Emma Darcy: The Ultimate Choice

She tucked the tailored white shirt more firmly into the navy blue tailored skirt, checked that her homi-ped navy sandals were shiny clean and there was no run in her tights, heaved a sigh to relieve her inner tension, then picked up her shoulder-bag and set off on her way.

Marian Park was seventeen kilometres from the township of Bowral, not a long drive and always a pleasant one for Kelly. The southern tablelands of New South Wales had a relatively cool climate, and the country was green and lush at this time of year.

If it wasn't for Justin St John, she would be rushing home to exercise the horses, getting them into peak condition for the last show-jumping venue at Dapto before the Australian Grand Prix at Wentworth Park.

As a last resort, she had contacted as many people as she thought might be able to help her out of her dilemma. She had been offered a number of rides, but only on second-string horses. They gave her no hope of winning the points she still needed to put her into the World Cup. Not that she could go overseas and leave Grandpa alone now, anyway. That dream had died with Henry Lloyd. But Justin St John had buried it! To take her horses away from her was as unfair as taking Grandpa's property. Henry Lloyd had certainly bought the stallions and the mares. He had indulged her with everything she wanted, in order to follow in Noni's footsteps. But it was Kelly's own work with them that had increased their value to such an extent that, if Justin St John sold them and pocketed the proceeds himself, it would be downright robbery.

After she had won the blue ribbon on Rasputin at the Perth Grand Prix, the visiting Koreans had offered five times the price Henry had paid for him. And Rapunzel, the palomino mare, had attracted an equal offer from the Japanese. Lady of Shallot and Sir Galahad, her second-string horses, could easily fetch triple their initial cost. And no way could Kelly afford to buy any one of them.

Show-jumping was a rich man's sport. But it made no difference to Kelly's burning sense of injustice. Any fair-minded person would have offered her a deal. Something. Anything! But Justin St John's solicitor had left her no leeway to argue her case. She had not paid for anything: not the horses or saddles or horse-truck or vet fees or hay or any other tangibles. All the prize money she won had gone on entrance fees and travelling expenses.

But it still wasn't fair!

Kelly belatedly returned the waves of a few people as she passed through the village of Crooked Creek. She spotted Uncle Tom yarning to Judge Moffat outside the courthouse, and hoped the judge wouldn't notice her car going by. He might comment on it to her grandfather-although she hadn't really lied about working late!

If it was a good chess game they wouldn't gossip much, she argued to herself, and dismissed the niggle from her mind.

The last few kilometres sped by. Kelly slowed her old Toyota as the road entered the pine forest which enclosed and sheltered the gardens of Marian Park. The avenue was dark and shadowy, and it was like going through a tunnel to another world.

The beauty and artistry of the grounds surrounding the grand old mansion were unique in Australia. When Kelly had been little it had seemed like a fairyland: the terraces of emerald lawns, magnificent specimens of imported trees-ash, elm, maple, beech, the fascinating topiary work, sunken gardens, statuary, hidden ponds, the wistaria walk, the banks of azaleas and rhododendrons. So much to delight the eye everywhere one turned.

And nothing had changed over the years. Here it was as if time stayed still. Kelly half expected to spot Henry Lloyd chatting to one of the gardeners, but the timelessness was only an illusion. The Lloyd era was over at Marian Park.

Sadness dragged at Kelly's heart as she drew the car to a halt under the ivy-covered portico which stretched over the driveway. Suddenly she didn't want to get out and go inside the house that was now occupied by a stranger. Even as she fought down the feeling, the front door opened and a man started down the steps towards her.

Too young to be Justin St John, Kelly decided, and pushed herself out of the car.

'Miss Hanrahan?' he greeted her, looking slightly surprised.

She recognised the voice from the telephone. 'Mr Farley,' she replied with a nod of acknowledgement.

He was thirtyish, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, his face too weatherbeaten to be that of a city man, and he was dressed in the khaki work-drill clothes that went with the outdoors. He gave her a slightly crooked smile which lent a softening friendliness to his rugged features. He was not unattractive, but Kelly was in no mood to appreciate the looks of any man connected to the enemy.

'I was expecting someone older,' he said. 'But it's good of you to come.'

'I expect Mr St John to make it worth my while,' Kelly reminded him with some asperity. She opened the back door of the Toyota. 'Perhaps you would carry that inside for me,' she directed, indicating the interferential which was heavy and cumbersome to handle. And, since Roy Farley was obviously Justin St John's lackey, he might as well earn his keep!

'Of course,' he said, and treated the machine with conscientious care.

Kelly picked up her handbag and the ultrasound and followed him. She steeled herself to walk through the home that would never again be a second home to her. But apparently the new broom hadn't swept through the house yet. No changes had been made to any of the furnishings that she could see. Everything was exactly the same. Kelly wasn't sure if she felt relief or resentment.

It surprised her when she was led to the guest wing. A moment's consideration made her realise that Justin St John would not be using the stairs in his condition. She was ushered into a bedroom where two tables had been arranged for her: one for the equipment, the other draped with a large bath-towel.

'I trust this is satisfactory?' Roy Farley asked anxiously as he set the interferential down and plugged it into a power-point.

'It will serve,' Kelly replied.

He threw her a relieved smile, then knocked on the door to the adjoining bathroom. 'The physiotherapist is here, Justin,' he called.

'I'll be out in a minute.'

The voice was deep, with the cultured tone that was undoubtedly the built-in product of a high-class Victorian boarding-school. Kelly might have conceded that it was pleasant, if it had not belonged to the person she had most reason to hate.

'He's in the spa bath,' Roy Farley explained as he turned back to her. 'If there's nothing else you require, I'll leave you to it.'

'Thank you,' Kelly said dismissively.

She glanced at her watch as he left the room, sourly wondering how long Justin St John's minute would be. Not that it really mattered. She would have him just where she wanted him soon enough.

Conscious that her nerves were tightening now that the confrontation she had planned was imminent, Kelly busied herself plugging in the ultrasound and taking out the bottle of oil and box of tissues from her bag. When she heard the bathroom door click open, she carefully composed an expression of professional detachment and slowly swung around.

Kelly did not know if her look of detachment remained intact. For some immeasurable length of time her.brain didn't register anything but the image of the man who stood in the bathroom doorway. He was tall and tanned and impressively male; all the more so since he wore only a brief pair of underpants. There was nothing soft about him, and his utter stillness seemed to intensify the power of his presence.

His hair was straight and black, thick and slightly spiky from the bath steam. The harsh planes of his face converged to give him a strikingly individual look that was compelling rather than handsome, feral rather than civilised. The dimple in his chin was almost incongruous, yet it added an intriguing spice to his strong animal-like quality. His eyes were deeply set and slate-grey: hard and uncompromising and intensely concentrated on her.