“I expect he thinks Oriole is lovely?”
“Yes, he does.”
Bronte smarted. She turned to look back at the emerald blanketed Rex, imagining it as a real dinosaur that had once roamed this land. No wonder Steven loved Oriole. It was a dreamscape! The wonderful fragrances of the fruits and flowers, the exotic character of the place. The North was unique for the luxuriance and diversity of the plant life. She was looking forward to the sunsets. Tropical sunsets were extravagantly beautiful, the sun going down in a great ball of fire, the brief lilac dusk, then star spangled nights with a low hanging copper moon. She turned back to Gilly. “So what’s he up to now?” she asked.
“Well I’ve been dying to tell you all about it,” Gilly said, in a deep confidential tone.
Oh, no! Bronte thought. Here it comes! “Does it have anything to do with Oriole?” She crouched down to get a close-up of a beautiful orchid that had taken root in a dead branch.
Gilly prickled slightly at Bronte’s tone. “Now, now, lovie. It was my idea.”
“What was?” Bronte stood up.
“It’s just that Oriole is so big, love. And my money is running out. I’d love this old place to come back to life. Steven thinks we can make it happen.”
“I bet!” Bronte answered darkly, twisting her head to catch a flight of parrots.
“It will always be yours, love. Or my share of it.”
“Share?” Bronte thrust her hair over her shoulder in sudden agitation. “You own Oriole outright, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I’m talking about if Steven and I went into partnership?”
“You’re going to farm crocs in the lily pond?”
“This is worth listening to, Bronte.” Gilly’s black eyes glinted with seriousness. “I’m no fool.”
“Of course not, I never meant to imply that,” Bronte apologised. Gilly could do what she liked with her own property.
“And Steven is no con man.”
“How could either of us rely on that?” Bronte challenged. “Looks and charisma go hand in hand with chicanery.” Bronte’s concern was written clearly on her face. “Have you checked him out? There’s a big backlog in the courts prosecuting charming con men.”
“Bronte, dear, I’ve been fending off con men for years,” Gilly scoffed. “Real estate up here is getting hot! I haven’t been interested before, but mostly for your sake I think it’s time to cash in on what we’ve got.”
Bronte groaned, terrified Gilly could get herself into financial trouble. And over her! “Please don’t worry about me, Gilly,” she implored.
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve been worrying about you for years and years. I can’t stop now. Your mother may have married a rich man but I don’t think there’ll be any mention of you in his will. I’m sure Miranda had to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.”
Bronte nodded. “She did. Not that she ever told me just what it was.”
“You can bet your life she found it humiliating,” Gilly said. “I thought you’d be pleased?”
“Gilly, you’re free to do anything you want.” To calm herself Bronte moved closer to a magnificent stand of ancient ferns found only in the rain forest. Some of them had grown into trees with huge crowns standing twenty feet or more over her head.
“I won’t do anything that upsets you.” Gilly followed Bronte up.
“We don’t really know this man, Gilly,” Bronte pointed out as gently as she could when she wanted to yell: exactly who is he? “He said he has a law degree. I don’t know from where but it should be fairly easy to find out. Another odd thing, he said he knew of Nat’s family. He said I wouldn’t want to move in with them. He spoke like he actually knew them.”
Gilly’s expression turned thoughtful. She tucked a snow-white lock back into the loose coils. “Funny, he never said anything to me.”
“Yet you told him all about me?” Bronte tried not to sound upset. She knew how proud Gilly was of her.
“Lovie, you can’t turn around anywhere in the house without seeing a photo of you. You were on the television until that rotten Saunders struck back. Damned if I’m famous compared to you. Steven was interested. He thinks you’re very beautiful and a great actress.”
Bronte laughed that one to scorn. “I’m not a great actress. Great actresses are born, like my mother. I’ve got a little talent that’s all and I’m photogenic. I’m not a great anything!”
Gilly pulled her over and hugged her. “You’re too modest, that’s your trouble. Give yourself a chance. You won’t be twenty-three until the end of December. I thought your parents might have named you Noelle but Miranda had a thing about the Brontë novel Wuthering Heights.”
“I know. She’s often said it’s her favourite book though I’ve never seen her read anything else. Vogue, Harpers & Queens, Tatler, Vanity Fair, Architectural Digest, that’s about it.”
“She wouldn’t have time to read,” Gilly said dryly. “That megalomaniac she married demands all her attention. But getting back to Steven!”
“How long have you actually known him, Gilly?” Bronte asked in a worried voice.
“I dunno.” Gilly broke off a dead frond. “It seems like forever. He’s been up here quite a while but I didn’t run into him until around June. It was after you left anyway. I’d taken a trip into town to do my shopping and Steven was walking out of the mall the same time as me. He asked if he could push my trolley.”
“Oh, right!” Bronte said with extreme sarcasm. “That’s one way to start up a conversation. He probably knew who you were.”
Gilly threw back her head and laughed, a sound that put a dozen brilliantly plumaged lorikeets to flight. “Hell, girl, who am I? Steven sure wasn’t after a fling. I mightn’t look it but I am an old lady. I have to keep reminding myself from time to time. Steven is a gentleman. He unloaded the trolley and put it all in the back of the ute for me. I said I had someone to unload it at the other end, the someone being me, but I didn’t let on to him about that.”
“So how did he get to visit?” Bronte had a sinking feeling.
Gilly eye-rolled her. “I seized my opportunity next time I saw him in town. I said if he was anywhere near Oriole Plantation sometime he might like to pop in.”
Bronte looked at her with eyes like saucers. “Gilly, do you realize how dangerous that was?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, girl. You of all people should know I can protect myself. Besides, eyes are the windows of the soul. That young man’s eyes are as clear as crystal. If I could go back forty years my ambition might be to marry him,” Gilly laughed, heading off towards the lagoon where thick banks of the Green Goddess lily and tall reeds grew around the boggy perimeter.
“I suppose it’s possible to become hooked in one’s seventies,” Bronte mused.
“Shows what you’d know,” Gilly said. “Seventy-year-olds are as enthusiastic about sex as seventeen-year-olds. The right man can melt a woman of any age like a marshmallow.”
“Good grief!” For some reason Bronte felt herself go hot. She bent in agitation selecting a river pebble and sending it skipping across the smooth sheet of water.
“I’m fooling, sweetheart!” Gilly guffawed. “I’m just trying to get something straight. I trust Steven Randolph like I trust you.”
That hurt. “You still haven’t told me what he wants you to do?”
Gilly