Chapter One
Monday, June 27, 2005
The taxi pulls to a halt outside the concrete and glass edifice that houses the corporate offices of Kincaid Mining Corporation; forty-four storeys of superb modern architecture near the western end of St Georges Terrace in Perth, Western Australia, and a fitting tribute to the huge conglomerate KMC has become.
Rain has been falling for most of the night and a slight drizzle persists, despite the bright rays of morning sunshine piercing the clouds and reflecting from the upper floor windows. A sign of better things to come, perhaps?
Lachlan and Aretha stride purposefully through the entrance and foyer, acknowledging the greeting from the doorman, and enter the elevator. On the top floor, far above, the others will be waiting. As they are whisked smoothly and almost silently upward toward the boardroom, Lachlan allows himself to ponder the long and tumultuous history of the family business, one which now can truly be considered a force to be reckoned with in global mining terms.
It wasn’t always so, however, and after today the company will never be the same.
But to tell the story of KMC we need to go back some thirty or more years. Back to before Lachlan was even born, in fact. Back to the heady days of the 1970s. Heady days of miners, entrepreneurs, and shady wheeler-dealers. Back even before the days of what came to be known as WA Inc. with all its controversy and double-dealing in politics as well as in business. And back to the goldfields of Western Australia, where many a fortune was won or lost …
Chapter Two
Mid-December 1975
Malcolm Kincaid stepped from the comparative cool of the WA School of Mines building in Egan Street, squinting against the shimmering haze. A small crowd was emerging from within, and he took Rachel’s arm firmly, drawing her sideways to the edge of the throng.
It was hot that day—even for Kalgoorlie. In a place where the heat didn’t really start to bite until mid-January, Nature seemed to be forewarning of summer’s impending advance. The searing east wind, straight from the heart of the Great Victoria Desert, gave Malcolm the impression of standing before a blast furnace. Dust swirled in eddies, stinging his eyes and leaving a gritty taste in his mouth.
Heavy clouds loomed on the western horizon, their elephant-grey forms wracked by occasional thunderclaps. There would be no rain today, however; anyone familiar with the local weather patterns would know that. All that the approaching front would deliver would be a change of wind direction and more humidity—along with the ever-present possibility of lightning-induced bushfires.
Not that any of this bothered Malcolm all that much. Nothing would spoil this day. Today was the start of a whole new life, one that he knew would be exceptional. Malcolm was on the way up. Under the ever-watchful eye of their father, Fergus Kincaid, he and older brother Jamie had applied themselves diligently to their studies, right up to graduating with honours from one of Australia’s premier mining academies.
Malcolm recalled, with little fondness, their father’s relentless bullying. He had to admit, though, the old Scot had done himself proud. Jamie had graduated with an Associate Diploma in Mining Engineering and Extractive Metallurgy just three years earlier. Malcolm, having completed his studies through correspondence from his home in Perth, now clutched his own graduation papers in his hands.
Fergus Kincaid’s one driving ambition for both his sons was financial success; success he’d always felt was his birthright, but that the Fates had conspired to deny him. Malcolm wasn’t sure about how much fate had to do with it, but he already had plans for his own immediate future.
A familiar voice boomed from behind, jerking him from his reverie. “I suppose you feel pretty pleased with yourself. Top marks, hey?”
“Jamie!” exclaimed Malcolm, turning quickly. “I thought you hadn’t turned up!”
“That’d be the day,” grinned Jamie. “As if I’d miss my new business partner’s graduation. Well done, little brother.” He grasped Malcolm’s right hand in both fists, pumping enthusiastically. “I knew you’d ace it, Bro.”
At a shade over six feet, Jamie was taller than Malcolm—slim and wiry. Dressed in faded denims and a check sports shirt, and with a bushy black beard that Ned Kelly himself would have envied, he cast an imposing figure. He might have looked out of place in the well-dressed crowd, but he obviously didn’t feel so. His tanned face and arms—a legacy of many hours under the Australian sun—and his callused hands, bore evidence of the years already spent working on the mines.
Malcolm, by comparison, appeared plump and urbane. The younger Kincaid was clean-shaven except for a neat ginger moustache and sideburns. He was a good five kilograms heavier than his sibling, and almost as far removed from Jamie in appearance as a brother could be.
“Little brother?” Malcolm chuckled, patting his paunch. “Not unless I lose this, mate.”
“A month in the bush and you’ll be a new man,” Jamie replied. “Too much soft city living, that’s your problem.
“And what’s with the suit?” he eyed Malcolm up and down. “Did someone miss the memo about the weather up here?”
They both laughed heartily. One thing these brothers had in common, which nobody could fail to notice, was their roaring exultant laugh. When they laughed together, which they often did, they never failed to attract attention.
“A pity the old man couldn’t be here,” Malcolm said after a moment. “He was the one who wanted us both to graduate from the School of Mines. I reckon he’d be pretty pleased his browbeating has paid off.”
“That’s for sure,” said Jamie. Then, turning his gaze to the petite, demure woman at Malcolm’s side, he said, “And I suppose you’re the gorgeous young thing who’s stolen my brother’s heart?”
“Oh, sorry,” said Malcolm. “Jamie, meet Rachel. Rachel, this—as you’ve probably guessed—is my big brother Jamie.”
“Good to meet you, Jamie,” Rachel beamed. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Nice to put a face to the name at last.”
She offered her hand, which Jamie squeezed eagerly. “Likewise, Rachel. So what do you think of beautiful downtown Kalgoorlie?” He spread his arms wide to encompass the surroundings.
A smile flickered across Rachel’s lips. “Hot.”
“Better get used to it. It’ll really start to warm up after Christmas.”
Jamie turned to face his younger sibling. “So, the notorious Kincaid brothers are together again.” He nudged Mal with his elbow and added, “I never thought I’d ever get you out of the big smoke, by the way. And starting Monday, we’ll be working our own mining lease.”
“I still can’t believe you tossed in your cushy, well-paid, supervisor job with Hillfire Mines.” Malcolm shook his head, ignoring Jamie’s reference to the lease. “You worked hard for that promotion. You were set for the long haul there, I thought.”
“Mal, just wait ’til you see these latest assay reports.” Jamie brandished a sheaf of papers. “We are going to be set for the long haul.” He put special emphasis on We. “In fact, we are going to be rich, very rich.” He fixed Malcolm with his beaming grin, waiting for a response.
“You sure you really want to go down that track? Dad wasted most of his life scratching around his old claim, barely making enough to cover costs most of the time.” Jamie’s grin still didn’t waver as Malcolm continued. “I still say the best plan is to target management positions and let someone else take all the risks.”
“And all the profits!” Jamie countered. “And forget about that old school grubbing around like Dad did. Open cut! That’s the way to go. We bring in dozers, scrape away a foot or two at a time, before sweeping it with detectors. Then we repeat the process.”
“Dozers?” Malcolm took a small backward step. “Dozers, plural? And where is all the money coming from?”
“OK, OK, dozer. For now, at least. I have a D8 in mind for starters.” Malcolm was shaking his head again, but Jamie continued. “Belongs to a pal of mine. He’s prepared to do us a special deal on a short-term lease. Mate’s rates, you could say.” Jamie was clearly excited and obviously not ready to let it go. Malcolm grew silent—a resigned look taking up residence where doubt and incredulity had been a moment earlier.
“Come on, I’ll buy us a beer or three and fill you in on the details,” Jamie said. “Little brother, you are not going to believe these reports!” He waved the papers in Malcolm’s face as they walked away toward the nearest pub.
***
As they crossed to the shady side of the street, Rachel felt Malcolm grip her hand in his. She glanced across to the two brothers. It wasn’t just physical appearances that set them apart. How could this man—tall, rugged, good-looking, and so open and friendly—possibly be Malcolm’s brother? Under different circumstances, the smile Jamie had given her might have melted her heart on the spot!
Malcolm had provided scant details, so she hadn’t known what to expect. In the back of her mind, though, she’d had an image of simply a more senior version of Malcolm Kincaid. What she saw—and yes, felt, when she sized up the older Kincaid—made her just a little uncomfortable. Especially when she probed those penetrating hazel eyes…
As they walked, her mind drifted back over the events of the past three months; the events that had led her to accompany Malcolm Kincaid to Kalgoorlie. They had met at a friend’s dinner party and he had captivated her right away with his wit and charm. So much so, that she’d gone against her usually cautious nature and moved in with him after only a few weeks. Once their situation seemed permanent, however, he had changed subtly, becoming more demanding and less attentive. She’d considered ending the relationship more than once, yet, here she was, agreeing to relocate more than 400 kilometres with him! Rachel shook her head, wondering at the wisdom of her own actions.
What was it, she thought, this hold that Malcolm had over her? And what about Jamie? How could two brothers be so different? Malcolm was a calculated, ambitious optimist; it didn’t take a genius to work that out. Jamie, on the other hand, seemed to turn optimism into an art form. He chatted away, oblivious to the fact that his brother wasn’t paying the slightest attention to what he said, while Malcolm walked in stony silence.
***
The younger Kincaid was digesting the situation. When Jamie focused on an idea, there could be no reasoning with him. That’s the way it always had been, and, he supposed, always would be. He’d just have to let Jamie rave on for a while—nodding in the appropriate places—then say that he needed time to think on it. Tomorrow, he’d tell Jamie about the position he’d already decided to accept with Newmont Mining, a US corporation, who were considering expansion into Western Australia. They had head-hunted him based on his recent performance at the School of Mines.
***
The brothers were on their second pint, reminiscing about old times and Rachel was at the bar ordering lunch for the three of them, when Jamie turned to Malcolm:
“Rachel seems like a great catch Mal,” he said with a grin. “How did an ugly prick like you snare a looker like that? Was it witty Malcolmisms, or ‘Does this smell like chloroform?”
“Very funny,” Malcolm answered. “Just keep your hands off this one, hey? I still remember Bernice.”
Jamie furrowed his brow before answering, “Bernice?” After a brief pause, he said, “You mean Bernie Wainwright? Hell Malcolm, that was way back in high school.”
“Maybe so,” Malcolm replied. “But I still say keep your hands off.”
Jamie sat back, raising his arms in mock surrender. “Sure thing, little brother. Consider me put in my place.”
In fact, Malcolm had long held a grudge against his older sibling over the Bernice Wainwright incident. Bernice, around a year older than Malcolm, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Malcolm had been smitten, and Bernice, despite the age difference, was fond of Malcolm and had done nothing to discourage his advances. Until she met Jamie, that was.
Malcolm had walked in on the two of them making out on the family sofa. The younger Kincaid completely lost control and attacked his brother with the first thing that came to hand; a brass statuette of Elvis Presley. Jamie received a cut to his forehead, and Malcolm a black eye and fat lip. Elvis was left with a permanently twisted right arm. Bernice had stormed out and refused to speak to Malcolm again from that moment onwards.
This was the first time Malcolm had broached the subject in several years, and he actually found himself a little surprised that he’d mentioned it now. The two had long since agreed on a truce where Bernice Wainwright was concerned.
In the back of his mind, though, Malcolm knew the reason for his reaction. He and Rachel were having problems of their own. Nothing too serious, of course, but the relationship was on shaky ground.
Rachel had overheard him flirting with one of her work colleagues and created the usual female fuss. For fucksake, he was just being friendly, wasn’t he? Why did some women have to make such a big deal of things? She’d confronted him, and threatened to leave him, but Malcolm put her straight. She hadn’t mentioned the incident in over a week, and the bruises on her arms and back were clearing up nicely, thank you.
He also hadn’t failed to notice how Rachel had looked at Jamie when they met…
***
“Well?” Jamie broke his train of thought. “Are you going to look at these figures, or not?”
“OK,” sighed Malcolm, “show me what you’ve got.” He took the report from his brother and began to scan the pages with little enthusiasm. Malcolm was reading ore sample reports, but not really absorbing the information, at least not at first. He stopped, reread a section, turned back two pages, ran his hand across his moustache, then looked up at Jamie, who was watching intently with that same broad smile.
“This… this can’t be right. Are you sure there’s not been a mistake?”
“Double checked and triple checked little bro.” Jamie was beaming now. “I said you’d be blown away.”
“But… Where is this lease, anyway?”
Jamie leaned toward his younger brother conspiratorially, “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” He laughed before continuing—ignoring Malcolm’s raised eyebrows at the clichéd attempt at a joke. “It’s actually just east of Dad’s old mine. I reckon it’s the mother lode Dad was looking for all those years. I went out there on one of my days off and walked around with a metal detector.” He held out a bronzed hand, with three nuggets, each bigger than a thimble, “And look what I found—in under twenty minutes!”
Malcolm was staring, open-mouthed, as Jamie continued. “I raced in to register a claim, and it turned out it was part of Dad’s lease all along! Next day I dug some rock samples and took them to be assayed. You have the results there in your hands.” He waited for Malcolm’s response, which wasn’t forthcoming. “So what do you say now, Mal, old pal?”
Chapter Three
December 1, 1976
Malcolm paused, put down his tools, and reached for the water bag. Gulping thirstily at the contents, then splashing some of the precious, cooling liquid on his forehead, he stood to survey the scene. Malcolm had changed a lot, from the debonaire form he’d once struck. He now had a beard that almost matched his brother’s, though the distinct ginger colour was more reminiscent of Henry the Eighth than Ned Kelly. He’d also lost considerable weight around his midriff, replacing it with sinewy muscles to his arms and shoulders.
The Two Brothers mine, some fifty-odd kilometres north of what would one day become the celebrated KCGM Fimiston Super Pit, had been in production now for nine months. During that time the Kincaid brothers had extracted more gold from the small site than even Jamie, on his most optimistic day, would have dreamed.
Initially, they concentrated on the easy pickings, scraping the surface of loose rocks and earth with the D8 dozer and fossicking with the metal detectors. Now, they’d amassed enough collateral to start serious mining of the hard rock which, hopefully, would contain the gold seam their late father spent so much of his life pursuing. In a few more days they would have the newly purchased diesel-powered rock crushing plant and dry blowers in operation and could begin processing their first loads of ore.
***
“Come on, slacker,” Jamie called, “no rest for the wicked, you know.”
Malcolm smiled over at his older brother and offered him the water bag. “And you’d be the expert on that, I guess. Here, have a shot yourself.”
As Jamie swallowed, Malcolm said, “This crusher is costing a fortune, and it’ll cost another to run. I just hope the ore is as rich as the drilling tests show. 35 grammes to the tonne—I still can’t believe it! If that’s accurate, we’ll be in the black in no time.”
“Yep,” agreed Jamie. “And in the meantime, we just have to keep the bank happy,” he added with his usual impudent grin.
Keeping the bank happy was their biggest worry at the moment, Malcolm knew. It had taken a lot of smooth-talking and personal guarantees from both of them, including refinancing Jamie’s home, to attain the necessary funding. This despite the fact that the manager, Joe Worthington, was a long-time friend of the boys’ father, and was also Jamie’s godfather. In the end, the results so far and the fact that both men were proficient at what they were doing were enough to swing things their way. Still, Joe had taken pains to point out, if profits weren’t forthcoming…
“So Jamie, tonight’s the big Birthday Bash. How does it feel to be twenty-nine? Just think, one more year and you’re thirty. Practically an old man!”
Jamie laughed. “You’ll find out for yourself in three years,” he countered, before adding, “pretty much the same as yesterday, I guess, and no doubt the same as I’ll feel tomorrow.”
“That’s not allowing for the post-birthday hangover,” Malcolm chuckled.
“Hopefully, a bit less weary than I am right this minute, in any case,” Jamie added.
He punctuated the last with a deep sigh before continuing. “Is Rachel going to put in an appearance? You said things were a bit shaky between you two at the moment.”
“Oh, she’ll be there. We had a long talk last night. She’s been putting in a lot of extra hours at the Lucky Miner, and it’s getting her down, that’s all.
“I told her to tell them to shove it,” Malcolm continued. “I can support her now, but you know how she is, always the independent one. She won’t even give up her room at the tavern and move in with me.”
***
Jamie nodded. He knew how it was all right. Rachel had confided recently that she felt smothered by Mal’s possessive and controlling nature. She liked living in Kalgoorlie, and enjoyed her job at the Lucky Miner. Lately, though, she’d toyed with the idea of leaving him and moving back to Perth, even though she knew Malcolm would probably follow her and pester her until she relented and came back with him.
“She’s a sweet girl, Mal. You’re a lucky man to have her.”
Jamie immediately regretted that last comment. The last thing he needed right now was a jealous outburst from Mal. To diffuse the situation, he quickly said, “We’d better finish up and head on home to get ready.” then added, shaking his head, “Though I can’t for the life of me fathom why I let you talk me into a birthday party, of all things. At my age?”
Malcolm shrugged. “Best celebrate every milestone we can, I say.”
Chapter Four
The Party
Rachel was still working when Malcolm arrived at the Lucky Miner tavern. She had taken it on herself to organise Jamie’s party and was busy putting the final touches to the tables in the rear function room. Malcolm stole up behind her and put his hands over her eyes.
“Guess who!” he whispered at the nape of her neck.
“Ooh, Sean Connery?” Rachel said. “No? Ah… Paul Newman?”
She turned to Malcolm, feigning surprise and disappointment. “Oh, it’s you. Oh well, better than Count Yorga the vampire, I guess.”
“And I don’t bite,” Malcolm said. “Well, maybe a little, but I don’t leave marks.”
Rachel giggled. She gave him a quick kiss and made to return to her work when Malcolm grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. “Is that all I get?” He placed his mouth on hers and kissed her deeply, then added, “There’s a down payment on what’s in store for you later.”
She struggled free from his embrace, glancing around to see if there were any spectators. “Mal,” she said, “you’re hurting me. My back’s still tender from—you know…”
“Oh, come on, Rach. I hardly touched you. Anyway, that was days ago—you’re not going to sulk over it all night, are you?” Then he added in a whisper, “This is Jamie’s birthday. I don’t want you fucking it up, so let’s play nice, hey?”
Rachel managed a weak smile. No, she would not spoil Jamie’s party. Later, she decided, they’d have that discussion she had been putting off for the past week or more—if she could find the courage, that was.
Rachel gave the room a final once-over, and they walked through to the lounge bar. “I need a drink,” announced Malcolm.
“Well, I need to pop upstairs and change,” said Rachel. “You behave yourself while I’m gone, OK?”
“Me? What else would I do?” he replied, and added with a mischievous grin, “I’d rather come up and help you out of those uncomfortable clothes though.”
“Cool it, Buster,” she chided. “I’ve had a long day—and it’s not over yet.”
***
Later, as they sat in the lounge—Rachel nursing her Bacardi and Coke and Malcolm half-way through his second pint—she said, “You never told me how you and Jamie became involved in gold mining. I mean, it’s not exactly everybody’s idea of a career path, is it?”
Malcolm took a long pull from his glass, finishing the contents before replying. “Our Dad was a truck driver,” he began. “Used to do a regular delivery run from Kwinana to the goldfields and he often stopped here overnight.” Mal paused, recalling the way his father had told the story countless times. “He got in the habit of frequenting the bush two-up school north of town and became pally with a Chinese guy called Chow Li Wong, or something like that. Around town, he was just known as Charlie Wong.
“Some guys in the bar were talking about two-up the other day,” Rachel said, adding, “Why on Earth do they call it a school?”
“I’m not too sure, could be something to do with suckers being taught a lesson in blowing their money.” Malcolm chuckled at his own off-the-cuff attempt at humour. “No, I reckon it’s like a school of fish, maybe?”
“Or sharks!” Rachel interjected. They both chuckled at this.
“It’s illegal, of course,” Malcolm continued. “Some guy named Sheehan has been organising it since the ’50’s I believe. He moves the ring around regularly to keep the coppers off his tail, but I reckon some of them are on his payroll anyway and warn him when there’s likely to be a raid.”
Malcolm waved a waitress over and ordered another pint before continuing his story. “So, one day Charlie Wong’s been having a bad run but, as usual, he reckons his luck’s about to change. He bites Dad for a hundred quid—back in ’54, a hundred quid was a lot of money—and he puts his mining lease up as collateral. Dad’s pretty flush, having had a profitable day, and so he stakes Charlie. Within a half-hour, Charlie’s broke again and Dad’s the new owner of Charlie’s gold lease.”
“Poor Charlie,” was all Rachel could say.
“Poor Charlie be buggered!” Malcolm cut in. “Served the old chink right, I reckon. Charlie’s mine turned out to be a waste of time—at least, it was the way Charlie had been working it. He’d fallen for the old myth about quartz being a guaranteed signpost for gold.” He took another long swig from his glass. “A lot of the early miners thought quartz on the ground automatically meant gold deposits and his lease had a huge white quartz outcrop so Charlie wasted his entire mining life scratching around near this white monolith where he thought the gold was just waiting for him. There were no metal detectors in those days, of course.”
“Well, now we know just how close he came to making his fortune,” Rachel mused. “What do you think became of him?”
“No idea,” Malcolm said with a shrug. “Dad never talked about him. I just know that’s how he came to own the mine. I reckon Charlie just moved on.
“Charlie’s mine was a curse to Dad, though. He became obsessed, and wasted countless months, even years, fossicking around on it. He even moved the family business up here and spent every spare moment on the lease. Dad was convinced, just like Charlie, that the so-called mother lode was there somewhere. In the end, he died never having found as much as a dozen ounces.”
“And now it looks like becoming one of the richest mines in the district,” Rachel said. “Sad in a way though, isn’t it?”
Her voice trailed off, as she visualised first the old Chinaman, and later Fergus Kincaid, determinedly tunnelling away at the base of the quartz talus, oblivious to the rich gold-bearing rock buried less than 500 metres to the east. So near—and yet so far.
Malcolm scoffed. “That’s the way it is with mining. Some win, some lose. Knowledge and research is the real key to success.”
“What about your mother?” Rachel said after a pause. “You’ve never mentioned her to me.”
Malcolm fell silent for several seconds before replying. “Jamie and I are actually half-brothers. His mother died in childbirth.” He paused again before continuing, “Dad met and married my mother a couple of years later.”
***
Rachel considered the revelation. This was the first time she had managed to get Malcolm to open up about his family history. Finally, she offered, “Well, I guess that explains a few things. I mean, you hardly look alike, yet sometimes the bond between you is uncanny.”
What she chose not to say was how much it explained the differences between them.
Over the past several months, Malcolm had seemed to become more and more self-obsessed the more she came to know him. In more modern times, people might have called him a borderline sociopath. This term wasn’t part of Rachel’s vocabulary, but if it had been, it would probably have been her first choice if asked to describe Malcolm’s true nature.
“And your mother?” she asked.
“She left when I was about five,” Malcolm replied. “Dad never gave much of an explanation, but he drank a fair bit and had a decent temper, so maybe that had something to do with it. Personally, I reckon we were better off without her. I mean, what sort of woman pisses off and leaves her kids?”
“And you never heard from her at all?” Rachel raised her eyebrows.
“Not a word. In fact, she seemed to have just disappeared from the face of the earth.”
***
Rachel was about to say more when Jamie arrived, accompanied by a young woman Rachel recognised immediately. Julie Watkins was probably the last person she would have expected to see on Jamie’s arm. A regular at the Lucky Miner on Saturday nights, Julie mostly arrived by herself or with a casual friend. She rarely went home alone, however. Jamie spotted them as he entered the room and made a bee-line for their table.
“Hi there, Birthday Boy!” called Malcolm, as they drew closer. “I see you’ve scrubbed up well.”
“Mal, Rachel,” replied Jamie, nodding to each. “You’ve met Julie, haven’t you?”
After the usual pleasantries, the two brothers adjourned to the bar for a round of drinks for all. “I didn’t realise you knew Jamie,” Rachel said to Julie. “He’s not part of your usual crowd, is he?”
Julie checked herself in her compact mirror. She seemed pleased with what she saw, as she chose not to make any adjustments. Julie Watkins was the type of woman who never went unnoticed, whether at a bar, a party, or the local greengrocer’s. She dressed to impress, and tonight was no exception. Julie wore a tight-fitting, low-cut dress in a red and green print that should have clashed violently with her fiery auburn hair, yet somehow didn’t. She capped the ensemble off with bright red stiletto heels and matching lipstick and nail polish. Rachel suddenly felt more than a little underdressed.
“Friend of a friend, you could say,” Julie said in reply to Rachel’s question. “No, he’s not exactly my type, but hey, a party’s a party, right? We may end up together for the night, or we may not.” She gave a laugh, and continued, “So you’re Malcolm’s other half? He’s cute, but a bit intense for my blood. Still, I believe there’s a good deal of money on the horizon—or so I hear, anyway. Best we play our cards right, hey?”
Rachel smiled and shrugged—preferring not to reply directly—and changed the subject.
Within minutes the ‘Birthday Boy’ and his brother returned with drinks and some snacks.
***
Later, while Julie was cruising the dance floor and Malcolm was ensconced at the bar, Rachel broached the subject of Malcolm’s mother—and her disappearance—with Jamie.
Jamie explained that as he was three years older than Malcolm, he still had coherent memories of his step-mother.
She was a gentle soul, he recalled, with a sweet nature, but totally dominated by her overbearing husband. There were occasional beatings, though not so severe as to require medical attention. Mostly, she explained to any who noticed that she was just accident-prone. It seemed doors had a way of jumping out on her when she least expected it, and chairs would collapse beneath her diminutive weight.
Friends and acquaintances alike would exchange knowing glances and ‘tut-tut’ sympathetically.
When she disappeared, it surprised few, but none could explain why she would abandon the children. And yes, she considered both boys to be her own, and treated them equally in every respect.
There were rumours, of course. Emily Kincaid wouldn’t have been the first person to mysteriously disappear in the goldfields, and probably not the last. Most folk, however, were happy to accept Fergus Kincaid’s explanation; an argument followed by Emily storming out and vowing never to return. A bit of marital argy-bargy wasn’t exactly rare in those days, and a good many men considered it a husband’s right—no, duty—to ‘keep the little woman in line’ that way.
In any case, no official enquiry ensued, and Malcolm grew up believing in his mother’s abandonment. A belief their father did nothing to discourage, and a major factor, Jamie felt, in explaining Mal’s attitude to women in general.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie said as clarification. “Mal’s my brother, and my best mate. I love him dearly, but I accept that he has issues.”
“But didn’t you ever talk about it?” Rachel asked. “He must have heard the gossip.”
“Only once, when he was around twenty-two,” Jamie replied. “It was the day after Dad’s funeral, actually. Mal flew off the handle at the suggestion that Dad could have been in any way responsible.”
He paused for a few seconds before continuing. “He reckoned the sun shone out of Dad’s arse, and wouldn’t hear anything different.”
***
Rachel sat quietly, digesting this new information. Yes, Malcolm Kincaid did have a definite misogynist streak. At least she now had an inkling of the reasons behind his attitude—not that it made it any easier to accept.
There was something else, though—something in Jamie’s voice as he recounted the tale. Rachel couldn’t put a finger on it precisely, but…
“Thanks for explaining,” she said. “He’s discussed none of this with me before today.” She inhaled deeply before continuing. “To be honest—and I’d really like you to keep this to yourself—I don’t know how much longer I can put up with his attitude. I’m sorry, Jamie, if this makes you the proverbial meat in the sandwich. You’re a great guy.” She swallowed hard, and added, “This may be the drink talking, but I really wish I’d met you first.”
She realised she was blushing, surprised by her own candour.
Jamie’s reply caught her even more off-guard.
“You’re not the only one, Rachel. When I see how he treats you sometimes, I want to punch his lights out!” He fixed her with those hazel eyes and she felt the redness growing even more.
“I need to visit the little girls’ room,” she said, quickly rising and almost running toward the nearest exit.
As fate will sometimes have it, the events which would forever change all the relationship dynamics happened just two hours later.
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