Matilda's Last Waltz Read Free

and if you ain’t buying there’s others who’d be only too pleased to take it off my hands.’
    â€˜How exactly do you plan to sell the land when it doesn’t belong to you, Mervyn?’
    The wind of Mervyn’s temper blew itself out. He knew! The bastard had known all the time. ‘No one need find out,’ he croaked. ‘We could do the deal now and I’ll be gone. I ain’t gonna tell no one.’
    â€˜But I’ll know, Mervyn.’ Ethan’s tone was arctic, his pause just long enough to make Mervyn itch to hit him. ‘Mary came to me several months ago, just after the doctor told her she didn’t have much time. She was worried you might try and sell Churinga and leave Matilda with nothing. I advised her on how best to protect the girl’s inheritance. She left that land in trust for Matilda. The bank has all the papers until she reaches twenty-five. So you see, Mervyn, there’s no way you can sell it to pay off your gambling debts.’
    Mervyn’s gut rolled. He’d heard the rumours and hadn’t wanted to believe them – until now.
    â€˜The law says a wife’s property belongs to her husband. Patrick promised it to me when I married her, and it’s my right to sell it now. And anyway,’ he blustered, ‘what was my missus doin’ calling on you for advice?’
    â€˜I was merely doing the neighbourly thing by lending her the services of my solicitor.’ Ethan’s face was stony as he picked up Mervyn’s hat and held it out to him. ‘I might want Churinga but not enough to break my word to someone I respected. And I think you’ll find that goes for most of the other squatters around here. G’day Mervyn.’
    *   *   *
    Ethan dug his hands into his pockets and leaned against the white verandah post as he watched Mervyn limp down the steps to his horse. The man’s tug on the rein was vicious as he led it across the hard-baked dirt of the front approach to the cookhouse, and Ethan wondered if that temper had ever been loosed on Mary – or, God forbid, Matilda.
    He glanced at the shearing shed before going back into the house. The season was almost over and the wool cheque would be welcome. Lack of rain meant expensive, bought-in feed, and if the sky was anything to go by, the drought would be with them for some time yet.
    â€˜What did Merv Thomas want?’
    Ethan eyed his twenty-year-old step-son and gave a humourless smile. ‘What do you think?’
    Andrew’s boots rang on the polished floor as they went into the study. ‘It’s Matilda I feel sorry for. Fancy having to live with that mongrel.’
    Andrew flopped into a leather chair and slung one leg over the arm. Ethan eyed him fondly. He might almost be twenty-one, but his strong, wiry figure and dark mop of auburn hair made him look younger. Although the boy had turned his back on the land, Ethan was as proud of him as if he’d been his own. Andrew’s English education had been worth every penny. Now he was doing well at university and would afterwards take up a partnership in a prestigious law firm in Melbourne when he qualified.
    â€˜I don’t suppose there’s much we can do, is there, Dad?’
    â€˜Not our business, son.’
    Andrew’s blue eyes were thoughtful. ‘You didn’t say that when Mary Thomas showed up here.’
    Ethan swivelled his chair to face the window. Mervyn was heading down the track towards the first gate. It would take at least another day and night for him to reach Churinga. ‘That was different,’ he muttered.
    Silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock Abigail had brought with her from Melbourne. Ethan’s mind drifted as he stared out over his land. Yes, Mary had been different. Tough, indomitable little woman that she was, she’d had no armour against the terrible thing that had slowly eaten