Australia: Outback Fantasies. Margaret WayЧитать онлайн книгу.
all that light shining in on me.’
‘Poor, poor Carina. I do remember.’ Francesca reached out a hand for the high back of a chair that really should have been in a museum to steady herself.
‘You were always having such terrible dreams. What were they about? Nightmares about drowning?’
Why did Carina always bring that subject up? Was she constantly checking to see if Francesca’s memory of the near tragedy remained dim?
‘They were the worst.’ Francesca gave a shudder. Pitching or being pushed headlong into the dark green lagoon. Even when she woke up she had felt bruised.
‘Needless to say Mum always had to get up to comfort you. You weren’t happy with little me. Mum had to come to pet you and soothe you back to sleep. Pathetic, really. Sometimes I used to think Mum loved you more than me.’ She smiled into Francesca’s eyes as if asking a question: what sort of mother would do that?
‘Have a heart.’ Francesca shook her aching head. ‘I was only a little lost kid, Carrie. Your mother was just looking out for me.’
‘Something she’s doing to this day.’ Carina only just succeeded in covering her intense resentment. ‘Dad and I were terribly upset she sat with the Macallans. We could see that as a betrayal.’
‘Perhaps Elizabeth wasn’t prepared to be hypocritical?’ Francesca suggested, loyal to the woman who had reared her from the age of five. ‘She didn’t have a good relationship with our grandfather, did she? His fault, not hers.’
‘Hey, hey—be fair now!’ Carina was looking more taken aback by the minute. ‘I suppose it was Dad’s fault she couldn’t get far enough away from him?’ she asked heatedly.
Francesca could see Carina was as upset in her way as she was in hers. ‘Look, don’t upset yourself, Carrie. It’s just that your mother didn’t believe it possible to remain locked in a marriage that wasn’t working.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’ Carina’s matt cheeks were hot with blood. ‘You have no insight into relationships. God, you haven’t even had a real one, have you? You can’t count Greg Norbett … or Harry Osbourne,’ she added contemptuously.
‘Certainly not after you made a play for him.’ Francesca surprised herself by making the charge. ‘Why did you do that? You weren’t interested in Harry.’
Carina backed off a notch, touching Francesca’s cheek very gently. ‘I only did it to make you see what he really was. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’ve never wanted to see you suffer, Francey. You’re still my little lost cousin. I have to look out for you. Harry Osbourne was no good for you.’
‘Harry was okay,’ Francesca said. ‘He was never as close to me as you thought. We weren’t lovers. Nothing like that.’
Carina made no effort to conceal her amusement. ‘Gosh, are you still a little virgin? I bet you are!’ She trilled with laughter that caused heads to turn.
‘Maybe, as a Forsyth, I don’t fancy the idea of my affairs getting around.’
That appeared to hit the bullseye. ‘What does that mean?’
Francesca shrugged. ‘Nothing, really.’ What sense was there in baiting Carina? ‘Sadly, not all married couples live happily ever after.’
‘Well, I plan to.’ Carina stared fiercely at her cousin, like a fencing opponent determined on slicing her through. ‘I love Bryn. I’ve always loved him. I was meant to have him and I’m going to make certain I do. So don’t ever be fool enough to get in my way, cousin.’
Threat came off Carina in waves.
Francesca was all too familiar with the look. Just so had their grandfather looked when he was laying down the law. ‘When have I ever done that, Carrie?’ she asked quietly. ‘We could have been good friends if you’d only given me a chance.’
‘Given you a chance?’ Carina couldn’t have looked more taken aback. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. To my mind we’re the best and closest of friends.’
‘Surely it’s time to face the truth? We’re not, Carrie. We might as well stop the pretence.’
Carina was holding her hands so tightly together she might be fearing she would lash out. ‘I don’t believe this. And on this day of days!’
‘Maybe that’s the reason. It’s the end of an era; the end of the old life. I wanted to belong. I wanted us to be more like sisters than cousins. But sadly we were never that.’
Carina’s anger suddenly disappeared like a puff of smoke. ‘I hate to hear you talk like this, Francey,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel quite wounded. You obviously have no memory of all the fondness I showed you. What you’re saying sounds quite neurotic. I can’t help knowing all these years that you’ve been sick with envy. Don’t worry. I forgive you. It’s natural enough. But I’ve always tried to be there for you. I’ve always tried to protect you from unpleasantness. I shielded you from Gramps. You made him angry, always looking at him with those big tragic eyes. Anyone would think you were accusing him of something.’
Francesca shook her head. ‘Nonsense!’
‘Not nonsense at all. If I were you, I’d count myself lucky.’
‘A lot of the time I do,’ Francesca freely admitted. ‘Look, Bryn’s coming over.’
‘He’s coming to me!’ Carina pointed out very sharply, her possessive blue eyes following his progress. ‘I dearly need his support.’
‘Of course you do.’
The life force that was in Bryn Macallan made him fairly blaze. Both young women felt it. Both were electrified by it.
Francesca made her escape as swiftly as she could. She mightn’t know the whole truth of Bryn’s relationship with her cousin, but she knew enough not to interfere.
If only … If only …
She made the mistake of glancing back, and any tiny hope she might have nourished withered and died. Bryn held an anguished-looking Carrie against his breast, his raven head bent over hers, a shining blonde against the funereal black of his jacket.
Who said unrequited love wasn’t hell?
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Francesca finally made it to the relative sanctuary of her old suite of rooms, she found Dami, the maid, putting a pile of fluffy fresh towels in the en suite bathroom, which was almost as big as the living room in Francesca’s apartment.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms Forsyth?’ Dami asked. She had already unpacked Francesca’s things and put them away. ‘Would you like tea?’
Francesca glanced out of the window. It was still brilliantly light. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you, Dami.’ There had been any amount of food and drink downstairs, but she hadn’t felt able to touch a thing. The ‘mourners’, however, standing in groups holding plates and glasses aloft, had availed themselves of the sumptuous spread. It might have been a wedding, not a wake. ‘Are you settling in well?’ she checked with the maid, who was a fairly recent addition to the staff.
Dami looked shocked to be asked. ‘Yes, thank you, miss.’ She gave a little nervous bob. ‘What kind of tea, please?’ Eagerness was visible in every line of her slight body. She began to sound off a list.
It was Francesca’s turn to smile. ‘Darjeeling will be fine, Dami. Perhaps you could find a sandwich to go with it?’ It struck her all of a sudden that she had better have something to keep up her strength.
‘Of course, miss,’ Dami said, preparing to withdraw. ‘Shall I draw a bath for you later?’ It was her job to look after Francesca’s every need, and she was obviously