‘Listen, Cathy—’ his voice was harsh ‘—a month ago you chose to inform me I had a six-year-old son I knew nothing about—’
‘Max, look,’ a woman’s voice broke in, ‘I tried to explain at the time how that came about.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said sardonically. ‘You couldn’t be sure whose son he was to start with.’ He paused briefly. ‘But then, when you began to suspect he was mine, you made the absolutely arbitrary decision that, since we wouldn’t suit, you’d bring him up on your own and not even tell me.’
The woman he’d called Cathy raised her voice in emotional frustration. ‘Max, you know as well as I do, if there’s anything we like to do better than love each other, it’s hate each other.’
‘That didn’t alter my right to know,’ he said savagely. ‘And now you want to leave him with me, a complete stranger! How’s that going to affect him? Surely you must have some other back-up!’
‘My mother’s always been my back-up, she’s been wonderful, but she’s going into hospital so I need to be with her and my nanny’s walked out on me. But, Max—’ Cathy’s voice changed again, to husky with strain ‘—somehow—somehow—we had to break the ice, you had to meet him. And Nicky’s, well, he’s a very well-adjusted child and I’ve always told him his father is a wonderful person. Anyway, he’s got Nemo.’
Alex shook her head as she absorbed all this and the words started to make sense. Then she flew up as she heard Max Goodwin swear graphically, and, without bothering about her shoes, ran out of the green room to make her presence known.
The effect was electric. The two people in the foyer moved convulsively.
‘I—I’m so s-sorry,’ she started to stammer.
But Max Goodwin said murderously, ‘What the hell are you still doing here?’
And Cathy, probably one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful women Alex had ever seen, murmured, ‘Without her shoes? I wonder. But you always did have good taste in women, Max.’
That was when, as Alex stared at the other woman incredulously, a very harassed-looking Margaret stepped out of the lift.
‘He’s fine, he’s asleep,’ she said immediately to Max, ‘but I just remembered Miss Hill. She looked so peaceful I let her sleep, but I didn’t get a chance to tell anyone and when you and Ms Spencer—’ she gestured towards Cathy ‘—decided to come upstairs to—well, discuss things, I suddenly thought I should do something…’ She trailed off awkwardly.
At eleven o’clock the next morning, Alex waited nervously in Max Goodwin’s outer office.
It had been Margaret who’d called a taxi for her last night. A perturbed-enough Margaret to lose some of her infinite discretion and even murmur distractedly, ‘How could she just turn up with him? I couldn’t believe it. And he won’t be parted from Nemo.’ Margaret’s expression as she’d said the last bit had been full of a sort of helpless, horrified apprehension.
Alex had not asked for clarification; most of the dramatic events of the evening had become clear to her anyway. She did think that if the boy refused to be parted from his pet fish, that was not so serious, but everything else she’d overheard caused her to share Margaret’s sentiments. How could a mother behave like that?
She had no idea what else had transpired overnight, but she’d half expected a call this morning, terminating her services. Not that she felt she was in any way to blame for overhearing what she had, but it did place her and Max Goodwin in an awkward situation.
Nor was she too sure he didn’t blame her for eavesdropping. He hadn’t said much to her before she’d left, but he’d still looked and sounded murderous.
She looked down at herself. She was wearing a cocoa-brown linen trouser suit over a fawn silk blouse with a Chinese collar, and fawn leather high heels. Her badge was pinned to her suit collar. Her hair was perfect—she’d taken advantage of Mr Roger’s offer to comb it for her and since Mary, the make-up girl, had been free, she’d done her make-up.
It had been rather relaxing, Alex had thought, to be pampered, and she’d realized that she needed relaxing. The events of the night before had left her feeling tense and she’d had trouble sleeping. Cathy Spencer’s lovely face had been hard to get out of her mind…
She would be in her late twenties or early thirties, Alex had decided, with long dark hair and a heart-shaped face with a wide, smooth forehead. She had blue eyes herself, although not as dark as Max Goodwin’s, but with sweeping dark lashes, a full, provocative mouth and a long, slender neck.
You would not have known she was a mother—her waist was narrow, the curves above and below highlighted beneath a fitted oyster satin blouse tucked into a short, straight biscuit linen skirt. A pair of very high heels had emphasized her slender ankles.
But no amount of describing her shape and her colouring could capture the—what was the right word?—passion, the spark, the living, breathing warmth and vitality of Cathy Spencer, Alex had decided during her wakeful night.
The other thing that had kept her awake had been her own confusion. Could one day have produced more issues for her, in fact?
There’d been the physical impact of Max Goodwin, the width of his shoulders, the strength of his tall, elegant body, that difficult-to-read but so interesting face—all of it, together with the rather mind-blowing, sexy force you sensed in him, had slammed into her consciousness during their second encounter in the green room.
And that moment when she’d almost believed he’d been as captivated by her…
How could she believe it now, though? How was it possible for any woman to compete with Cathy Spencer even if theirs was a love-hate relationship? And not only that, she was the mother of his son…
She came back to the present from all these disturbing thoughts as the door to the inner sanctum clicked open and Max Goodwin stood in the doorway with a boy by his side.
Alex’s lips parted. You couldn’t doubt whose son this was, the same dark, dark hair, the same dense blue eyes. He was also quite tall for a six-year-old. He wore corduroy navy trousers, a blue sweater and in one hand he carried a backpack. In his other hand he held a lead that was attached to a bundle of grey with black points—a Blue Heeler puppy, probably three or four months old. It pricked its ears, advanced towards Alex and barked.
‘Nemo,’ the boy said, ‘don’t. It’s not polite.’
So this was Nemo, Alex thought, with an inward gurgle of laughter. A lively bundle of pure mischief, no doubt. No wonder Margaret had looked so apprehensive last night.
She stood up and put her head to one side. ‘How do you do, Nemo?’ she said down to the dog. ‘I must say you don’t look at all like a clown fish to me.’ She bent down to pat the puppy and was rewarded with several enthusiastic licks that made her laugh and tell the boy she thought his dog was lovely.
‘He never did look like a clown fish,’ the boy confided. ‘I just wanted him to have a different kind of name. How do you do?’ he added. ‘I’m Nicholas. Are you my new nanny?’
Alex’s eyes flew to Max Goodwin. He hadn’t said a word, just absorbed the little play of boy, dog and Alex, but now he stirred.
‘No, Nicky,’ he said. ‘This is my interpreter. I told you about the lunch today?’ The boy nodded. ‘Well, she’s driving down with us. This is Alex.’
Margaret came out from behind her desk carrying a padded dog basket. ‘I got this, Mr Goodwin. For Nemo. In the car. It’s also waterproof just in case…’ She stopped and shrugged.
Max Goodwin, who looked, Alex suddenly detected, a bit less vital than usual, shuddered slightly.
‘So where is my new nanny?’ Nicky enquired.
‘Well, for the time being we have a housekeeper down at the house and she’s happy to look after you. Jake will also be there—remember Jake from last night?’
‘Yes,’ Nicky said tonelessly and he blinked several times, then he said in a high, tight little voice. ‘Did my mummy say when she would be coming back?’
‘As soon as possible, Nicky,’ Max said. ‘I—�
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But the boy interrupted him. ‘Couldn’t you please be my nanny, Alex? At least you like my dog and he likes you.’ A single tear stole down his cheek.
There was silence and as Alex straightened slowly she found her thoughts on the subject of mothers who did this to their children to be highly uncharitable.
‘Nicky,’ she said quietly, and slipped her hand into the boy’s, ‘I would love to, but I have another job to do, you see, so—’
‘We could—merge jobs,’ Max said. ‘You do have three days off from tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘Anything on that you can’t cancel?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Would it be impossible to spend three days at Sovereign Island with Nicky? It’s very pleasant down there.’
Alex shook her head rather helplessly and opened her mouth, but Max Goodwin looked at his watch. ‘Then we just have time to stop off at your place, Alex, so you could pack a bag.’ He turned to Nicky. ‘She won’t be able to be with you all the time, but quite a bit. How’s that?’
‘Brilliant!’ Nicky carolled and Nemo barked in joyful agreement.
Alex stood stock-still and stared at Max Goodwin incredulously.
‘You couldn’t disappoint them, now, could you, Miss Hill?’ he drawled.
Alex almost bit her tongue on words like ‘blackmail’ and phrases such as ‘taking unfair advantage’. ‘No,’ she said in a stifled sort of way, instead.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE Sovereign Islands sat in the Gold Coast Broadwater and were, Alex knew, arguably one of its most prestigious addresses. Houses that weren’t mansions only fell short of it by a small margin; the rest were. All of them had waterfront access either directly onto the Broadwater or linked to it by a series of canals.
The Broadwater itself was protected from the might of the ocean by South Stradbroke Island and was a boating paradise. It shared its bounty, its white beaches, its slate-green mangroves and darker casuarinas, not only with sailors and fishermen, but a rich tapestry of bird life from pelicans and oystercatchers to migratory whimbrels. To Brahminy kites, sea eagles and even, although rarely, the black and white, long red-legged jabiru, big birds that looked as if they were dancing through the shallows as they fished.
There were dolphins in the waters and wild wallabies on shore on South Stradbroke.
The City of the Gold Coast to the south was a high-rise Mecca of sophisticated shopping and dining, but out in a dinghy for a day’s fishing north of the Sovereign Islands, in a mangrove inlet, you could feel you were a million miles from anywhere.
It had been a swift, fifty-minute drive in the Bentley down the motorway after Alex had thrown some things into a bag. Because of the presence of Nicky, the conversation had been limited to the mundane or to do with the upcoming lunch. Nemo, thankfully, had slept most of the way.
Nicky had imparted the information that Nemo still chewed things and occasionally forgot his toilet training, but he was improving all the time. It also made sense of Nicky’s wanting her as his nanny. Nemo, if Alex was any judge, would be a trial to many, whereas she genuinely loved dogs.
Max Goodwin had absorbed this information without comment, but the little glance he’d flicked Alex, sitting next to him in the front seat, had made her want to laugh.
It was the only thing she felt like laughing about, though. She was still annoyed and curiously apprehensive about the situation she’d been landed in.
The Goodwin mansion faced north and occupied three blocks. It was Tuscan in design, two-storeyed with terracotta roof tiles and soft apricot plastered walls. The studded double front door was flanked by unfluted columns. It stood open as Max brought the Bentley to a smooth halt on the semi-circular driveway. A car jockey in a red jacket and black trousers sprang into action.
He opened the door for Alex and bowed her out of the car. Max got out and tossed him the keys, greeting him by name: Stan.
Stan saluted and returned the greeting. He also assured Max that he’d put the Bentley in the garage with the utmost care. And he was quite unfazed by the presence of one small boy plus dog, so Alex guessed the news had filtered down.
She took a deep breath and climbed the front steps carefully in her unfamiliar high heels with Max Goodwin and his son following her.
The hall was cool and dim, but it led through the width of the house to a vast stone-flagged terrace that was bright and colourful and overlooked the sparkling waters of the Broadwater.
There were no guests present on the terrace, but there was a woman directing several waiters. And Jake Frost was in attendance.
Two long tables were set for lunch, set so beautifully Alex’s eyes widened. Apart from a magnificent dinner service and crystal glassware, the table appointments consisted of long narrow gilded planter boxes crammed with real live pansies and violets.
The cutlery handles were ebony inlaid with gold. The cloths and napkins were linen and the same soft apricot of the walls. The water pitchers were encased in delicate gold filigree.
It was a work of art, Alex concluded, and when you added the lemon and orange trees in terracotta tubs dotted about and the view beyond, it was a magic setting.
In fact it was Nicky who summed it all up in one word.
‘Wow!’ he said, and Nemo added his approval.
‘Well, young man,’ Jake said to Nicky, ‘do we have a treat in store for you! Your favourite DVD, I believe, and hamburgers for lunch. Hello, Miss Hill! Now, Nemo, having seen what you can do, a word in your ear.’ And he walked away taking Nicky and the dog with him, but Nicky turned back and waved at Alex. ‘Don’t forget, you’re my real nanny!’
Jake stopped and looked over his shoulder at his employer with a faint frown.
‘Slight change of plan, Jake,’ Max said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to let you know. Alex will—help out. By the way, she’s staying down here for a few nights—her bag’s in the boot. I forgot.’
‘Alex!’ Nicky called.
‘I won’t forget,’ Alex promised. They disappeared indoors and she turned to Max Goodwin.
‘I really appreciate you doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Alex,’ he got in first.
‘I’m only doing it because you gave me no choice,’ she responded tartly. ‘Without being cruel to kids and animals!’ she added with some satire. ‘Look, I appreciate your—’ she gestured as she sought for an appropriate word ‘—dilemma—’
‘For want of a better word?’ he broke in. ‘My disastrous domestic situation could say it better.’
‘Whatever. It’s none of my business, but I don’t appreciate being manipulated like that. What?’ she queried as he looked over her shoulder.
‘The guests are arriving.’
It was a lunch she was to remember with an air of unreality.
Max Goodwin commanded one table with Alex at his side and his vice-president the other with Mr Li next to him. Paul O’Hara was at Max’s table seated opposite Alex and once again he couldn’t conceal the admiration in his eyes when he caught Alex’s gaze.
The fare was on a par with the setting: smoked salmon with lemon juice and capers on wholemeal toast to start and washed down with champagne. The staff, discreetly commanded, were expert. Rack of lamb sprinkled with rosemary followed and individual very Australian pavlovas garnished with passion fruit and cream followed the cheese boards.
The speeches were quite short and had been pre-prepared and distributed in both languages so, again, it was conversation Alex had to deal with. She did so with only a slight stammer or two to start with as she tried to push everything that had happened out of her mind.
And finally it was over and the guests started to depart.
She stood beside Max but a step behind as they bowed their farewells. But as the last of the guests left and Paul O’Hara approached she went to turn away rather precipitously, but her unfamiliar high heels betrayed her and she tripped. She gave a gasp of pain as her ankle twisted.
Whereupon Max Goodwin strode up to her
and picked her up in his arms. ‘I’ll catch up with you later, Paul,’ he said over his shoulder But while Max didn’t see it, Alex saw that frown of concern again in Paul O’Hara’s eyes and again she wondered why—before she turned her head away.
‘I don’t need—’ she began.
‘Don’t say a word,’ Max advised and carried her into a small sitting room, chintzy and comfortable with the blinds half drawn against the afternoon sun. It was a cool, soothing room with a bowl of pink roses delicately scenting the air.
He put her down in an armchair, closed the door and pulled up a padded footstool. He pulled off his jacket, loosened his tie, then he sat down on the footstool and lifted the ankle she’d twisted onto his lap and pulled off her shoe, all with careful consideration.
He felt her ankle. ‘We need to talk, anyway, Alex. It would be fair to say I’ve been literally sandbagged, which doesn’t happen to me often,’ he said dryly. ‘So I need all the help I can get.’ He started to massage her ankle, then he said, ‘Does this come off? Your stocking?’
‘Of course.’
‘I mean on its own or are you wearing tights?’
She grimaced. ‘On its own.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a suspender-belt girl, but there you go.’
‘You would have been right,’ she replied, but with a scowl. ‘I’m wearing knee-highs.’ She sat up and rolled up her trouser leg to reveal a stocking that ended above her knee.
‘Oh. Well, I’m sure they’re very practical but—’
‘Not essentially seductive? No, they’re not. Ouch,’ she added as he rolled the offending stocking down over her ankle, but said immediately, ‘Why would you be so sandbagged if you’ve known about Nicky for a month?’ She stared at him. ‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing and—’ She paused. She’d been about to say it was actually common knowledge anyway, but decided not to.
He didn’t reply immediately. His fingers were cool on her skin as he started to massage again and there was something curiously mesmerizing about it, Alex found, as the pain began to subside.
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