He’d handled that rather well, he thought, but something was puzzling him. The fact that he felt strange in a way he couldn’t put his finger on—not strange so much, but different, or was that splitting hairs?
Was it because he really did have a household now? For a long time everything had revolved about him exclusively, but now he was doing the revolving.
Then his eyes fell on the blotter on the desk, and Cathy’s name. He’d taken her call in the study last night after Paul O’Hara had left, and he’d written her name on the blotter with slashing strokes, then drawn a bolt of lightning through the letters.
He sat up, then lay back in his chair with his hands shoved into his pockets. What needed to be done, what needed to be sorted out, was an amicable arrangement whereby Nicky got the best of both his parents. What was paramount now was Nicky’s well-being.
And he had to acknowledge he was astonished by the depth of his feeling for a little boy he barely knew. That had actually slammed into his consciousness from the moment he’d laid eyes on Nicky and he’d seen something pretty close to a mirror image of himself. This is my flesh and blood, he’d thought, this child who doesn’t know me from a bar of soap and is trying so desperately to look brave about it!
Was it any wonder he felt different? he reflected.
And what about all the problems he could foresee there? What if Cathy married? How was he going to feel about another man being involved in the upbringing of his son? And there was Nicky’s inheritance to think about, and his safety.
He sat up and ripped the top layer out of his blotter and threw it in the waste-paper basket.
Of course the solution to that was simply to ensure it couldn’t happen by marrying her himself.
Alex sat in the back, not of the Bentley, but a Mercedes on the way to Brisbane a little while later.
She and Stan had conversed for a time, but now he was concentrating on his driving and she was thinking her thoughts.
She’d woken early on the settee in the den, and clicked her tongue in exasperation at yet again having fallen asleep thus in one of Max Goodwin’s homes.
She’d made herself a cup of tea and stolen upstairs with it. No one had stirred.
She’d opened her blinds to admit pre-dawn light, then watched the sun rim the horizon above the casuarinas on South Stradbroke Island across the Broadwater as she’d sipped her tea.
But her thoughts hadn’t been on the fresh, early morning scene, they’d been focused on the state of her life. She’d allowed it to get out of control. She’d allowed herself to imagine she’d fallen in love with Max Goodwin; she’d got all sad and sorry for herself on that account and because of some memories. And it wouldn’t do.
What was more, she knew how to counteract these feelings, didn’t she?
In times like these she’d always gone to her Mother Superior and her advice had always been the same. Stop thinking only of yourself, Alex. Think about others instead and, for yourself, establish goals. Think forward, not backwards.
It might have sounded harsh, but it had worked, and because that dear friend and mentor was no longer with her didn’t mean it would no longer work.
So far as thinking forwards, unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to distance herself physically from Max Goodwin for the time being, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t practise mental apartheid, she’d thought with a dry little smile.
But—and it had struck her that the lack of real goals might have created the vacuum in her life that had precipitated this crisis—she needed more of a challenge in her life than she had at present. Well, not the immediate present, she’d amended her thoughts rather ruefully, but going back to working for Simon was not enough. She really needed to aspire to something higher.
She hadn’t been able to establish that ‘something’ as she’d showered and dressed for the golf day, but at least she’d established the need to do it. And she’d taken a few quiet minutes to think of her Mother Superior, really and deeply. It had brought her a sense of peace.
Then Nicky had woken, hot and fretful and itchy, and that had set in motion the most amazing train of events …
She stared out of the window as the Pacific Motorway flashed past. The traffic was fast and heavy, with that familiar hum of its concrete surface, and the sky was overcast now.
That amazing train of events, she thought, would be the perfect answer to her new resolution, her determination to shape her life differently, to set goals and accept challenges—if only it hadn’t come from Max Goodwin.
But was that not simply a challenge too? It was absolutely no good hungering for a man you couldn’t have, a man you firmly believed should build a life with the mother of his son, anyway, so you nipped all that in the bud. It just took will-power.
Fortunately, Patti was home when Alex got to Spring Hill, so she was able to ask her to water her plants and collect her mail for her. She also gave her her new contact details, then started to pack, this time more than the basics including some books and favourite CDs.
She hesitated over her new clothes, the ones she’d been going to give back, then decided she could need them in her capacity as PA to Max Goodwin.
She stopped what she was doing at that point and stared across the room unseeingly. It was hard to believe—it was a bit like a dream, she decided. It was also the answer to one set of prayers, but …
She squared her shoulders resolutely and chided herself, No buts, Alexandra Hill. Just make the best of it.
On the way back she got Stan to stop at a variety store where she made a few purchases.