Marion Lennox - The Prince’s Outback Bride

‘Mmm,’ Marc said. ‘Grandma drew it for us. I couldn’t read it then but I can now. It’s in my treasure box.’

‘Can we look at it?’

So they did. The tree that Alice had drawn was simple, first names only, wives or husbands, drawn in neat handwriting with a little childish script added later.

Marc spread it out on the kitchen table and both of them studied it. Marc was an intelligent little boy, made old beyond his years by the death of his parents. Sometimes Pippa thought she shouldn’t talk to him as an equal, but then who else could she talk to?

‘I wrote the twins and two thousand and two and stuff when I learned to write,’ Marc said and Pippa hugged him and kept reading.

‘Etienne was your great-great-grandfather,’ she told him, following the line back. ‘Look, there’s Max. His grandpa and your great-grandfather were the same. Louis. I guess Louis must have been a prince.’

‘Why aren’t I a prince?’

‘Because your grandma was a girl?’ she said doubtfully. ‘I think princes’ kids are princes but princesses’ kids aren’t.’ She hesitated and then admitted: ‘Actually, Marc, I’m not sure.’

Marc followed the lines himself, frowning in concentration. ‘Why is there a question mark beside Max’s name?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is Max a prince?’

‘He didn’t say he was a prince.’

‘It’d be cool if he was.’

‘I hope he’s not. I don’t have a tiara to wear,’ Pippa said and Marc giggled.

Which Pippa liked. He was too serious, she thought, hugging him close. He’d had too many dramas for one small boy. She should treat him more as a child. It was just…she was so lonely.

And thinking about it didn’t help.

‘Will he come back?’ Marc said anxiously and she gave herself a mental shake.

‘Of course he will. I’ll sweep the floor while we wait.’

‘You’re always working.’

‘Working’s fun.’

Or not. But working stopped her thinking, and thinking was the harsher alternative.

Max finally returned, followed by Duncan with a trailer of firewood, followed by Bert Henges with his tractor. It had only taken a promise of cash to get Bert out in the rain. Three men and a tractor made short work of hauling the truck from the pit. They heaved planks over the broken grid and Bert departed-bearing cash-while Duncan and Max drove cautiously across to the house. The kids had been watching from the veranda but as soon as they drove closer they disappeared. Duncan began tossing wood up to Max, who started stacking it next to the back door.

They’d unpacked half a dozen bundles when Pippa emerged. She was holding her broom like a rifle, and the three children were close behind.

She looks cute, Max thought inconsequentially. Defensive-have broom will shoot!-but cute.

‘What’s going on?’ she demanded; then as she saw what they were doing she gasped. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘My shed,’ Duncan said, unaccustomed profits making him cheerful. ‘Seems you’ve got a sugar-daddy, Pippa, love.’

‘I do not have a sugar-daddy,’ she said, revolted. ‘I can’t afford this.’

‘It’s paid for. You’ve struck a good’un here.’ He motioned to Max with a dirty thumb and tossed another bundle.

‘Will you cut it out?’ She looked poleaxed. ‘How did you get the vehicles here?’

‘Bert hauled your truck out of the pit.’ The wood merchant was obviously relishing enough gossip to keep a dreary country week enlivened until the rain stopped. ‘Courtesy of your young man.’

‘You didn’t get Bert out into the rain?’ she demanded of Max, appalled. She stepped into his line of tossing to stop the flow of wood. ‘He’ll charge a fortune and I can’t pay. Of all the stupid…It was just a matter of waiting.’

‘You don’t need to pay.’ Max handed her his bundle of wood. ‘I already have. Can you start the fire with this? There are firelighters and matches in the grocery sacks. Most of the groceries are in the trunk. I’ve backed right up so we can unpack without getting wet.’

‘Most of the groceries…’ She stared at him, speechless, and he placed his hands on her shoulders and put her aside so Duncan could toss him another bundle.

The feel of him…the strength of him…She felt as if she’d been lifted up and transported into another place.

She gasped and tugged away. ‘I can’t take this,’ she managed, staring down into the stuffed-full trunk of his car. There were chocolate cookies spilling out from the sacks. Real coffee!

‘Why not? The farmhouse is freezing and it’s no part of my plan to have you guys freeze to death.’

‘Your plan?’

‘My plan,’ he said. ‘Can you light the fire and we’ll talk this through when we’re warm?’

She stared blindly at the wood, confusion turning to anger. ‘You can’t just buy us. I don’t understand what you want but you can’t have it. We don’t want your money.’

‘Pippa, I’m family and therefore I have the right to make sure you-or at least the children-are warm and well fed,’ he said, gently but firmly. He fielded and stacked another bundle. ‘Please. Get the fire lit and then we can talk. Oh, and the fish and chips will be here in fifteen minutes. Home delivery.’

‘Home delivery?’ she gasped. ‘When did they ever…’

‘They’d run out of potatoes at the pub,’ he said apologetically. ‘But Mrs Ryan says Ern can go out and dig some and she’ll have fish and chips here by three.’

‘I bet he paid her as much as he paid me,’ Duncan said cheerfully and he winked at her. ‘You’re on a winner here, love.’

She stared, open-mouthed, at them both. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

‘Light the fire,’ Max said-and Pippa stared at him wordlessly for a full minute.

Then she went to light the fire.

It seemed she had no alternative.

She might not like it-well, okay, she liked it but she might not trust it-but he was right; she had no choice but to accept. He was related to the children, which was more than she was.

So she unpacked and as the kids whooped their joy she felt dizzy.

‘Sausages,’ they shouted, holding each item up for inspection. ‘Eggs. We haven’t had this many eggs since the fox ate our last chook. Marmalade. Yuck, we don’t like marmalade. But there’s honey. Honey, honey, honey! And chocolate. More chocolate. Lemonade!’

Distrust it or not, it was the answer to her prayers, and when Max appeared at the kitchen door, dripping wet again, she even managed to smile.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this.’

‘My pleasure. Do you have a laundry? Can Duncan and I have access?’

‘To our laundry?’ He was dripping wetly onto the linoleum. ‘Do you both want to strip off?’

‘I don’t have any more clothes,’ he told her. ‘Donald’s waterproofs weren’t quite as waterproof as I might have liked. But we now have a clothes dryer.’

‘A clothes dryer.’ What was he talking about?

‘I know. I’m brilliant,’ he told her, looking smug. ‘A little applause wouldn’t go astray.’

‘Where did you get a dryer?’

‘MrsAston and MrAston paid for their daughter Emma to install central heating just last week,’ he said, and his voice changed.

‘Those nappies were too much, I said to Ern, I said. They’ll be the death of her, with those twins, and young Jason’s only just out of nappies and none too reliable. We didn’t have any money when we had kiddies but we have now, what with superannuation and all, so the least we can do is pay for central heating. So we did, and now…what does my Em want with a great hulking tumble-dryer when there’s a whole new airing cupboard that can take three times as many nappies? You’re very welcome to it.’