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A good father, Sasha thought.
He picked up the carrycot and the accompanying holdall, lifting his heart-tugging smile to Sasha. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
She followed him downstairs, resolving to find out more about him on their drive to Church Point. All she really had was a stack of impressions, some of them well-founded but hardly what one might call solid information.
A white BMW was parked at the front steps. She watched him place Bonnie’s cot on the back seat and secure it properly. He saw Sasha settled into the front passenger seat, waiting until she had her safety belt fastened before closing the door. It made her extremely aware of his physical closeness, and when he joined her in the car she couldn’t help giving him a cursory look, matching his body against her memory of how it had felt pressed against her last night.
His eyes suddenly caught hers. For a moment there was a simmering promise in them, as though he, too, was remembering what they had shared. Then he turned his attention to starting the car and getting it on the road. Sasha sat very still, her heart zipping up and down a scale like a hammer on a xylophone. Nathan Parnell intended it to happen between them. It was only a question of when.
It couldn’t be today, Sasha thought, not with Bonnie present. A sense of shock rippled through her. Too far, too fast, her mind hammered in swift reaction. She had never been a promiscuous person. Despite her discontent with Tyler, she had remained faithful to him, and never once fancied any other man. Casual sex did not appeal to her. She wanted more than temporary passion. She wanted the deep, forever kind of love.
‘When you’re not drawing up codicils for Hester Wingate’s will, what do you do?’ she asked, determined that their relationship progress how she wanted it to progress. If it was to progress at all.
He slanted her a twinkling smile. ‘I play computer games.’
She sighed her exasperation. ‘I mean, how do you exist?’
‘Most people would say very comfortably. I guess it depends on what your ambitions and priorities are.’
‘Are you saying you’re retired from work?’
‘No. But I am in a position to choose what I do.’
‘Which is?’
‘Do you like diamonds, Sasha?’
She couldn’t see the relevance of this question but she automatically looked down at her left hand, thinking of the engagement ring she had once hoped for from Tyler. ‘As much as most women, I guess,’ she answered, striving for a careless note. Was he thinking he could buy her with a diamond ring?
‘There’s an exhibition in the city. The best of the coloured diamonds from the Argyle Mine in the Kimberleys. The pinks are my favourite.’
She glanced at him in surprise. ‘You like pink diamonds?’
‘Fabulous. Would you like to see them? I’ll show you how I protect them. With a computer game.’
‘I’d like that.’
She couldn’t imagine what he had to do with diamonds, nor what he did to protect them, but she wasn’t about to miss out on full enlightenment. With this kind of car, and the classy suit he was wearing, Nathan Pa
rnell was not exactly on government welfare. Nor were there many people so wealthy that they could afford to wind down and work at their own convenience at such a young age.
‘How old are you?’ she asked.
‘Thirty-four.’
‘Are you anti-social?’
He gave her an amused look. ‘Do I act and talk as though I’m anti-social?’
‘No,’ she conceded, and thought how paradoxical he was. Why hadn’t he found a woman of his own class to marry? Why pick on her, a stranger he’d met by complete chance in a park? Perhaps she should simply adopt his attitude of ‘wait and see’, instead of asking questions. Besides, she rather liked the surprises he sprang on her. It made life very interesting.
She turned her mind to the fast approaching interview with Hester Wingate. She had never been to Church Point, but knew it was on the innermost edge of Pittwater, a playground for sailing boats and other water sports. It was protected from the sea by the long Palm Beach peninsula, and renowned for its wealthy and prestigious marinas and yacht club. It was an expensive area in which to live.
Because of Hester Wingate’s age, Sasha expected her to live in an old-style home. She was staggered when Nathan turned his car into the driveway of what could only be called a modern and luxurious villa, a huge pink and white construction that had two levels of Mediterranean-style verandas overlooking the sparkling expanse of water. The grounds were a luxuriant mass of tropical ferns and palms, hibiscus and frangipani trees. A gardener was raking up dead leaves.
‘She can definitely afford twenty-five dollars an hour,’ Sasha said with satisfaction.
