скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Over what?’ He looked innocent. ‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘Threatening bodily harm. I don’t believe in violence, Nathan Parnell.’
‘Neither do I. None eventuated, did it?’
‘No.’
‘I rest my case.’
He looked positively smug. It exasperated Sasha into saying, ‘I bet you’re not always right.’
‘My daddy’s never wrong,’ Matt said, looking up at his father admiringly. ‘He told me so.’
‘Brainwashed,’ Sasha muttered, but she couldn’t stop a smile at the precocious little boy.
It was a mistake. Nathan Parnell read it as compliance with their company. ‘So, which way is home?’ he asked, gesturing for her to indicate direction. ‘Matt and I will see you safely to your doorstep. If you like,’ he added belatedly, but with a smile that could have buckled her knees if Sasha weren’t made of sterner stuff.
It was time to effect the parting of the ways. Nathan Parnell was not the law and Sasha was not about to let him take the law into his own hands any more than he had. She had the distinct feeling that he could twist anything to his purpose, including her if she didn’t take herself out of his orbit.
‘Thank you, but there’s no need.’ She looked around. ‘Tyler’s already gone.’
‘What did he mean about having trouble with your parents?’
‘I’ll have to find a place of my own.’ She heaved a rueful sigh. ‘It’s not easy. Work’s been hard to get, and I’m not exactly over-endowed with the world’s riches.’
Bonnie had fallen asleep. Sasha shifted her into a more comfortable position against her shoulder then held out her hand. ‘May I have my bag now?’
‘Sure you don’t want me to carry it? It’s no trouble.’
She resisted temptation and shook her head. ‘I don’t have far to walk.’
He handed over the bag. The blue eyes played a last bit of havoc with her pulse-rate as he said, ‘Well, good luck with your job-hunting, and I hope you find a decent place to live.’
She met his gaze steadily, resolutely. ‘Good luck with finding a wife.’
That was it. She set off and didn’t look back, determined to put everything that had happened today behind her. Somewhere, somehow, she would make a good life for herself and Bonnie, even if she never found a man who would love both of them.
‘Hold on a moment!’
Nathan Parnell’s voice trapped her into looking back. Then the sight of him jogging after her with Matt enjoying a piggy-back ride and happily shouting ‘Giddy-up, Daddy,’ trapped her into stopping and staring at them. They were both so...heart-tuggingly attractive.
She was still standing like a store dummy when Nathan pulled up beside her. ‘Here,’ he said, bending over to slip a piece of notepaper into her bag.
‘What is it?’
‘I just thought of a place where you might get friendly accommodation. I wrote down the woman’s name and her phone number. You could try it if you want to. The rent’s negotiable.’
‘Thanks, but...’
‘Don’t spoil it.’ He grinned. ‘That’s my two good deeds for the day.’
Then, leaving her with the image of twinkling blue eyes, he was off again, his son bobbing up and down excitedly as his father broke into an obliging canter.
He was, without a doubt, the sexiest man Sasha had ever met.
CHAPTER THREE
SASHA was desperate. It was impossible to stay on with her parents. Their small two-bedroom apartment was uncomfortably overcrowded since she had been forced to retrieve all her possessions before Tyler threw them out. On top of that, a nine-month-old baby did not understand or make allowance for the daily rituals of a retired couple. The unavoidable disruption to the household routine was giving rise to tensions that made life difficult for everyone.
She and Bonnie had to get out.
Day after day Sasha searched for a suitable place but what was affordable was unthinkable: dingy basement bedsits, neighbourhoods where no young child would be safe, dank, sunless rooms that had an unhealthy smell about them. She would have coped if she had only had herself to consider. It was Bonnie’s welfare that concerned her. Once again Sasha opened her handbag and took out the piece of paper Nathan Parnell had given her. She hadn’t wanted to put herself in a position where she was beholden to him for anything. She had told herself it was better for her if she avoided any possible connection to him. But was it better for Bonnie?
Sasha glanced at her watch. It was almost three o’clock. This time last week she was sitting beside a sandpit in a park, discussing marriage with Nathan Parnell. His image came vividly to mind.
So what if she did run into him again? He hadn’t harassed her. He had respected her wishes. And Sasha had promised her mother she would find accommodation as soon as possible. This piece of paper was a chance to nothing. When needs must, she thought grimly.
Sasha picked up the telephone and dialled the pencilled numbers with both apprehension and determination, then stared at the woman’s name on the notepaper as she waited for the call to be answered.
Five minutes later she had an address in Mosman and an invitation from Marion Bennet to ‘come right on over’. However, when Sasha arrived at the recommended ‘friendly accommodation’, she was thrown into uncertainty about her course of action.
She stared at the magnificent two-storeyed home, unable to believe she had written down the right address. This place had to be worth a fortune, set as it was on harbour frontage and in grounds that had to encompass a couple of acres. Sweeping lawns and long-established gardens gave it an awesome look of prime real estate.
It probably cost a fortune to maintain, as well, Sasha reasoned. Perhaps having tenants helped the owner keep it. In any event, if she had somehow misheard the house number in the street, the best thing to do was find out and ring Marion Bennet again.
With a steadily purposeful step, Sasha made her approach by way of the long gravel driveway. It swept around in a semicircle so visitors could be driven right to the portico that framed the entrance to the house. Sasha couldn’t help feeling like an intruder as she walked up and pressed the doorbell.
To her startled surprise, she heard it play a few bars of ‘Jingle Bells’. It reminded her that it was the last week in November and all the shops were full of Christmas cheer. She hoped she could make Bonnie’s first Christmas a happy one.
One of the double doors opened. Sasha was faced with a woman of similar age to her mother, grey hair neatly groomed, her rather buxom figure comfortably dressed in a loose-fitting top and casual cotton trousers. Her hazel eyes were bright with interest as they swept over Sasha in quick appraisal.
Sasha had dressed professionally in a navy skirt and white blouse, stockings, low-heeled court shoes. Her long hair was wound into a smooth top-knot and she had applied a light make-up to give her face some colour. She hoped she looked like a sensible, responsible and trustworthy person.
‘Mrs Bennet?’ she asked on a slightly anxious note.
The woman gave her a friendly smile. ‘That’s me. And you must be Miss Redford.’
‘Yes.’ Sasha smiled in relief. She had the right address after all.
But it still didn’t look right when Mrs Bennet stood back and waved her forward. The foyer extended in a wonderful pattern of mosaic tiles to a magnificent polished cedar staircase that curved up to the top floor.
‘We could go up that way, but there’s another staircase by the kitchen that you’ll find handier,’ Mrs Bennet explained, leading Sasha into a side passage. ‘I’m afraid there’s no private entrance to the nursery and nanny’s quarters.’
Apparently that was the accommodation for rent. Feeling somewhat intimidated by her surroundings, Sasha simply nodded.
‘I’ll give you your bearings as we go,’ Mrs Bennet continued. ‘The formal rooms are on our right, the TV- and breakfast-rooms on our left.’
She opened doors as they passed them, giving Sasha a glimpse of luxurious living on a scale she had never met before. The ceilings had to be at least fourteen feet high, and the furniture was out of this world.
Between the breakfast-room and the kitchen was a lobby that served the second staircase. This was much less grand than the first, the treads not so wide, and there were three landings as it angled around the wall to the upper floor.
As she followed Mrs Bennet’s steady climb, Sasha had the sinking feeling that, however negotiable the rent was, this setting virtually precluded its being within her means. She should bring the matter up now to save wasting her own and Mrs Bennet’s time, but the temptation to see what was being offered was irresistable.
‘This is the nursery.’
Sasha was ushered into a bright, airy room, predominantly lemon and white, and containing every possible facility a mother and baby might need: storage cupboards, shelves, a changing table, a cot, a comfortable rocking-chair.
The nanny’s quarters were equally spacious and complete. The bed-sitting-room had all the facilities and comforts provided in a top motel: a double bed, writing desk, small lounge suite, table and chairs, television, telephone.
Sasha couldn’t even dream that the asking rent for this marvellous place would be in her capacity to pay. She tried to find some fault so she could retreat from the situation without loss of dignity. It was difficult to find a fault, but she came up with one.
‘I need a private telephone line,’ she said.
Mrs Bennet nodded a ready acceptance. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’
‘I need it for my business,’ Sasha said defensively.
‘Do you sell things from home?’ Mrs Bennet enquired.
‘No. I find things.’
She saw the incomprehension in the older woman’s eyes and explained further.
‘I find whatever people want found. It started with research for family trees, finding long-lost relatives, beneficiaries for wills. But it branched into tracking down family heirlooms and other things. The provenance of paintings or other works of art. Finding the owner of some rarity that someone wants to buy. Mostly people don’t know where to start or where to go for the information they want.’
‘What an interesting occupation! Do you get many people wanting your services?’
‘Not too many lately. But I do use the phone a lot when I’m working.’
‘It must save you considerable legwork,’ Mrs Bennet said appreciatively, then dismissed the issue, leading Sasha through another doorway. ‘I’m afraid the kitchenette is more or less limited to serving a baby’s needs than cooking meals, but of course you’ll have free use of the kitchen downstairs.’
It looked more than fine to Sasha. It was sheer luxury after what she had seen this week. It provided a small refrigerator, kitchen sink, a microwave oven, ample storage cupboards, and a benchtop with several power points.
Then there was the en-suite bathroom. It contained a bath for the baby as well as a separate shower stall if she preferred that herself.
Satisfied that Sasha had seen all there was to see, Mrs Bennet led her back into the nursery and pointed out one of the windows. ‘The swimming-pool is fenced for safety. You’re welcome to use it as you please. And the grounds. As I said, you don’t have a private entrance but we tend to live as a family here. No one will mind your coming or going through the house, front or back entrance.’
It was time to bite the bullet on the question of rent. The case was hopeless but Sasha had to know. ‘Mrs Bennet, you’ve been wonderfully kind showing me around, and I’d love to live here, but I don’t know if I can afford it. If you’d give me some idea...’
The older woman smiled. ‘Well, that’s up to you, my dear. These rooms are simply being wasted with no one in them. What would you like to pay?’
It put Sasha on the spot. She wished a definite figure had been stated. Much easier to say no than to have to reveal the truth of her situation. Her mind went through a feverish calculation, stretching her means to the uppermost limit of what she might be able to reasonably pay each week without running into trouble.
‘I don’t have much work at the present moment, but I do have a bit of money put aside,’ she explained. ‘I can afford...’ It was so inadequate, it would barely cover the cost of a bedsitter in the poorest part of Sydney.
‘Go on,’ said Mrs Bennet helpfully, her eyes soft with sympathy.
It seemed insulting to offer so little. In a voice she hardly recognised as her own, Sasha spoke the fateful words. ‘A hundred dollars a week.’ She could feel the blood burning through her cheeks. She turned aside, not wanting to face the reply, feeling humiliated and defeated.
‘I’m afraid that won’t do, my dear. I’m afraid that won’t do at all.’
Mrs Bennet had seemed such a nice person, but making her propose a figure that exposed how destitute she was...it was belittling and demeaning. ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time,’ Sasha said tonelessly, and headed for the door.
‘What you are offering is far, far, far too much.’
It made Sasha pause. Was she hallucinating? Was her hearing defective today? She could not conceal the surprise she felt, nor did she attempt to hide it or disguise it as she swung around in disbelief. ‘I must have misheard. I thought you said I offered too much money.’
Mrs Bennet looked puzzled. ‘Didn’t Mr Parnell tell you?’
Completely confused about what was going on, Sasha repeated what she had been told. ‘He said the rent was negotiable.’
‘So it is, my dear, but under the terms of the will of the late Seagrave Dunworthy there is a caveat on the property that prevents any room, or any number of rooms, from being let or rented beyond a certain price. The rental that may be charged up to that maximum figure is negotiable, but if the owner were to accept any figure above that price, then the owner would be liable to litigation which could effectively cause a disinheritance and loss of ownership.’
Sasha’s professional curiosity was piqued. In the course of her work she had read a lot of strange and eccentric wills, but none like this. ‘Are you sure of your facts? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’
‘That’s what I’ve been told, and I have no reason to disbelieve it,’ Mrs Bennet assured her.
Sasha hesitated fractionally, then plunged to the heart of the matter. ‘Then how much is the maximum figure that can be charged for a room or a set of rooms?’
‘Five guineas a week.’
Reading old documents had made Sasha familiar with this unit of currency. It predated the introduction of decimal currency in 1966, and its real vogue was in the nineteenth century, although it had still been used in auctioneering circles, and particularly the horse-racing industry, up to a couple of generations ago. She did the mental calculation of converting this old coinage into pounds and shillings, and then into dollars and cents.
‘That works out at ten dollars and fifty cents.’
‘That is correct.’ Without the slightest loss of aplomb, Mrs Bennet explained the position so that Sasha could appreciate it properly. ‘You can negotiate any figure you like for the rent, up to a maximum of ten dollars fifty.’
Sasha still couldn’t make herself believe it. ‘The will must be very old to have been written in such terms,’ she said, driven to question the validity of what she was being told.
‘I don’t have any information on that,’ Mrs Bennet replied, looking totally unconcerned by such a consideration.
‘Surely with the effect of inflation...’
‘I’ve been led to believe there is no mention of the effects of inflation in the will of the late and highly esteemed Seagrave Dunworthy.’
‘Oh!’
Sasha didn’t know where to go from there. Faced with the unbelievable that was apparently irrefutable, her mind went into numb stasis.
Mrs Bennet eventually jolted her out of it. ‘Really, my dear, you must make up your mind whether to take the rooms or not,’ she said in a kindly but matter-of-fact voice. ‘I do have other things to do.’
‘Yes. Well, of course I’ll take them. In the circumstances.’
However dubious the circumstances were, Sasha told herself she would be stupid to look a gift horse in the mouth. Particularly in her circumstances.
‘In that case, I must tell you now that the terms of the agreement are very specific,’ Mrs Bennet said with an air of serious warning. ‘Firstly, any benefactor of the revered Seagrave Dunworthy must speak of him in the most laudable terms. Otherwise they may lose the benefits conferred on them by the will.’
‘Oh, I’ll certainly do that,’ Sasha said with feeling. ‘He must have been a wonderful man.’
