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“And, of course, I’ll tell him,” Ida went on. “It wouldn’t be fair not to. He could have as much or as little contact as he wished. My only stipulation would be that if he opted to take on the fatherhood thing, he be prepared to stick with it. For the child’s sake.”
“I hope whoever you’re thinking of is good enough for you. He’d have to be a pretty special guy.”
Ida glanced up at him. “Oh, he’s special, all right.”
Will gazed at her determined, tear-stained face.
She gazed right back at him.
Light dawned. “You mean me?”
“Would you? I hate the idea of using a sperm bank and having a complete stranger father my baby.”
“I—I’m incredibly flattered. I just don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.”
“You don’t have to make up your mind right away. I know it’s a lot to spring on someone. But would you at least contemplate it? Please?”
His gut reaction was to decline, but for Ida he would consider the proposal. “Sure. I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.” She checked her watch and sighed. “I’d better go. I’ve got so much work to catch up on.”
Will walked her out to her car. Ida opened her door and paused to search his face worriedly. “Will, whatever you decide it’s okay. I don’t want anything to hurt our friendship.”
“Nothing will hurt our friendship.” He still felt a little stunned as he leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips. He wanted to be a father, but this wasn’t the way he’d expected it to happen. What was the point of having children if you weren’t part of a family?
CHAPTER THREE
MAEVE CLOSED her clipboard and wandered back to the patio. Her plan wasn’t as complete as she would have liked. But then, she didn’t feel she knew everything she needed to about Will. Sometimes she just had to start with the barest of an idea, and elaborate as she got to know her characters, the way a writer might.
She spread the sheets of graph paper with her roughed-in design on the table and waited for Will to return from seeing his friend—girlfriend?—out. He came through the sliding doors looking as though he’d been hit hard over the head and was still seeing stars. “Everything all right?” she asked.
“Huh?” He gave his head a little shake. “Yes. Fine. Are you finished taking measurements?”
Maeve indicated the graph paper. “See what you think.”
Will turned the paper sideways to read her tiny writing. “It’s all Greek to me.”
“Latin, actually,” Maeve said. “Sorry if it’s confusing, but using the species names of plants is second nature.”
“Where did you study?”
“Melbourne University. I have a PhD in botany.”
Will’s eyebrows disappeared upward into a lock of sun-streaked chestnut hair. “I would have thought you’d be teaching or doing research, with a degree like that.”
Maeve shrugged. “I experiment in situ in my own modest way, but I prefer growing plants to studying them, especially when I have the go-ahead to do my own thing. Which is really your thing, of course. You can get back to me on the estimate, if you like. My phone number’s on the letterhead, or you can e-mail me.”
“When would you be able to start?” he asked.
She thought for a moment. “I’m booked solid for the next two weeks, but I’ll try to rearrange some of my less-urgent jobs. I could get back here on Monday to take out that tree by the bungalow.”
“I appreciate your rearranging work for me.”
She knew he wouldn’t understand if she told him his garden was already growing inside her mind. “You…you’ve been so good to my father.”
“Nothing he didn’t earn.” For some reason Will’s mouth flattened and a frown line appeared between his eyes. He went into the house and returned a moment later carrying a checkbook. “You’ll be needing money for materials, I presume?”
Maeve handed him the second piece of paper from her clipboard. “Half of that will be enough to get me going. Labor costs are charged at an hourly rate.”
Will glanced over the itemized list and scribbled off a check. “Might as well pay for all the materials now to avoid delays in the future.”
“If you say so.” Clients weren’t usually so quick to offer money—especially those supposedly in financial straits. Mentally, she gave herself a shake; sometimes she analyzed things too much. She wrote him out a receipt, then folded his check and tucked it into her breast pocket. “I take it this means I’ve got the job.”
“Looks that way.” He stacked the papers and set them aside. “Are you busy Saturday night?”
“No, but—”
“There’s a jazz concert at the Briar’s winery this weekend,” he said over her objection. “We could take a picnic supper, sit under those big old gums and watch the cockatoos flap home to roost while the sun sets over the hills…”
Maeve smiled and held up a hand to stop his flow of words. “That sounds wonderful, but I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” he asked bluntly.
She hesitated, glanced away, then faced him squarely. “Won’t.”
“May I ask why?”
“I…don’t get involved with clients.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
He shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”
“Okay. How about, I don’t think seeing you is a good idea given that you’re my father’s employer.”
“Bullshit,” he said politely.
“Okay…” Time to get serious, even though—no, especially because—part of her badly wanted to see him again. Her chin rose. “I don’t find you attractive.”
Will didn’t even flinch. He studied her face as though trying to decide why she was lying to him. Finally, he said quietly, “Tell me the real reason.”
She drew in a deep breath, shaken that his calm rational eyes saw through her so easily. When she spoke, the truth made her voice tremble. “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now. Sometimes I don’t know if I ever will be again.”
His frown softened into concern. “You must have been hurt badly.”
She glanced away. “You could say that.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“He…was part of it. Look, I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s personal and deeply painful, and not something I share with many people. Trust me, it wouldn’t work between us.”
“Maybe if I ask you again in a week or two—”
“No! I mean, I’m sorry, but there’s absolutely no hope that I’ll change my mind. You’d just be wasting your time.”
She gazed at him, troubled to see that his expression was one of quiet determination.
“I won’t pressure you,” he said. “But when you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t,” she said, putting her hat on. “Don’t wait for me.”
WILL ROSE AT FIVE the next morning, groggy with the heat. He’d spent a sleepless night, his mind in turmoil over the upcoming meeting with Paul, his company accountant and friend since university. Electronic engineering, not economics, was Will’s field, but he didn’t have to be John Kenneth Galbraith to realize that his company was in trouble.
Today he had to make a decision on the financial consultant’s recommendation to close the Mornington factory and relocate offshore. Production costs were high; wages were higher. Cheap imports threatened his place in the market, and shareholders were pushing for an increased profit margin. After an initial, almost phenomenal, success, his tamperproof, infrared security alarm was being priced out of the world market. The only way to keep his business afloat, the money boys said, was to transfer production to Indonesia.
Such a move would throw his employees out of work. He hated that idea; it went against everything he stood for, everything he’d worked for. On the other hand, if Aussie Electronics went down, they would all lose their jobs anyway.
He ate a fried-egg sandwich while he stood at the edge of the patio in nothing but his shorts. When the hell would this weather break? Not a cloud marred the pure-blue sky, although the towers of Melbourne in the distance were hazy with smog. Usually a cool change blew through after a four- or five-day cycle of rising heat, but this was the seventh day in a row of temperatures over one hundred degrees.
The image of Maeve’s trusting smile appeared before him. You’ve been so good to my father.
Maeve herself, with her graceful movements and her perceptive dark eyes, had been on his mind in spite of his efforts to forget her. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she could see into his heart, and was at least intrigued with what she saw. So why this refusal to go out with him?
Then, there was Ida. Her astonishing request completed this triumvirate of mind-boggling, gut-wrenching problems. He wanted to help her out. He couldn’t see any logical reason he shouldn’t help her out. But something in him balked at being nothing more than a sperm donor.
He arrived at his factory an hour later. Aussie Electronics occupied a long, low-slung building in an industrial park on the outskirts of Mornington, twenty miles north on the peninsula. Will parked the Merc in front of the building, noting that Paul’s car was already in one of the visitors’ slots.
“’Morning, Renée,” Will said as he walked through reception. Renée was a petite blonde in her forties who’d trained as a secretary, then stayed home with her children while they were young. Will had rescued her from a dead-end job and he’d been more than repaid by her organizational skills and efficiency.
Renée’s hands stilled on the keyboard of her computer. “Paul’s waiting for you in the meeting room.”
Will felt her troubled gaze follow him as he walked through the door that led to the inner offices, and he clenched his fists. Surely, with good references and a record of five years’ steady employment she wouldn’t have to go back to flipping burgers.
Paul was seated at the long oval table, papers spread around him. His short dark hair glistened with gel and he wore city garb—a black suit and a conservative gray tie. He was more than an accountant to Will’s company; Will relied on him for many of the business management tasks he himself had little time for.
“Paul, you old bastard,” Will said, grasping his hand in a firm shake before pulling out a chair across from the accountant. “Don’t you know it’s summer?”
Paul gave him a mildly reproving once-over. “I hope you’re not going to wear that bloody Hawaiian shirt when we meet with the Indonesian delegation in Jakarta next month.”
Will glanced down at his colorful attire, and grinned. “Don’t you know the casual look has reached this country’s boardrooms?”
Paul gave a bark of laughter. “And you’re such a slave to fashion.”
Will’s smile flickered. “Time to get serious, Paul. Kmart and Target both canceled their orders for my security alarm. They’ve decided to stock the Japanese model. It’s manufactured in Singapore and sells for ten percent less.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Exactly.” Will dropped his briefcase on the table and sat heavily. The Japanese alarm, new on the market, was almost identical to his own invention, with just enough superficial differences to get around the patent laws. “I’ve not only lost my number-one position in sales, but I’m being pushed right out of the market.”
“You’ve got other products,” Paul said. “Timers, switches, medical instrumentation…”
“Sure, and they’re doing okay, but they’re not big earners. Not big enough to make up for losing the tamperproof alarm, at any rate. And since I floated those shares on the open market I’ve got third parties demanding increasing profit.” He indicated a sheaf of papers in front of Paul. “So you’ve looked at these documents sent over by the Indonesian Department of Trade?”
Paul nodded. “They’re offering all sorts of tax incentives. Economically, it’s very viable.”
“True,” Will said. “Although Indonesia’s had a lot of internal political trouble lately. The people aren’t too keen on foreign investors.”
Paul spread his hands. “No sweat. The government officials I’ve communicated with assure me the situation is under control.”
“I saw on the news the other night that students are protesting in the capital.”
Paul shrugged. “Students are always protesting. It’s what they do. The government will love you for creating jobs.”
“Too bad I have to destroy them here,” Will said sharply.
“Listen, mate, good guys finish last. You’ve got to close the factory and make your move while you’re still solvent. Six months from now your Mornington employees won’t even remember your name.”
“They’ll be cursing it.” Will pushed back his chair and rose to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the paddocks where horses grazed, rows of grapevines curved up the slope of the hill. Over the years Will had gotten to know each of his employees. Most of them were skilled, hardworking and loyal. He didn’t want to let them down.
Or lose control of what he’d worked so hard to build.
But he knew Paul was right. Close the factory was the only logical thing to do. Will’s chest squeezed tight, as though he were being crushed. “After all the satisfaction of growing the company, it hurts to send it down the drain.”
“Not down the drain, just overseas. It’s not the same thing at all,” Paul assured him. “If you want, I’ll make the announcement and you can distance yourself from the dirty deed.”
“No,” Will said, straightening. “I’m responsible to my employees. I’ll tell them.”
Paul passed across some stapled pages. “I’ve drawn up a list of employees and their redundancy payouts. Everything’s ready to go. I just need your signature.”
Glancing down the page, Will frowned. “These amounts are awfully low. Most of my employees have families.”
“They’re the minimum entitlements required by law.”
“Double them.”
“You can’t afford—”
“Just do it!” Will swore softly but fervently, rubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry, mate, I know you’re only trying to do what’s best for the company.”
Paul leaned forward and gripped Will’s shoulder. “Everything’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
Will nodded, and forced himself to concentrate on what had to be done. “To fulfill current contracts, production has to continue for another three months.”
“I’ll notify the appropriate people in Jakarta and put the paperwork in motion,” Paul said. “I’ve got agents there looking for suitable factory space. Do you have anyone in mind to go over and help with the start-up?”
“Art Hodgins would be my first choice.” Three months. He was giving his employees the ax and then expecting them to continue to work for him for three whole months.
“If I were you, I’d delay making the announcement until closer to the shutdown date,” Paul said, as though he’d read Will’s thoughts. “You’re only required to give two weeks’ notice. Any more than that and you’re asking for trouble.”
“People need time to find new jobs. It won’t be easy for some,” he said, thinking of Art Hodgins—and Pat and Mick and Vlad and a dozen others over the age of fifty. Although, in the case of Art, Will could delay the problem by getting him involved in the set-up overseas.
