Маргарет Уэй – Australia: Outback Fantasies: Outback Heiress, Surprise Proposal / Adopted: Outback Baby / Outback Doctor, English Bride (страница 18)

‘He didn’t love it,’ Francesca said, a catch in her voice. ‘He wouldn’t go there.’

‘Perhaps he had a reason.’ Bryn’s answer sounded grim. ‘He wasn’t liked, either as the big boss or a man.’ The tribal people had regarded Francis Forsyth as a trespasser on sacred ground. And perhaps a lot more. ‘How do you feel about his leaving me a half-share?’ He captured her gaze. ‘I want you to tell me the truth. I can stand it.’

She gave a laugh that held the faintest sob. ‘I want you more than anyone by my side, Bryn. You already know that. We both love Daramba.’

‘That apart,’ he said, brushing their mutual love for the great Outback station aside, ‘what about my taking control of the business side of the entire operation?’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said wryly.

‘I’m going to want to make a lot of changes,’ he said, trying to prepare her, reaching for his jacket, then shouldering into it.

How handsome he was. How masculine. She loved the breadth of his shoulders that made his clothes sit so well; the sharp taper that emphasised his lean, narrow waist and hips, and his long, athletic legs. ‘Go for it,’ she said, trying for lightness on this bleakest of days. ‘I have a few ideas of my own you might be interested to hear.’

His brows knotted. ‘Of course. I have no intention of going ahead with anything without discussion. We’re partners, Francey.’

She nodded, taking enormous comfort from that. ‘Partners. I do have a good business head.’

‘I know.’ He moved towards her with the easy male grace that so characterised him. ‘Clever girl! You’ll have countless opportunities to bring your expertise to bear.’

‘That’s if I accept my inheritance,’ she replied, her expression grave. ‘I want time to think about it. My life would revolve around the Foundation. What time would there be for me? I’m serious about my art. I’m serious about helping other artists.’ She paused, feeling a jolt of non-acceptance she had to stifle. ‘But I fully expect to take my seat on the board of Titan.’

There was a glitter of admiration in his brilliant eyes. ‘Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.’

She stood there looking at him, in such an agony of need it made her press her hands to her sides. ‘It’s important for me to know how you think and feel.’

‘But you do know, Francey.’ He could read the huge uncertainties that were in her. It was so easy to understand. What she had been offered was almost too big to grasp. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you have the brains, the guts and the nerve to carry this off. Do it for everyone’s sake. You have the power to change lives for the good. I understand your fears and doubts. But don’t get bogged down, thinking your grandfather’s will was unfair to Charles and Carina. They’ve been very handsomely provided for. Your grandfather knew what he was doing.’

For once let Forsyth and Macallan be on the same side, he prayed. Only with Francesca at the helm was that possible. ‘Now, I’m off,’ he said briskly, before his control snapped and he pulled her into his arms. God knows he wanted to, but he knew what would happen next. Carina had convinced Francesca of her lies, and her bullying had made it nearly impossible for Francesca to accept that someone might want her instead of her cousin. Whatever she said, whatever barriers she threw up, he knew she was very vulnerable to him. His role, however, was to shield and protect her.

At his imminent departure Francesca knew a moment of pure panic. ‘I don’t want you to go.’ Her need for him rose to overwhelm her.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you weighed down with emotion, Francey. Some things have to stay on hold.’

That sobered her. She made a huge effort to pull herself together, walking with him to the door. ‘So much to do, Bryn,’ she said, determined not to crumble under the weight of it all. ‘So many meetings. So many people to get to know. So much information I’ll have to read and try to absorb.’

‘One day at a time, Francey,’ he advised, moving further away. Her aura was more intense than he had ever known. ‘Don’t let it crowd you. All you have to do is remember you’re not alone.’ He didn’t bend to kiss her cheek. He wasn’t that much of a knight in shining armour. ‘What do you say we fly out to Daramba the weekend after next?’ he asked. ‘Both of us will definitely be needing a break by then.’

Her face lit up from within, its illumination filling him with surging desire. ‘That sounds wonderful!’

Resolutely he opened the door, keeping his hand fixed firmly to the handsome brass knob. ‘Good. I’ll arrange it. You can bring a chaperon if you want,’ he added, only half in jest. ‘Ring you tomorrow. I’m off now to see my girls.’

She knew he was referring to Lady Macallan and his mother, Annette, who shared the beautiful historic Macallan mansion. It was a far cry from the Forsyth mausoleum. After the tragic death of her husband, Annette Macallan had suffered a long period of depression that had ended in a breakdown. Sir Theo and Lady Macallan had looked after her like a beloved daughter.

‘Give them my love,’ she said. ‘Tell them I’ll speak to them soon. I need to speak to Elizabeth as well. Grandfather didn’t find it in his heart to leave her even a small memento.’

‘What heart?’ Bryn asked with a brief, discordant laugh. If Francis Forsyth had thought he would win the Macallans over by leaving him a half-share in the Forsyth pastoral empire he had thought wrong. Frank Forsyth’s treachery had been like a knife in the back to his grandfather. Sir Theo had died knowing what a deadly serpent he’d had for a lifelong friend.

The days that followed gave Francesca her first real understanding of the power and far-reaching influence of great wealth. There was an endless list of concerns she had to address, and then, when she had given them her full attention, endeavour to prioritise.

She had a model to go on. The Macallan Foundation, among other things, funded medical research into childhood diseases. That was their main focus. The Macallan Foundation built research centres and hospitals, and awarded endowments and scholarships to educate doctors not only for the home front but for third world countries as well. The Macallan name was enormously respected. She wanted the same respect for the Forsyth Foundation. She wanted to be assured that the Forsyth Foundation would be doing the work it was meant to do, much in the way of the Macallan Foundation—which Bryn administered.

If she needed advice—and she desperately did—he was the best person to turn to. Lord knew he was approachable enough, for all the burden of responsibilities placed upon him. But even knowing this Francesca felt she had to spare him and bring her own perfectly good mind to bear on it all. She refused to be the figurehead her grandfather had been. She had to start building a new life for herself. Not one she had wanted, but one she realised offered her the greatest opportunity for doing good. She had to start learning from everyone who was in a position to help her. When she was ready she was going to make changes—she had all but decided already on a glaring few—but for now she needed a tremendous amount of help.

The paperwork alone was staggering. Her routine had entirely changed as her life had speeded up dramatically. She woke at five instead of seven. Leapt out of bed. She went to bed very late. Yet even with that timetable she felt energised. There was so much to be done. A big plus was that she met daily with people who were not only in a position to help her, but were going out of their way to do so, seemingly delighted to be called on. That gave her a great confidence boost. Bryn left messages for her constantly, to tell her to get in touch with this one or that. All whiz kids who could run things for her as she wanted and then report back. She had to learn early how to delegate or go under, he told her, speaking from experience and the benefit of his own heavy workload.

She needed secretaries—all kinds of secretaries. Even press secretaries to front for her. She had endured a very scary onslaught of attention from the media almost from the minute the news of her elevation within the Forsyth family had broken. She needed people around her she could trust. Really trust. Loyalty was top of her agenda. Valerie Scott, a senior foundation secretary, was working for her now.

Valerie was a very attractive, highly competent divorcee in her late forties, tall and svelte, with snapping dark eyes and improbably rich dark red hair. She dressed well, with discreet good jewellery and accessories. As a Hartford—her maiden name—she was a member of an old Establishment family that had not only fallen on bad times but gone bust. A string of dodgy investments had figured somewhere along the way, Francesca seemed to recall. After Valerie’s marriage break-up from a successful stockbroker, who had left her for a look-alike twenty years younger, Sir Francis had given Valerie a job. Her ‘office’ was an open area right outside his door, with Valerie seated behind an antique desk of very fine rosewood with more of the ormolu, lions’ masks and feet her grandfather had favoured.