie waved away the winking waiter, wondering if he was trying to deliver some message. “Can’t make it. I told you I have a function.”
“Sorry, I’d forgotten. Tomorrow, then,” Marley persisted. “You’ll have to come to my home.”
Rosie was surprised by her wariness of him. A kind of careful take-care instinct—one that didn’t fool her often. “I can’t believe you’ll do the cooking?”
“Come after dinner,” he said. “I think you’ll be particularly interested in a certain piece of jewelry,” he said, as if intoxicated by his mental picture. “It would look marvelous around your throat. Some women can’t wear important jewelry, but you…you just exude presence.”
Rosie gave him a deadpan look. “I got it from my dad. He’s a Supreme Court judge.” No harm in going back to the good doctor’s abode, she supposed. She didn’t anticipate any sexual overtures, although from the odd flash here and there she couldn’t entirely rule it out. Anyway, she had insurance; her mother, who played a wonderful game of golf and tennis, had insisted she learn karate her first year of living away from home. Like her mother, she was the kind of woman who preferred to excel. Weekly classes eventually culminated in a black belt.
Marley put out his hand, clinging to her answer like a drowning man to a raft. “Well?”
“I’m intrigued, as you well know.” Rosie looked at him with her clear moss-green eyes. “But what really mystifies me, given that you know Porter Banfield, is why the man who must have reared his nephew can’t use his influence on your behalf. How could I possibly be more effective than Chase Banfield’s uncle? Surely he would be your best ally?”
“It’s amazing to me that he’s not.” Marley’s expression clouded over. “But by all accounts they’re not close.”
Rosie sipped from her Coke. “Well, that tells us a lot. What kind of men are the Banfields? Both brushed with the same coldness?” she speculated. “Is it a family trait? Or are they victims of the past? One would have thought they’d become very close—unless they were both too terribly scarred.”
Marley waved away Rosie’s musings as womanly affectation. “I really don’t know,” he said, suggesting he didn’t care, either, “but there’s been a whole legacy of strife. Apparently, as soon as he turned twenty-one, Banfield turfed his uncle out.”
“Maybe Chase Banfield had a reason,” she said. “I feel we ought to be fair. Either that, or he’s an ungrateful so-and-so. I can easily do some research on the Banfields. They’re landed gentry. There’s got to be a story, and it doesn’t sound like a fairy tale.”
Marley rolled his eyes. “There’s always a story. Unfortunately it doesn’t help me. Chase Banfield doesn’t share his uncle’s interests. Not in the least. In fact, he derides them. The problem is, if I can’t get to Chase Banfield, I can’t get onto Three Moons.”
“Where this cache was found.” Rosie phrased it as a statement, not a question.
“I didn’t exactly say that, Roslyn.”