“I was about to get myself something to eat. Come and keep me company.”
“Love to.” Simon showed his sweet, vulnerable smile. He had been a delicate and sensitive little boy, and sometimes it still showed. “Well, for a little while. I have to be getting back soon.”
“How did you get off in the first place?”
They mounted the short flight of front stairs.
Simon took off his hat and threw it onto the seat of a white wicker armchair. “I had to do a job for Guy. I was on my way back, but I thought I’d stop in here first. You look great.”
“You’re an awful fool!” she laughed. “I look terrible. I’m hot, sweating and starving.”
“You still look great.” Simon thought one of the best things about Alana was that she either didn’t know or didn’t care that her natural beauty was startling. Alana was his life. He had been running to her for peace and comfort ever since he could remember. “Your dad around?” His eyes slipped beyond her into the spacious entrance hall, as though Alan Callaghan was about to make another one of his slightly terrifying appearances.
“I guess he should be up by now,” Alana said, leading the way into the house. “Go into the kitchen while I check. You could start the coffee if you like.”
“Will do.”
Simon was as familiar with the Callaghan homestead as his own. He made his way through to the big farmhouse kitchen at the rear. It looked out onto the summerhouse where he and Alana had enjoyed endless after-school snacks prepared by her lovely mother. How he had wished he had a mother like that! The white lattice sides were covered in a very beautiful climbing rose, a creamy yellow with glossy dark green foliage, and a heavenly perfume wafted into the kitchen. He would always associate it with Annabel Callaghan. He missed her too. She had been such a radiant woman—beautiful, warm, welcoming. She and his own mother, Rebecca, could not have made a greater contrast.
Alana found her father in his study. He was dressed in knee-length khaki shorts and a clean white singlet. His heavy brown-rimmed glasses were sliding down his nose as he made his way through a fresh pile of bills.
“How are you, Dad?” Alana walked around the king-sized desk to give him a kiss.
“Awful, if you must know,” he grunted, putting an arm around her waist and resting his head briefly against her shoulder.
“Your own fault.” It was a mistake to give too much comfort.
“I know, but it ain’t easy,” he commented dryly. “The wethers have to be drenched.”
Alana slumped into a leather armchair. “Unless you can help me, it will have to wait until Kieran gets home.”
“Of course I’ll help you,” he said, just a shade testily. In her whole life Alana had never heard a harsh word from her father. “If you’re up to it we’ll do it this afternoon.”
“If I’m up to it? I like that!”
“Okay, okay—I know you’re a good, brave girl. The very best.” He broke off as emotion threatened to overcome him.
“My heart bleeds for you, Dad,” she said, very gently. After all, she didn’t know what it was to love someone like her father had loved and continued to love her mother. Passion between a man and woman was a different kind of love. She hadn’t experienced it as yet, and maybe she never would. Not everyone found a soul mate at will.
Alan gave himself a little mental shake. “I’m not quite the weak blubbing fool I must appear, but your mother was my shining star. She was there for me. In the morning she was there. When I came back at night she was there. Always shining. I still don’t know what she ever saw in me, the descendant of a wicked Irish convict.”
“Who was transported for the term of his natural life to Australia because he’d poached a couple of rabbits to feed his starving family,” Alana said darkly. “And who by the way went on to become a well-respected pastoralist.”
Her father allowed himself a smile. “Be that as it may, my Belle could have had any man in the Valley and way beyond. She could have had David Radcliffe.”
For a stunned moment Alana thought she hadn’t heard right. She started up in her chair, her expression aghast. “What?” She couldn’t control her rising tone. “Guy’s father?”
“The very one—God rest his soul!” Alan Callaghan, hands locked behind his head, rested back in his chair, staring up at the pressed metal ceiling.
“B-b-but—” Alana found herself stuttering now. “I’ve never heard a word of this.” In itself this was absolutely extraordinary. “Not one word, not from anyone in the Valley—and everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“Obviously they don’t know it all.” Her father’s tone rasped as he took in her stunned expression. “It wasn’t common gossip. Neither your mother nor I ever spoke about it during our marriage. I’m sure the Radcliffes didn’t either—especially after David married Sidonie Bayley a few months after we married. The rebound, of course. And she’s a snob like the rest of them.”
“Guy isn’t. Simon isn’t,” Alana said fairly. “But this is unbelievable, Dad.” She felt immensely disturbed. “Are you saying Guy’s father could have been in love with Mum?”
“Is that a problem?” His eyes cut to her. “I don’t know why I mentioned it. It just slipped out. Everyone was in love with your mother, sweetheart. She was a beautiful, beautiful woman—inside and out.”
“And she’ll always be remembered for it.” Alana tried hard to pull herself together, but she was shocked. “Mum never made any mention of an old romance to me, and we talked about everything. That took in the Radcliffes as a matter of course. Why, she used to laugh whenever I made my little barbed comments about Guy.”
“She knew you were kidding. Guy Radcliffe is a—”
“Don’t tell me!” She passed a hand over her eyes. “A prince!”
“A real gentleman. There’s your own Denby cousins, treating us like riff-raff—leave out little Rose—but I’ve always found Guy the most egalitarian of men. He could teach the Denbys a thing or two about courtesy and respect. His dad was the same way. No side to the man. The whole valley was devastated when Dave lost his life on the Ravenshoe site.”
Alana nodded bleakly. It had been an appalling freak accident on a Radcliffe development site, when a ten-metre-high brick wall scheduled to be demolished later in the day had suddenly collapsed. David Radcliffe had been killed instantly, and his chief engineer, a short distance behind him, had narrowly escaped with significant injuries.
Alana began to wonder about certain things. “I remember coming upon Mum at the time,” she confessed. “She was crying her eyes out, terribly upset. One didn’t see Mum crying.”
Her father took long moments to answer. “No,” he rasped, and then inexplicably slammed his big hand down on a book. “David Radcliffe was a fine man, an honourable man. He left behind a fine son—a young man to be proud of. Let’s leave it at that. I don’t actually like talking about this, Lana. The drink loosens my tongue. I was very jealous over your mother when we were young. She was mine. I won her.”
Was that belligerence in her father’s dark blue eyes? Whatever it was, it made Alana swiftly drop the subject. “Simon is here, Dad,” she said, rising to her feet. “He called in on the way back to work. Want to come and say hello? Have you had anything to eat?”
Alan shook his head. “Buddy wanted to get me breakfast earlier, but I said no. There’s