Sarah's Baby (8 page)

He answered decisively. “I understand that, Sarah. What
isn't
clear to me is why you were ever separated in the first place.”

K
YALL HAD DECIDED
at some point in the evening to raise the subject of Sarah's taking over from Joe Randall. He expected outright, bitter hostility from his grandmother and mother, a quiet, reasoned response from his father. He loved his father. He only regretted that his father had married into this family. Of course, he wouldn't have been born otherwise, but his father had missed out on a chance at happiness. Or was he finding it with the delicately beautiful Carol Lu, the artist? Kyall didn't have a lot to go on, except the magnetic current he sensed passing between them whenever they met. The last time was at a concert given by the Matheson String Quartet at the Endeavour theater. No mediocre affair. Alex Matheson, strangely afflicted with periods of near-blindness, was a brilliant violinist, who under better circumstances could have had a career on the international concert platform. Three other gifted people of the town made up the quartet. The redoubtable Harriet Crompton, a woman of many talents, on viola; Lottie Harris, dressmaker extraordinaire, second violin; the newcomer, Evan Thompson, a dark horse if ever there was one, on cello.

Kyall had found it a deeply moving occasion. No one in the immediate family was musical or loved music outside of him and his father. Of course they
had
played the sort of music with wide appeal: Dvořák, Tchaikovsky, Borodin. The “love” music in the Borodin, so captivating and lyr
ical inevitably put him in mind of Sarah, piercing him to the heart. Afterward he and his father (his mother hadn't come, labeling such an evening a “dead bore”) had run into Carol in the foyer. The townspeople reveled in these evenings that so enriched their lives; consequently the theater had been packed. Carol, an exotic mix of European and Asian blood, had been delighted to see them, smiling eagerly, holding out her pretty hands, first to his father, then to him.

God, poor Dad! At this point in his life Kyall didn't blame the man one bit for going after some happiness and comfort. He had often thought his father's best way out of his predicament was divorce, but McQueens didn't countenance divorce even when a marriage was hardly more than in name only. His parents occupied separate quarters. Not something all that unusual in this family. The only thing was, Kyall was fairly certain neither of them went “visiting.” Not that he would really know. He had the whole west wing to himself.

Now he looked around the dining table. Not circular. No way. Too democratic. That would mean his grandmother couldn't sit at the head. His allotted chair was at the opposite end. His father had never taken it, despite his protests. Nothing more he could do. If this was an informal dining room and what they were eating was an informal meal, most people's minds would boggle at what formal might be. The table was elaborately set with the best china, sterling silverware and crystal goblets for the red wine they were drinking from their well-stocked cellar. A mass of yellow roses in a large silver bowl stood in the center, flanked by Regency silver candelabra. He counted the tapering candles. Seven. Thank God it was a quiet family gathering, otherwise he might've been expected to wear black tie. As it was, they were all dressed a whole lot more
smartly than most people would be for an ordinary evening dinner. Not that he minded. He was prepared to keep up with tradition. Within limits.

His grandmother, as usual, was impeccably groomed. He didn't think anyone had ever seen her less. Not even a dawn raid would have caught her without her makeup on and her copious silver-black hair brushed and styled. Around her neck she wore a single strand of pearls so large the average person might think them costume jewelry, but his grandmother had never worn costume jewelry in her life. Neither had his mother, for that matter, but Enid lacked both Ruth's style and extraordinary presence. For good or bad, his grandmother was a
personage.
And those eyes! A lot of girls had told him they'd remember him for his eyes alone. But his eyes couldn't compare with his grandmother's for impact. His eyes mirrored his feelings. His grandmother's were obsidian. Completely opaque.

Full of secrets? He was determined to find out.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but Joe Randall looks far from well,” he announced to the table.

His mother frowned. “I've asked him, you know, darling. I have a responsibility as mayor. I see him every fortnight. All he says is, he's growing old, or some such thing.”

“Must we discuss Joe Randall at the table?” Ruth McQueen interjected, regarding her grandson with what would have been, in anyone else, a look of appeal.

“I'm sorry, Gran, we must. Joe is the town's doctor. He's been a good one. We must do something to show our respect and appreciation—Joe's days are numbered.”

“Has he spoken to you, Kyall?” his father asked, folding his napkin.

“Not to me, to Sarah Dempsey.”

As expected, all movement at the table stopped.

“To what purpose?” his grandmother asked sharply, black eyes glittering.

“It appears he thinks Sarah, if she's prepared to take the job on, would be an excellent choice as his successor.”

“Oh, Kyall!” his mother wailed. “We simply can't have that wretched girl here.”

“What wretched girl?” Kyall poured a little more wine into his goblet, his face taut.

“You know what I mean.” Enid backed off. “Sarah's done wonderfully well and I wish her the very best but she caused a lot of trouble for this family.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Enid?” Ruth snapped.

“Mother, you know very well.” Enid's face worked. “She was never an ordinary girl. For one thing, she was much too beautiful. God knows how. Her parents weren't all that good-looking. Poor Muriel, at any rate.”

“Jock Dempsey was an extremely handsome man, dear,” Max said. “Have you forgotten? When the men tried to rile him they called him ‘Golden Boy.'” Max twisted his own handsome head toward his wife.

“Good grief, Max, I never took the slightest notice of his appearance!”

“Then you were the only woman for hundreds of miles around who didn't.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Max!” Enid said in exasperation.

“Maybe we can get back to Sarah,” Kyall intervened.

Ruth's eyes were veiled quickly. “Kyall, darling, I don't see Sarah Dempsey as having a future here. I can't imagine she'd want to bury herself in an outback town.”

“She wouldn't exactly be burying herself, Gran,” he said smoothly. “Joe Randall's gained wide experience here. There's plenty of challenge for a good doctor. You know that.”

“Not a woman,” Ruth answered in a resolute tone.

“You're a woman, Gran. You ran a huge sheep station—with my parents' help.”

To everyone's utter surprise Max began laughing. “It's not often I get credit.”

Enid stared at her husband. “Of course you do, dear. You've always been very much involved.”

“Thank you, Enid. I hadn't thought you'd noticed.”

Ruth was very still now, a slight but regal figure in her carver chair. “It's true I did a man's job, but there would be a great deal of opposition in the town to a woman's taking over Joe's position. Joe can deal with anyone, the roughest stockman. I don't think a woman doctor would work at all in Koomera Crossing.”

“Joe seems to think so.” Kyall looked down the length of the gleaming table at his grandmother. “Why don't we put it to the town?”

“Do you mean to tell me Sarah Dempsey actually
wants
the job?” Ruth's eyes narrowed.

“I don't know.” Kyall gave a sardonic smile.

“What does that mean?” His mother's voice was keen.

“It means, dearest Mother, that Sarah's going to think long and hard about it.”

“She'd come back in a flash if it meant landing you.”

“Landing me? She's taken a lot of years if that's what she's after. Sarah's become practically a stranger to me.”

“Then what's changed, Kyall?” his father asked quietly.

“There was something very wrong about the way Sarah was shunted off. I know what I was told. I know what she told me. Same story virtually. The thing is, I've never quite been able to believe it. Whenever I tried to speak to her mother, Muriel wouldn't meet my eyes. She never looked happy. She died young.”

“My God, you're not going to blame us for
that,
” Ruth said.

“Let me give it some thought and I'll let you know.” Kyall stared at his grandmother, holding her gaze. “I want Sarah back.”

That visibly upset his mother. “But, darling, what for?”

“I want Sarah,” Kyall said. “I've always wanted Sarah. No one else.”

“Don't be a fool, Kyall,” Ruth said contemptuously. “What hold has this woman got over you?”

“Some people call it love, Gran.”

Ruth frowned. “I'll never believe that. She'll hurt you, not help you. She's hurt you already. Equally important, I can tell you that she won't make a suitable wife. There's too big a social divide.”

“Gran, why don't you come into the twenty-first century?” Kyall's blue eyes remained fixed on her. His tone was smooth and calm, but there was tension in his body. “And give up on India Claydon while you're at it, instead of fueling her ambitions. I don't want to marry India. She'll find someone who'll suit her better.”

“No other young man exists for her,” his grandmother answered curtly. “She's madly in love with you.”

“With your help. You've encouraged her endlessly. That's cruel.” Kyall tried hard to stifle his anger, but there was a decided edge to his voice.

“All I want is your happiness,” Ruth said. “You and the town are far better off without Sarah Dempsey. I want you to know I'll do everything I can to oppose it. And I mean exactly that.
Everything.
”

Kyall shook his head. “Don't waste your threats on me, Gran. I expected your hostility, but it still astonishes me. If Sarah decides she wants to return to Koomera Crossing, I'm going to make sure her path is smooth.”

“I'm the mayor,” his mother said. “I'll oppose her.”

Kyall's tone, though quiet, was acidic. “No, you won't, Mother. What about you, Dad?”

“As far as I'm concerned, Kyall, it's up to Sarah. But I am concerned for her, given the strong opposition around this table.”

“Wisely said, Max,” Ruth murmured with sarcasm.

“Oh, darling, how can this be?” Enid shifted in her chair to look at her son. “You're so clever about everything. Except Sarah.”

“What have you really got against her, Mum?” Kyall gazed at this mother with hard inquiry. “The way you go on, you'd think she was the town tart, instead of a beautiful, intelligent, well-respected doctor. Your attitude really puzzles me. I don't understand your burning need to have Sarah not only out of town but out of my life.
Why,
in God's name?”

Enid shrank before her son's gaze. “I don't think she could possibly make you happy,” she answered at last.

Kyall threw down his napkin and rose from the table. “Which means you won't tell me the truth. Nothing has ever felt right about this.”

“Show some sense, Kyall,” Ruth compressed her lips. “We did everything to give Sarah Dempsey a real chance at making something of herself. Well and good. She succeeded. What's wrong with her, anyway? Why isn't she married?”

“What's wrong with
me?
” Kyall challenged.

“It was an adolescent fantasy,” Ruth said.

“Whatever the truth is,” Kyall said, voice soft, blue eyes burning, “I'm going to find out. Muriel's death brought Sarah back to town. I was with her today and I think she's as much mine as she ever was. Which doesn't mean she's ready to fall into my arms. Rather the reverse. There's a
reason for that. I hope for all our sakes that what I find out isn't a whole lot different from what I've been told.”

 

T
HAT SAME EVENING
, Sarah had dinner with Harriet, a bracing yet comforting presence. Sarah waited until they'd finished the meal—an assortment of Thai dishes. Harriet was the most amazing cook, her thirst for knowledge leading her into exhaustive research and experimentation with the cuisines of Southeast Asia. These last recipes she'd brought back from Bangkok.

Sarah, who had thought herself incapable of eating a bite, found her taste buds responding. “This is delicious, Harriet. And light. Just what I need. What's the noodle dish called?”

Harriet rattled off something in Thai. “Got it from a local, an elderly matriarch. Apparently she'd once cooked for the royal family.”

“How did you meet her?”

“Ah, on my travels. I talk to everyone, as you know. One comes to a better understanding and appreciation of cultures along the way. I haven't quite perfected this dish, but I'm getting there.”

“It tastes wonderful to me. I don't get a lot of time to cook. Maybe you can help me if I ever come back here.”

Harriet, with her keen mind and razor-sharp intuition, immediately pounced on that. “Will you ever do that, my dear? It sounds to me you've rediscovered you might want to.”

Sarah drew a breath, set down her fork, emotion in her eyes. Softly she said, “I'd like to discuss it with you.”

“Hang on, hang on.” Harriet, ever sprightly, jumped up, going to the refrigerator and withdrawing what was left of their chilled white wine. “Let me refill that glass for you.”

“No, you have it, Harriet.” Sarah gave her a fleeting
smile. Harriet, far from being an alcoholic, was known to indulge her taste for fine wine. She watched Harriet, dressed in a flowing kaftan in a wonderful shade of deep purple embellished with gold, pour the excellent Riesling into her glass, lift it and swirl the golden-green contents around, then sniff the bouquet.