by Sarah Morgan
‘I’ll go now, then. Thank you for thinking of me and offering me this job.’ She rose.
‘My pleasure, Alex,’ he murmured.
She hesitated, then made her way to the door.
He watched her go and sat down again behind the desk, leaning his chin on his fingers, his elbow on the desk with his brow furrowed.
He’d handled that rather well, he thought, but something was puzzling him. The fact that he felt strange in a way he couldn’t put his finger on—not strange so much, but different, or was that splitting hairs?
Was it because he really did have a household now? For a long time everything had revolved about him exclusively, but now he was doing the revolving.
Then his eyes fell on the blotter on the desk, and Cathy’s name. He’d taken her call in the study last night after Paul O’Hara had left, and he’d written her name on the blotter with slashing strokes, then drawn a bolt of lightning through the letters.
He sat up, then lay back in his chair with his hands shoved into his pockets. What needed to be done, what needed to be sorted out, was an amicable arrangement whereby Nicky got the best of both his parents. What was paramount now was Nicky’s well-being.
And he had to acknowledge he was astonished by the depth of his feeling for a little boy he barely knew. That had actually slammed into his consciousness from the moment he’d laid eyes on Nicky and he’d seen something pretty close to a mirror image of himself. This is my flesh and blood, he’d thought, this child who doesn’t know me from a bar of soap and is trying so desperately to look brave about it!
Was it any wonder he felt different? he reflected.
And what about all the problems he could foresee there? What if Cathy married? How was he going to feel about another man being involved in the upbringing of his son? And there was Nicky’s inheritance to think about, and his safety.
He sat up and ripped the top layer out of his blotter and threw it in the waste-paper basket.
Of course the solution to that was simply to ensure it couldn’t happen by marrying her himself.
Alex sat in the back, not of the Bentley, but a Mercedes on the way to Brisbane a little while later.
She and Stan had conversed for a time, but now he was concentrating on his driving and she was thinking her thoughts.
She’d woken early on the settee in the den, and clicked her tongue in exasperation at yet again having fallen asleep thus in one of Max Goodwin’s homes.
She’d made herself a cup of tea and stolen upstairs with it. No one had stirred.
She’d opened her blinds to admit pre-dawn light, then watched the sun rim the horizon above the casuarinas on South Stradbroke Island across the Broadwater as she’d sipped her tea.
But her thoughts hadn’t been on the fresh, early morning scene, they’d been focused on the state of her life. She’d allowed it to get out of control. She’d allowed herself to imagine she’d fallen in love with Max Goodwin; she’d got all sad and sorry for herself on that account and because of some memories. And it wouldn’t do.
What was more, she knew how to counteract these feelings, didn’t she?
In times like these she’d always gone to her Mother Superior and her advice had always been the same. Stop thinking only of yourself, Alex. Think about others instead and, for yourself, establish goals. Think forward, not backwards.
It might have sounded harsh, but it had worked, and because that dear friend and mentor was no longer with her didn’t mean it would no longer work.
So far as thinking forwards, unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to distance herself physically from Max Goodwin for the time being, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t practise mental apartheid, she’d thought with a dry little smile.
But—and it had struck her that the lack of real goals might have created the vacuum in her life that had precipitated this crisis—she needed more of a challenge in her life than she had at present. Well, not the immediate present, she’d amended her thoughts rather ruefully, but going back to working for Simon was not enough. She really needed to aspire to something higher.
She hadn’t been able to establish that ‘something’ as she’d showered and dressed for the golf day, but at least she’d established the need to do it. And she’d taken a few quiet minutes to think of her Mother Superior, really and deeply. It had brought her a sense of peace.
Then Nicky had woken, hot and fretful and itchy, and that had set in motion the most amazing train of events …
She stared out of the window as the Pacific Motorway flashed past. The traffic was fast and heavy, with that familiar hum of its concrete surface, and the sky was overcast now.
That amazing train of events, she thought, would be the perfect answer to her new resolution, her determination to shape her life differently, to set goals and accept challenges—if only it hadn’t come from Max Goodwin.
But was that not simply a challenge too? It was absolutely no good hungering for a man you couldn’t have, a man you firmly believed should build a life with the mother of his son, anyway, so you nipped all that in the bud. It just took will-power.
Fortunately, Patti was home when Alex got to Spring Hill, so she was able to ask her to water her plants and collect her mail for her. She also gave her her new contact details, then started to pack, this time more than the basics including some books and favourite CDs.
She hesitated over her new clothes, the ones she’d been going to give back, then decided she could need them in her capacity as PA to Max Goodwin.
She stopped what she was doing at that point and stared across the room unseeingly. It was hard to believe—it was a bit like a dream, she decided. It was also the answer to one set of prayers, but …
She squared her shoulders resolutely and chided herself, No buts, Alexandra Hill. Just make the best of it.
On the way back she got Stan to stop at a variety store where she made a few purchases.
When she got back to the Sovereign Islands about three hours later, she was greeted with open arms, metaphorically, by her employer and his housekeeper.
Nicky did more. He threw his arms around her neck and greeted her like a long-lost friend. Even Nemo looked joyful.
‘OK! OK,’ she laughed as she fended the puppy off. ‘And I did bring some goodies back. We’ve got a new jigsaw puzzle, some Play-Doh and a book about boats. What shall we do first? Oh, and I got a plastic bone for Nemo. It squeaks when it’s chewed.’
‘Was he difficult?’ Alex asked as she and Max sat down to a late lunch a little later. Nicky was asleep again.
He reached for a roll and crumbled it. Mrs Mills had provided a chicken casserole and rice. ‘Not difficult—lost. And sad.’ He picked up his butter knife, but stared at the curls of butter in their fluted silver dish moodily. ‘I was obviously no substitute.’ He dipped his knife in the butter.
‘He’s sick,’ Alex said practically. ‘And Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Another gem of wisdom? You’re full of them.’
‘I know,’ she agreed cheerfully.
He frowned at her. ‘But in your case it happened in a matter of moments, the way he took to you.’
‘I would say—’ Alex sipped her water from a cut-glass tumbler, then picked up her knife and fork again ‘—he’s not much used to men if he’s lived with his mother and his grandmother. And I do have experience with kids of that age. Don’t worry, it will happen, it just takes time,’ she assured him.
His frown deepened. ‘You’re also—like a new person, Miss Hill, if I may say so. Why’s that?’
Alex considered, then told him part of the truth. ‘I took myself to task this morning. Look forward, not backward, seek new challenges and goals and—lo and behold!—what should fall into my lap shortly afterwards but your offer. So I’m feeling really positive, you could say.’
She’d changed her Argyle sweater for a cotton-knit top and hadn’t noticed the streak of Play-Doh on her sleeve. Her hair was in bunche
s and she wore her glasses. She looked young but very alive and vital. It was hard to compare her with the girl of the night before who couldn’t breathe.
‘Have I said something wrong?’ Alex enquired a little nervously as she put her knife and fork together and pushed away her plate.
His attention came back to her as if from a distance. ‘No. Why?’
‘You were looking at me as if—as if—I don’t know, but it was a little worrying,’ she confessed.
He finished his meal and reached for the coffee pot. ‘Uh—no, nothing momentous.’ He grimaced. ‘But you and Nicky won’t be seeing much of me for the next few days. In fact, probably not at all. I’ve taken more time off than I should have anyway.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ she replied serenely, and didn’t know that Max Goodwin was struck by a replica of the feeling that had struck her last evening—when she’d requested him not to tell her she was quite safe with him with quite such conviction … Did she have to be quite so comfortable about his absence, in other words?
‘Well, in that case,’ he said—rather tersely, it struck Alex, ‘I might get going now.’
Alex blinked. ‘Isn’t the golf still on?’ She looked at her watch.
‘I can get there in time to present the trophy. Would you excuse me, Alex?’ he asked with rather elaborate courtesy and stood up.
‘Of course, but—are you annoyed?’ she queried.
His eyes were particularly dense and blue; his expression was particularly hard to read as he looked down at her. ‘Why would I be annoyed? We have everything under control, don’t we?’
‘Yes. I don’t know. I just got that impression.’ She shrugged. ‘I—’
But Mrs Mills intervened. ‘Excuse me, Mr Goodwin, but Nicky’s awake and asking for Alex.’
Alex jumped up. ‘I’ll come.’ She turned back to Max. ‘I’ll look after him, don’t worry,’ she said reassuringly.
His expression softened a fraction. ‘Thank you.’
But Alex was still concerned as she climbed the stairs to Nicky’s bedroom. What had been going through his mind? What subtle interplay had she missed?
Then she stopped outside Nicky’s door and took a deep breath. Her employer’s personal feelings were no concern of hers.
Not much later, as Max Goodwin steered his Bentley over the Sovereign Islands bridge and towards Sanctuary Cove, he was asking himself why the hell he was annoyed. Because he didn’t have things under complete control yet?
He gritted his teeth. And obviously annoyed, at that.
Nor was he able to shake off that distinctly disenchanted, annoyed feeling and in consequence he was short with his staff over minute details of the golf tournament that really didn’t matter now it was over.
It wasn’t an easy few days for Alex.
Keeping Nicky cool, keeping him from scratching, keeping him occupied took quite some ingenuity, but at least it gave her little time to herself.
Fortunately Bradley, Mrs Mills’ grandson, also had had chicken pox, so when Nicky wasn’t feeling quite so sick he came to help with the jigsaw and similar activities. And Alex got to know his mother, Peta, better. And the more she got to know her, the better she liked her.
Peta had also accepted Max’s offer of a job as a back-up for Alex. ‘It’s perfect,’ she’d confided to Alex. ‘I’m with Mum, Brad loves playing with Nicky, he adores Nemo and it not only gives me something to do while my hubby is away, it’s going to earn me some very nice pocket money.’
But it wasn’t until Jake Frost arrived that Alex recalled that the last social event of the negotiations, the farewell, was to take the form of a dinner dance at the Tuscan villa.
Jake came down the day before and Alex sat in on the briefing he shared with Mrs Mills and Stan.
‘Item,’ he said, putting his forefinger on a clipboard as they sat around the kitchen table, ‘a cleaning firm is coming in first thing tomorrow morning. They’ll do windows, floors, furniture, everything, but if there’s any silver or glassware you want polished—’ he looked over the top of his glasses at Mrs Mills ‘—could you get it out, please? Item: the florist and decorator and their teams will arrive at midday. Item: the caterers will move in early afternoon. Item: we need a room for the band to retire to. I thought we’d use the pink sitting room …’
And so it went on until Jake looked across at Alex. ‘Item: children and dogs.’
They all smiled.
It was Mrs Mills who answered. ‘As you know, Jake, we can close the guest wing off. Which is how we’ve managed to corral Nemo out of the rest of the house anyway and Nicky is usually asleep by seven—the guests don’t arrive until seven-thirty.’
‘Anyway, I’ll be on hand just in case,’ Alex supplied.
But it was her turn to be looked at over the top of his glasses. ‘Item,’ Jake said, ‘Mr Goodwin has requested your presence at the dinner dance, Miss Hill.’
Alex stared at him as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. ‘Why? Is he short of an interpreter again?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Jake shook his head.
‘But—I don’t understand. And I don’t want to—’
‘Perhaps he thought it would be a nice break for you after all you’ve done for Nicky?’ Mrs Mills suggested. ‘And I can get Peta and Brad to sleep over so you wouldn’t have to worry about Nicky.’
‘I still don’t want to—’
It was Jake who interrupted her this time. ‘Miss Hill, Alex, if I may …’ he hesitated ‘… it would not be a good time to oppose Mr Goodwin.’
‘Uh-oh!’ Stan remarked. ‘In one of those moods, is he? Then I guess we all need to be on our toes.’
Jake looked forbiddingly at Stan. ‘If you knew the kind of pressure he’s been under, mate.’
‘Plus,’ Mrs Hill put in delicately, ‘there’s, well, there’s Nicky.’
Stan raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he protested. ‘He’s a great employer ninety-nine per cent of the time. I wouldn’t want to work for anybody else. But you have to admit that that other one per cent of the time he can cut you down to size with only a couple of well-chosen words—sometimes it only takes a look to do it.’
‘Don’t you have anything to wear, dear?’ Mrs Mills put into the silence that followed Stan’s obviously accurate summing-up, Alex guessed.
‘I do, actually,’ she replied slowly. ‘I was supposed to be at this function as an interpreter. And I brought all those clothes back with me when I went home a few days ago. I just don’t understand why, though.’
‘“Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die,”’ Jake quoted, somewhat surprisingly, ‘but, it could have something to do with your new PA job, Alex.’
She looked surprised. ‘So that’s all been set up?’
‘I believe so. Margaret told me about it, anyway.’
‘Oh.’ She sat back with a frown. She hadn’t expected it to be set in stone so soon and she hadn’t contacted Simon, herself, which she should have done. ‘Well, I guess that’s it,’ she said a little helplessly.
‘And one last footnote.’ Jake pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Lady Olivia McPherson will be in attendance, with Sir Michael, naturally, tomorrow night.’
It was a moment before Alex made the connection, as both Stan and Mrs Mills snapped upright in their chairs.
‘His sister?’ she hazarded.
‘His sister,’ Jake said gently. ‘So—’ he scanned them in turn ‘—let’s all pull together and produce a perfect evening.’
‘What’s she like? His sister,’ Alex enquired of Mrs Mills after the briefing had broken up.
‘She’s—she can be a bit exacting,’ Mrs Mills said carefully. ‘Oh, she’s very attractive, very vibrant, but—just not the easiest person to please.’
‘Sounds a lot like her brother,’ Alex commented with a grin. Then she sobered and sighed. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to this function. I’m not that used to them.’
‘You’ll
do fine, Alex,’ Mrs Mills said encouragingly. ‘In fact you’re like a breath of fresh air compared to—’ She broke off and shrugged.
Alex glanced at her. ‘Compared to what?’
‘Some of the spoilt socialites we get to see around here. OK. I need to start making lists. Some people seem to be able to carry it all around in their heads—I need lists.’
Alex gave her a quick hug. ‘You’re a treasure, actually.’
At six o’clock the next evening, Alex started to get ready.
The dress was beautiful even though it was discreet and black. It had a ruched, strapless bodice in a fine silk crêpe and a long fitted skirt with a small slit up one side. A cropped, short-sleeved bolero with a stand-up collar completed the outfit.
Alex stared at herself once she was in the dress, and remembered Margaret Winston’s enthusiasm for it.
‘You don’t think it’s—too dressy for an interpreter?’ she’d asked Margaret at the time.
‘I think it’s perfect for—for you, my dear. And it’s going to be a very dressy occasion, believe me.’
Alex came back to the present with a grimace. At the time she’d had no idea just how glamorous, expensive and sophisticated a world she was about to enter. She did now and she was grateful for this dress.
Also, black did suit her, she decided. It did make her skin look creamy. And the style made her waist look reed-slim. With it she wore sheer black tights and, thankfully, medium-heel black suede shoes.
But as she stared at herself with her hands on her hips something seemed to be missing.
Her make-up was nearly as good as Mary’s efforts. Her nails were not painted—dogs and kids didn’t seem to go well with painted nails—but they were smooth, neat ovals and a healthy pink.
Her hair might not have quite the extra—what was the word?—zip it had had after Mr Roger had combed it, but she was happy with the fair, tamed curls.
‘It just needs something to lift it—I know, I need a flower. Maybe Mrs Mills or Stan could help me out?’ she said to her reflection.
They both helped out.
Stan found a perfect white gardenia for her and Mrs Mills pinned it into her hair with a tiny pearl clip.
