‘You want me to check the titles?’
‘Um…no.’
‘Then what…?’
‘I want you to check the saleswoman.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Molly Farr.’ Jackson hesitated, knowing he was stepping over the line of reasonable business practice. But he guessed she was in financial trouble and he wanted to know how badly.
‘I want a bit of background briefing,’ he told him. ‘In a hurry.’
‘Molly?’
‘Michael!’
‘Molly, love…’
What on earth was he on about? Molly had barely walked in the door before the phone had started to ring, and when she’d recognised her ex-fiancé’s voice she’d come close to dropping the receiver. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What did you call me?’
‘Molly, we need to talk. Something’s come up.’
There was only one answer to that. ‘Talk to whoever you like. Just don’t talk to me.’
Slam.
‘Cara?’
‘Jackson, love, I wasn’t expecting another call so soon…’
‘Cara, I need to tell you about this property. It’s fantastic. If we can get it then I think it’s just what we’ve been looking for.’
‘That’s marvellous.’ She hesitated. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘What should be wrong?’
‘I don’t know. You sound sort of absent.’
‘I am in Australia.’
‘That must be it.’
‘Are you willing to come and see it-before I sign on the dotted line?’
Another hesitation. ‘Darling, I am busy. And Australia’s so far.’
He let his irritation show through at that. ‘Well, I’m busy, too. But this is for long term, Cara. If you can’t put in a bit of effort…’
‘Okay. Okay. I’ll make time. If it’s important.’
‘It is.’
‘Roger? It’s Michael.’
‘Mmm?’
‘It’s not going to work. She won’t have a bar of me.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
MICHAEL’S odd phone call from out of the blue had done little to settle her mood.
It was strange, Molly thought. Until Friday she’d thought of Michael a dozen times a day. She’d been desperate for him to explain the unexplainable. Now it was as if he had simply ceased to exist. And it wasn’t Michael who was doing the unsettling.
Jackson had seen them into a taxi at the airport. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he’d told her, and he’d placed a finger on her lips as a farewell gesture. ‘Sleep well.’
The pressure of his touch had stayed with her as she’d slammed the phone down on Michael. It had been with her as she’d put Sam to bed. It was with her still, and when her doorbell pealed she drifted towards it as if she was almost floating. This night seemed so magical anything could happen.
But it wasn’t Jackson. Of course it wasn’t Jackson. Angela was on her doorstep, as she’d promised she would be-an Angela with crimson spots burning on her cheeks, her eyes bright with laughter and mock indignation.
‘Will you look at this?’ she demanded the minute Molly opened the door. She stalked inside and held up a newspaper. ‘Oh, and I had such wonderful plans.’
‘I… What?’ Molly stood back to let her friend stalk past. Angela, it seemed, was in the mood for stalking.
‘The man’s not what he seems. He got all my hopes up. Here I was, planning weddings and honeymoons and limousines and mansions-and look! The man’s spoken for.’
Molly thought that through, but she was confused. ‘Um… Guy’s spoken for?’ It seemed crazy.
‘As if.’ Angela glowered, and then managed a rueful smile. ‘Not that it wouldn’t be a very good thing if Guy found Another. That man! You know what he wore to his Roaring Twenties party? A dinner suit! A dinner suit, I ask you. When I went to so much trouble and the man wouldn’t even wear white shoes. And now this.’
‘Now what?’ Angela was waving her newspaper like a flag and Molly couldn’t see a thing. ‘If you’re not planning yours, whose wedding were you planning?’
‘Yours, of course. With Jackson Baird.’ Angela moaned. ‘And now he has some woman called Cara…’
Silence.
She shouldn’t mind, Molly thought abstractedly, and in a way she didn’t. She felt disassociated. Adrift. As if she was someone else. As if this conversation had nothing to do with her.
‘Can I see?’ she said at last, and Angela cast her an odd glance. Angela’s face was still flushed with mock indignation, but it was fading and she was starting to watch Molly carefully. Her friend’s reaction wasn’t what she’d expected. This was meant to be a joke-but there was no laughter here.
This was suddenly serious.
‘Page three.’
And Molly read.
Rumour has it that Jackson Baird is spending the weekend assessing one of New South Wales’ foremost pastoral properties, with the intention of purchasing it as his base in Australia. Baird, known until now for inhabiting expensive penthouses, is in the market for a rural property to share with Cara Lyons, international model and renowned horsewoman. More news as it comes to hand. Watch this space.
‘The fink,’ Angela said, but her fire had died. She was watching Molly very cautiously indeed.
‘There’s no reason why he’s a fink. The man has a perfect right to share his property with whoever he likes.’
‘But not to tell us!’
‘It’s hardly in the sales contract. It’s none of our business.’
‘No. But…’ Angela’s eyes narrowed. ‘You look…different. Did you get close to the man?’
‘Uh…yes.’
Angela’s bubble of laughter had disappeared completely. ‘Did he kiss you?’
Molly fumbled with the buttons of her bathrobe. ‘He might have.’ Then at Angela’s indignant gasp she managed a smile. ‘Well, why not? I’d imagine he’s kissed thousands of women.’
‘And a little thing like another woman shouldn’t stand in his way?’
‘I guess not.’ But it hurt. It hurt far more than she thought possible.
‘You’re nuts.’
‘I’m a businesswoman,’ Molly managed. ‘For heaven’s sake, I don’t know what you’re carrying on about. Anything between us is out of the question.’
‘Yet still he kissed you.’ Angela took a deep breath. ‘Molly, I’d just die to be kissed by a hunk like that.’
‘I’m almost sure you wouldn’t.’
‘And I’m sure I would.’
The firmness of Angela’s tone was startling, and Molly steadied. Okay, she had problems, but there was more to this than met the eye. And concentrating on Angela meant that she could stop concentrating on Jackson. She steered her friend into a lounge chair. ‘Problems with Guy, huh?’
‘Nothing that a little affair with Jackson Baird couldn’t sort out,’ Angela said bitterly-and then, almost longingly, ‘Did you kiss him back?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘But wouldn’t it be wonderful…’ She sighed again, and decided to change tack. ‘You made the sale?’
‘I made the sale.’
‘Does Trevor know?’
‘I rang him before we left Birraginbil.’
‘He’ll be over the moon. But…’ Angela was clearly not thinking about Trevor’s commission. ‘Are you seeing him again?’
‘Who, Trevor?’
‘You know very well who I mean.’
‘Tomorrow. For lunch.’
‘Oh, Moll…’
‘With the property owner. And, according to this, maybe even with someone called Cara.’ Molly looked at Cara’s photograph under the newsprint and thought, Wow! And then, How could I ever compete with someone like this?
She couldn’t. It was as simple as that.
But Angela was still on track. ‘Oh.’ A sigh of disappointment, but then, ‘Well, that’s something. You can work on it from there.’
‘And he’s leav
ing for the States on Tuesday-that’s the day after tomorrow.’
‘So work fast.’
‘Will you cut it out?’
‘But you kissed him.’
‘I don’t think even marriage vows will stop Jackson kissing women,’ Molly snapped. ‘The man’s seriously…’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously gorgeous.’ There. She’d said it. She plonked herself down on the chair opposite Angela and spread her hands in a plea.
‘Help,’ she said.
‘Help?’
‘Help. I’m in trouble.’
‘Trouble,’ Angela said cautiously. ‘What sort of trouble?’
‘I’ve been stupid.’
‘Like?’
‘Like I think I’ve fallen head over heels in love,’ she told her friend bluntly. She had to tell someone or she’d go mad. Or maybe she was mad anyway. ‘I know. I’m nuts. I’m stark staring nuts,’ she said. ‘And I have as much chance of attracting the man as flying, but there it is.’
‘Oh, Molly.’
‘And he’s not even sensible, like your Guy is. He’s way out of my league. He’s-’
‘You know, sensible is not all that terrific,’ Angela interrupted flatly. ‘I think unsensible has a whole heap going for it.’
‘Not when he’s committed to someone else.’
‘We don’t know how committed.’
‘They’re buying a farm together.’
‘There is that.’
‘Got any ideas?’
‘I’m thinking.’ Angela shook her head in bewilderment. ‘What with your playboy Jackson and my boring Guy, I’m thinking so hard I’m threatening to burst. Why don’t they teach us this stuff in property sales school? How to avoid accountants and ensnare rich clients.’
‘Ensnare rich clients with no strings attached. It’s not possible.’
‘We could try.’ She cast Molly a helpless glance. ‘You could try. Tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, right. So tomorrow I see him and I know full well he’s committed to another woman. You think I should sweep him off his feet?’
‘He can’t be all that committed if he’s kissing you.’ But Angela didn’t sound convinced.
‘Attached enough to be buying a farm for them to share. And don’t forget I’m not exactly footloose and fancy-free myself. I’m encumbered with one small boy.’
‘Yet you’re in love?’
There was only one answer to that. ‘Yes. I’m in love.’
‘Boy, you’re in deeper trouble than I am. Or just as much.’ Angela glared down at her diamond and suddenly tugged it from her finger, put it on the coffee table and regarded it with loathing. ‘There. There’s two of us in trouble now. Talk about sisterhood. But if you’re unhappy then I’m unhappy. Guy’s the most boring man on earth and I’m not putting that ring back on ’til he does something outrageous.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like…like kissing me like he really means it. Like wearing braces that don’t match his tie. Like not tying his shoelaces with the knots his grandmother taught him, or wearing black shoes with brown trousers. Or not putting every penny he earns into sensible investments or trading in his boring car for a honeymoon in the Bahamas. I don’t know. Anything! Unless it’s predictable.’
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Molly told her, and they sat and stared at each other in increasing misery.
‘What we need here is something for really desperate people,’ Angela said at last, coming to a decision because someone had to. She rose and tossed her keys onto the sideboard. ‘I’m off to the supermarket and I’m walking, because just thinking about what I’m going to buy will put me over the legal alcohol limit.’
‘What are you going to buy?’
‘Irish cream, Tia Maria ice cream and an industrial sized packet of Tim Tams,’ her friend told her. ‘That should fix all the men in our lives. Properly.’
Molly opened one eye and shut it again. Firmly. Mistake, she thought. Big mistake. On a scale of one to ten, it fell off the counter.
‘Molly?’
It was Sam. He was bending over her, lifting an eyelid. ‘Are you in there?’
‘No.’ She groaned and he chuckled.
‘Yes, you are. Angela was asleep in the lounge room. She told me she wasn’t in there either, but she is really. And you haven’t washed your dishes. There’s empty ice cream tubs, which I don’t think is fair because I didn’t eat any, but you haven’t finished all the Tim Tams so I ate seven for breakfast.’ He burped a very satisfactory small boy burp and grinned. ‘And now we’re going to be late.’
Oh, help. Molly lifted one eyelid a fraction of an inch and checked the time. And yelped. Late! She’d be lucky to be on time for the afternoon shift. And Sam should be at school. What sort of a responsible guardian was she, anyway?
But this was the first time he’d been late in the six months she’d been taking care of him. Maybe it wasn’t a hanging offence. She groaned and eyed her nephew with caution.
‘Sam, do you suppose you could work really, really hard and still be a brain surgeon if I declare this morning a holiday?’
Sam considered, his grin growing broader. Where had this grin come from? Molly thought, shaken out of her bleariness by its intensity. On Friday it had been as if his face would crack if he smiled. Now the grins were coming fast and furious.
‘Why is it a holiday?’ he asked, and Molly sought for inspiration.
‘It’s National Frog Day,’ she said promptly, and his lovely giggle filled her room.
‘You are silly.’
‘Yeah, and I’m also risking being sacked. Though I have just made the world’s biggest sale.’ She sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Sorry, pet. Have you been awake for long?’
‘Mr Baird woke me up.’
‘Mr Baird?’
‘The doorbell went and I opened it,’ he told her. ‘He’s here and he’s brought a froghouse. In bits. We have to build it. It’s in the lounge room. Angela was there, but when I said come in to Mr Baird she went, “Yikes!” and she’s now in my bedroom, in my bed, with the bedcovers drawn up over her head. Do you think Mr Baird will give me another swimming lesson?’
‘I doubt it.’ The temptation to join Angela was almost overwhelming. ‘Um…is Mr Baird still here?’
‘Of course he is. With his present. The froghouse legs are in bits on the lounge room floor and I’ve been helping him read the instructions. We want to know where to put it, ’cos Mr Baird says he’s blowed if he’s moving it after it’s assembled. So he said I’d better wake you up, hangover or not.’ He peered closely at his dishevelled aunt. ‘That’s what he said. Have you got a hangover?’
‘No. Yes!’ Molly was staring at her nephew as if he’d grown horns. ‘He’s out there now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell him to go away.’
‘Tell him yourself.’ The voice was deep and growly and wonderfully familiar-and it made Molly jump a foot. She swivelled to find Jackson standing in the doorway, and by his unholy grin she knew he was enjoying himself very much indeed. ‘But why you’d want to I don’t know.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s not a nice way to greet a guest. Especially a guest who’s brought a gift.’
‘What gift?’
‘I told you. He’s brought us a froghouse,’ Sam explained, as if she was being deliberately obtuse. ‘It’s the hugest fishpond, but we’re not filling it all with water. It’s set up so there’s ponds and a waterfall and rocks for them to lie on. But we can’t get the legs together. Guy says the book of instructions reads like we’re building the Taj Mahal.’
‘Guy?’ What on earth was Angela’s fiancé doing here?
‘Hi,’ Guy said over Jackson’s shoulder, and Molly’s jaw dropped somewhere round her waist.
‘Guy…’
‘That’s me.’ The man managed a smile, but only just.
‘Does Angela know you’re here?’ She was practically squeaking.
It was too much for Molly. ‘I don’t know. Go away. The lot of you.’ She was clutching her sheet and thinking her bathrobe was too far away to reach…
‘We had a big night, then, did we?’ Jackson asked. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest in a pose that was starting to seem dangerously familiar. He sounded full of commiseration, but his wide smile was filled with laughter.
‘You especially,’ she flashed at him. ‘Get out of my bedroom. Now!’
‘She doesn’t want us.’ Jackson’s big hand dropped to Sam’s shoulder in a gesture so familiar it had Molly’s heart doing backflips. ‘Sam, boy, we’re being rejected.’
‘At least she hasn’t taken your ring off,’ Guy told him, as lugubrious as a bloodhound on a bad day, and Jackson nodded.
‘There is that. I guess I should be grateful for small mercies. Molly, where do you want us to put your froghouse?’
‘I don’t want a froghouse!’ Molly practically yelled.
‘Molly!’ Sam said, shocked.
‘Of course you want a froghouse,’ Jackson told her. ‘You can’t keep using the bathroom floor. Someone’s going to step on one. Or…’ His eyes glinted with laughter. ‘They might hop down the toilet. Have you thought of that?’
Oh, for heaven’s sake!
‘It’d be an environmental nightmare if they reached the sewerage system.’
If only he’d stop laughing. She gritted her teeth. In fact she gritted every bone in her body and refused to respond to that gorgeous, wicked laughter. ‘Go away or I’ll scream.’
A Millionaire For Molly Page 10
