Wedding at Wangaree Valley. Margaret Way

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 another good, loyal kid. I don’t feel like eating, love.”

      “Well, you must. I insist. I’ll make you a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea.”

      “All right. But leave it until after Simon has left. I’ll come and wave him off, but I don’t want to spoil his precious time with you. He’s hopelessly in love with you, poor fella. He has been for many a year.”

      Alana turned back at the door, her expression vaguely troubled. “Who says?”

      “Me.” Her father thrust a thumb at his chest.

      “Well, you’re wrong,” she corrected him, emphatically. “Simon loves me like the sister he never had. Simon is not in love with me. There’s a huge difference.”

      “Believe that, you’ll believe anything,” her father muttered dryly. “He’s a nice boy. Always was. But he’s not man enough for you, my darlin.”

      The coffee was perking by the time she walked into the kitchen. Simon had set out cups and saucers.

      “I didn’t know what food you were going to have…” he said.

      “Just a sandwich,” she said. She considered then rejected questioning Simon about any old love affair in the Radcliffe family. Better let it lie. That was certainly what her father wanted. “Have you eaten?” she asked.

      “Only about an hour ago. I will have a cup of coffee, then I must be off. All set for Saturday night?”

      She flashed him a reassuring smile. Simon would have been devastated had she said no. “I’m looking forward to it. So is Kieran.” Her brother got on a lot better with Guy than ever she had. They were of an age, with Kieran some six months or so older.

      On Saturday Guy was giving a small function at Wangaree for visiting guests—an American couple, Chase and Amy Hartmann, members of a leading wine family in California’s Napa Valley.

      “Your mother’s decided not to come?” she asked, striving to keep her tone non-committal. Rebecca Radcliffe’s presence would put a damper on anything.

      The muscles of Simon’s face abruptly clenched. “Yes, and I have to say I’m glad. Sorry if it sounds disloyal, but Mum can’t be relied upon to say a pleasant thing in public. It’s just endless barbed comments that seem to bring all conversation to a halt. Guy only asked her because she’s family and he’s Guy. Lately she’s taken to criticising my friendship with you.”

      “But she’s always done that.” Alana looked up from pouring the coffee. “Heck, she used to blame me for all the bullying that went on with those awful O’Brien boys. Oddly enough, they’ve turned out quite well.”

      “Yes—can you believe it? But Mum’s jealous of anyone I care about, and you’re the closest person in the world to me.”

      “What exactly is she worried about?” Alana was attacked by concern.

      Simon directed his grey glance out of the window. “She’s terrified I might get married to someone she doesn’t approve of.”

      Alana couldn’t help laughing. “Well, that just about wipes out every girl in the valley. No question of marriage for me, thanks,” she added briskly. “Put her mind at rest about me, at least. We’re best mates. Darn near brother and sister. It would be incestuous.”

      Looking unbearably embarrassed, Simon grasped her hand and held it. “Can’t we take a step up from that, Lainie?” he begged. “No, don’t pull away. You mean everything in the world to me.”

      She didn’t have it in her to be unkind. “Well, I’m happy about that, of course. But, Simon, dear, I’m not your girlfriend.” Gently she removed her hand. “I’m your best pal. After The Man, Guy, of course. What’s the matter with you, Simon?” she asked bracingly. The idea of making love with Simon simply wasn’t on. He was very dear to her, but no—decidedly not. “You and I, at twenty-two, are just babies in the marital stakes. You haven’t actually met a lot of girls.” Almost impossible with a psychotic mother. “I thought—I rather hoped— you liked Rose?”

      Glumly Simon slumped back in his chair, stirring too much sugar into his coffee. “Come on, Lainie. Rose is really sweet—unlike the terrifying Violette—and I do like her, but she’s not a patch on you.”

      “How do you know?” Alana challenged. She had previous knowledge that her cousin Rose thought Simon equally sweet. “You have to get to know her. Rose is not only sweet and seriously pretty, she has a lot of hidden depth.” Or she could have, Alana thought. She had a soft spot for Rose.

      Simon rejected that idea. “I wouldn’t care to get mixed up with that family.” He actually shuddered. A gesture, she suddenly realised, very reminiscent of his mother.

      “Your beloved Guy squires Violette around,” she reminded him, with a little touch of malice. Or could it have been envy? “Whenever it suits him, that is.” Whatever did Guy see in Violette? Apart from the fact she was stunning, always marvellously turned out and she could ride. Violette knew all about sheep farming—and wine as well. Ah, heck. Violette’s assets were starting to mount up.

      “Violette, like many another, is praying that one day he’ll pop the question,” Simon answered. “But it’s not going to happen.” His tone couldn’t have been more positive.

      “Then isn’t he being rather cruel to her?” Alana asked sternly. “I can hardly believe she confided in me, but she once told me he only uses her.”

      “Guy most certainly isn’t a user. How dare she?” Simon burst out wrathfully. “He and