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At least she could be her own person with Max. She liked that. It was a positive step. She was never, never going to take the backward step of running home to her mother for help. For anything!
‘Would you like me to drive you to another shopping mall?’ Gerry asked as he saw her settled in the car.
She had forgotten the trolley containing the few pieces of fruit she had selected. They had walked out, leaving it standing in the aisle. ‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ she said, in too much emotional turmoil to think of food and knowing she could make do with what was available in the kitchenette. ‘Let’s go straight home, please, Gerry.’
He nodded and took the driver’s seat without comment.
Home…tears pricked her eyes at that slip of the tongue. The children’s house was not her home, yet it felt more like one than any of the places she’d lived in with her mother. Even the Randwick apartment that she and Tony had furnished had been more to his taste than hers-wanting to please him. He’d probably insist on keeping it as part of the divorce settlement. Chloe decided she didn’t care. Sometime in the next two months she would find a place of her own and please herself with the furnishings.
It was difficult to keep blinking away the tears. Her chest was tight with them. Max had made it possible for her to put the past with her mother at a distance since Friday night, but meeting her face to face…she felt both physically and mentally drained by the effort of standing up to her, standing up for herself. She had run away from the confrontation in the end, with the help of the bodyguard Max had had the foresight to hire. Would she have managed otherwise?
She wasn’t sure. The old sense of helplessness had welled up in her although she’d fought it as hard as she could. It wasn’t easy to shed a lifetime of being dominated, being told what to do and torn up emotionally if she resisted, giving in because she couldn’t bear the many manifestations of her mother’s anger. She needed the refuge Max had given her, needed the time to build up her own strength of purpose. Yet was her mother right? Did Max have a personal as well as a professional motive for helping her? Was she hopelessly gullible? What was the truth?
The tears spilled over. She tried desperately to mop them up and regain some composure as they arrived at Max’s mansion. Gerry opened the passenger door for her and she kept her head down while alighting from the car. ‘Thank you,’ she choked out, swallowing hard before adding, ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Gerry.’
‘Have a good night, Miss Rollins,’ he replied.
‘You, too,’ she mumbled and bolted for the children’s house, wanting its cosy comfort to embrace her and close out all the horrid feelings aroused by the meeting with her mother.
Max felt his jaw tightening with anger as he listened to Gerry Anderson’s report. Stephanie Rollins was obviously going to be relentless in her drive to get her cash-cow daughter back in her clutches. She was a shrewd operator, sowing doubts, fears and seeds of suspicion in Chloe’s mind-everything possible to undermine trust in him. It was good that Chloe had defied her, but at what cost?
‘The mother’s a very nasty piece of work,’ Gerry summed up. ‘I’d say there’s been physical as well as mental abuse in their relationship. I’m not into hitting women but I sure wanted to thump that one.’
‘While I sympathise with the urge, be warned that she’d sue you for assault and manipulate the situation her way,’ Max advised.
‘Miss Rollins…’ He shook his head. ‘Something about her gets to me. You did good to rescue her from that woman.’
Doubts about his motives had been seeded in the bodyguard’s mind, too. Max read them in the eyes scanning his, asking if he was going to be good for Chloe Rollins in the long run. Which was none of Gerry Anderson’s business, and he knew it, so it wasn’t put into words. But he cared-that something about Chloe would inspire it in most men-and the caring made him say, ‘She was crying in the car. Don’t know if there’s anything you can do about it…’
‘I can provide a distraction,’ Max said with a reassuring smile. ‘You may well be looking after a puppy at the studios tomorrow whenever Miss Rollins is required on set.’
The bodyguard’s concern was swallowed up by a wide grin. ‘No problem, Mr Hart. Got a dog of my own. Always liked them.’
The report over, they both stood and shook hands. The bodyguard made his exit from the library. Max sat back down on the chair behind his desk and thought about where he was going with Chloe Rollins. There was no question in his mind that he’d done her a good service by separating her from her mother. But would he be good for her in the long run?
He’d never asked that question of himself in his pursuit of other women. They’d always known the score with him and he hadn’t ever felt responsible for the choice they made. But Chloe was different. She was very, very vulnerable. He had to take that into account or he might find it difficult to live with himself afterwards.
Chloe cringed at the knock on her door. She’d cleaned up her tear-blotched face, had a long, hot shower to ease the tension in her body, wrapped herself in the silk kimono she favoured for lounging around after working all day, and was curled up on the window seat in the living room, trying to empty he
r mind by watching the traffic on the harbour. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, didn’t want to think.
The knock was repeated.
Several times.
Becoming more insistent.
It forced her to realise that whoever it was probably knew she was home and would be concerned if she didn’t appear. With a reluctant sigh, she uncurled herself, swung her feet onto the floor and headed for the door. Eric’s weather-beaten face was almost pressed against one of the glass panes, relief replacing worry when he caught sight of her approach.
Chloe made a rueful grimace, indicating she wasn’t dressed for receiving visitors, though she didn’t mind speaking to the kindly old handyman who’d helped her move in here, opening and disposing of the boxes brought by the removalist. He was in his seventies, wiry in build and still surprisingly strong, his skin deeply tanned from working outdoors, though he always wore a cap to protect his bald head from getting sunburnt.
He smiled encouragingly at her, showing the yellowed teeth that had been discoloured from too many years of pipe-smoking. He was carrying a basket, loaded with bags-probably something he wanted to deliver to her. It wasn’t until she was almost at the door that she saw he wasn’t alone. A few paces behind him stood the unmistakable figure of Max Hart, his back turned to her, his head slightly bent as though he was studying the lawn.
Her heart instantly leapt into a faster beat, her hand lifting in agitation to the loose edges of the kimono gown near her breasts. Her bare breasts. She felt her nipples hardening as alarm jagged through her mind. If her mother was right about what Max wanted with her, she couldn’t let him see her so readily naked in this gown. He might take it as an invitation. Besides, even though her body was covered, just his presence made her too acutely aware of it, too aware of his dynamic sexuality and how it affected her.
She gestured to Eric to wait and fled to her bedroom. Off with the robe, underclothes on, slacks, top, a quick brush through her hair and she was reasonably presentable. No make-up but that was good. It meant she wasn’t trying to look attractive. She paused long enough to take several deep breaths, needing to calm herself, then went back to the front door, opening it without hesitation, speaking in an apologetic rush.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I wasn’t expecting anyone to call on me and…’
