Читать книгу Kindergarten Cupids - Vivienne Wallington, Vivienne Wallington - Страница 11

“Are we nearly there, Mummy?”

“Nearly, darling.” Mardi glanced over her shoulder at her fidgety, bright-eyed son and smiled. If she’d had any doubts about accepting Cain Templar’s invitation to his home today, the glow on Nicky’s face since she’d told him he’d be seeing Ben again had chased them away. If there were to be any consequences in the future, she would worry about them then. “Here’s Ben’s street now.”

“Yippee!” Nicky strained forward. “I see it! It’s the house with the high wall.” He’d been here before, of course. With his father.

Mardi slowed down. “I think I’ll park here in the shade of this tree. We can walk from here.” Not that anyone behind that long high wall would be able to see her car, wherever she parked it.

Nicky undid his seat belt and jumped out the second she pulled up. “Come on, Mummy. I want to see Ben.”

Mardi was anxious to see Ben, too. She just hoped that Nicky’s presence would have a calming effect on the troubled boy and that Ben’s tantrums and uncontrollable behavior wouldn’t rub off on her son. She had enough problems!

One was the thought of seeing Cain Templar again. I don’t want this any more than you do, he’d said, stressing that his invitation was purely for his son’s sake. He didn’t want her there, as well, but she’d given him little choice. And she didn’t regret the stand she’d taken, little as she’d wanted to come herself. There was no way she was going to dump Nicky on Cain Templar’s doorstep and just leave him there—no matter how grand his home was or how lofty his standing might be in the community. She didn’t know or particularly like the man, and she had no idea if she could trust him to look after her son, let alone cope with two lively five-year-olds.

Oh, Mardi, who are you kidding? She sighed, knowing she had a deeper, more shameful reason for not wanting to come today. What if he could read the embarrassing truth in her eyes? The truth that she subconsciously lusted after him.

Subconsciously… That was the key word. She stuck out her jaw. Consciously, she would no more want to get tied up with him than with…than with another Darrell Sinclair.

When they reached the Templars’ gate—a solid timber gate as high as the wall—she paused to take a breath and collect herself. She was wearing her best tailored slacks and a neat white blouse, with a tote bag slung over her shoulder. Somehow her old faded jeans and a T-shirt hadn’t seemed right for a visit to the Templars’ luxurious home.

She saw a security intercom beside the gate and pressed a button. A woman with a foreign accent answered, brusquely telling her to come in and to proceed to the front door of the house. Mardi assumed she must be a maid or a housekeeper. Or Ben’s latest baby-sitter? The woman didn’t sound young enough, or refined enough, to be a special woman friend of the lofty Cain Templar.

The thought that he might have a woman friend brought a frown to Mardi’s brow and an unaccountable twinge, which annoyed her so intensely that her thoughts turned vicious. She wondered if he’d had a mistress while Sylvia was still alive, and if the humiliation had driven his wife into the arms of another man—Mardi Sinclair’s ruthlessly ambitious husband!

Mardi shook the thought from her mind and pushed the gate open, ushering Nicky through.

Her eyes widened as she saw Cain Templar’s home. She knew that the house faced the harbor down below, but even from the back, the massive white-walled double-story mansion was a sight to behold.

There was a lock-up garage and what looked like a guest house to one side, and a paved terrace and neat garden beds between the street wall and the house. A row of Italian stone urns, spilling over with brightly colored flowers, led to a covered porch.

The door suddenly burst open and a small boy hurtled through. Mardi recognized him immediately as Ben. Tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed, he was a miniature version of his father—but with noticeably more warmth and enthusiasm.

“Hi, Nicky!” Ben cried out as he spied his long-lost friend.

A smile lit up Nicky’s small face as he broke free of his mother and darted forward. “Hi, Ben.”

Not a trace of shyness from either boy, Mardi noted with a faint mistiness in her eye as Ben grabbed Nicky by the hand and dragged him inside. A swarthy, middle-aged woman with no trace of a welcoming smile was standing by the door, but she stepped aside as the boys burst past her.

“I apologize for my—” Mardi began, but the woman had already turned on her heel.

“Follow me,” she said, without pausing to introduce herself.

Mardi found herself in a spacious circular reception hall, with a sweeping staircase that brought Gone with the Wind to mind. Above her was the largest, most impressive crystal chandelier that she’d ever seen.

The boys, their shoes clattering on the gleaming, marble-tiled floor, were fast disappearing along an unbelievably wide, seemingly endless central passage, heading for the harbor-facing front.

So much marble, Mardi noted in wonder. Italian, for sure. She wondered what her young son thought of all this magnificence. He probably hadn’t even noticed. He’d only be interested in Ben. And of course, he’d been here before, with his father.

“Come!” The poker-faced housekeeper was already flip-flopping after the boys in her flat-heeled scuffs. Mardi quickened her steps, half expecting Cain to appear from one of the exquisitely furnished rooms that she spied at intervals on her way to the front door—all of them, she noted in bemusement, following the same basic white theme. Beautiful, but hopelessly impractical. She wondered how anyone could possibly keep the place clean with an exuberant young boy in the house.

Poor Ben. She’d have tantrums, too, Mardi decided, if she had to live in such pristine perfection!

Where was Ben’s father? she pondered when Cain Templar failed to appear from any of the rooms. The boys had vanished from sight. When the housekeeper ushered her through the impressive glass doors at the front of the house and led her out onto a broad, balustraded terrace, she assumed that Cain had ordered his maid to get his guests out of his house at the earliest possible opportunity.

In front of her stood a white outdoor table with a set of matching chairs, set with drinking glasses and bowls of nuts and cookies.

Her gaze swept past them. “Wow!” She blinked against the sunlight as a breathtaking vista opened up in front of her.

Wide stone steps led down to a beautifully landscaped garden on several levels, with exotic plants, elegant statues and sweeping lawns—in fact, the two boys were already chasing each other round one of the lawns, among the statues, as she watched. A kidney-shape swimming pool lay to one side, with, she was relieved to see, a discreet iron-railing safety fence all round. On a lower level was an immaculately kept grass tennis court. Beyond lay the harbor in all its glory, with white-sailed yachts and other craft skimming across the shimmering blue water, and in the distance she spied the familiar outline of the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

She swallowed. What a view! She hoped Cain appreciated it. She glanced back at his house. With its soaring white columns rising to the upper-story balcony, it looked even grander and more magnificent from the front.

Mardi felt her throat go dry. She’d known the Templars were wealthy—their money and lavish lifestyle were what had attracted her husband to the glamorous Sylvia in the first place—but she hadn’t realized the extent of their wealth. This awesome property must be worth millions.

No wonder Darrell had been impressed. This was the kind of lifestyle her husband had longed for. His spending and debts had soared out of all control in his attempt to emulate it.

And she was paying for his folly. For his greed.

“Mr. Templar will be with you shortly,” the housekeeper informed her, still without cracking a smile. Maybe, Mardi mused with a touch of cynicism, the Templars had forbidden their staff to smile or fraternize with their guests. “He had an important phone call,” the woman added.

Business on a Saturday? Mardi shrugged. Why should she care? She’d be happier, and certainly a lot more relaxed, without him. “That’s fine. I’ll just stay here and watch over the boys.”

But she wasn’t destined to be happier and more relaxed, because in less than a minute Cain joined her, striding from the house with athletic ease and an unconsciously arrogant air of self-confidence.

She had to gulp a few times before he reached her. Having only seen him in an immaculate business suit and tie, seeing him now in a casual polo shirt and jeans—well, never in a million years would she have envisaged him in jeans! Yet he looked so right in them, so at ease in them. And so darned sexy!

How could Sylvia Templar ever have looked at another man, even during her husband’s lengthy absences?

Mardi’s thoughts darkened. The very fact that he was so sexy undoubtedly meant that he had women throwing themselves at him wherever he went. Maybe he hadn’t been able to resist their advances, and his wife had grown tired of his roving ways and decided that what was good for the goose was equally as good for the gander.

Her mind kept coming back, she realized, to his affairs…his philandering…kept shifting blame to him. Why, she despaired, was she so determined to think the worst of him, when it was his glamorous wife, of her own free will, who had chased and stolen her husband?

Would she ever find out the real truth? Did she honestly want to?

“Mardi,” Cain said, flashing her a mind-blowing smile. But she wasn’t going to cave in under it, she vowed. Charm was only skin-deep, after all. Her husband, Darrell, had possessed charm in abundance. He could switch it on and off like a tap.

“Good morning, Cain.” She kept her own smile cool. “If you’re busy,” she offered, “I can look after the boys. I’d be happy to.”

“Where are they?” he asked, glancing round. He hadn’t declined her offer, she noticed. She’d give him another minute or two—he’d stay that long out of politeness or a sense of obligation—and then he’d be off. “Ah…” He frowned. “There they are.”

She followed his gaze, her heart sinking as she saw the two boys trying to climb the wire fence surrounding the tennis court. Oh, no, she thought. Now he’ll think Nicky’s a bad influence. And she was worried about Ben’s bad behavior rubbing off on Nicky.

“They were playing chasey a moment ago,” she said with a guilty flush. “I just took my eyes off them for a minute.” To look at you—more fool me. “I’ll run down and put a stop to it.” She shot off before he could stop her—if he intended to.

“They won’t be doing it for long,” he called after her. “The wire will cut into their fingers.”

She didn’t even glance round as she flew down the steps. As soon as she was close enough for the boys to hear her, she shouted. “Get down, Nicky! You know better than to climb on other people’s fences. And you must never climb a tennis court fence. You’ll ruin it.”

“You, too, Ben. I’ve warned you before.”

Mardi jumped at the sound of Cain’s voice, not realizing he’d followed her. Both boys dropped to the ground, rubbing their smarting hands. “There’s nothing else to climb here,” Ben complained. “Nicky has big trees at his place.”

Not for much longer, Mardi thought with a sigh. Their new place, if she ever found a suitable home for her brood, would be unlikely even to have a garden.

“Elena’s bringing some drinks out onto the terrace for you,” Cain told the boys. “Let’s see who can get up there first.”

The two boys shot off, and Mardi held her breath. Ben was much taller and faster than Nicky, and she was afraid that her son would try so hard to keep up with his lanky friend that he’d trip over and break his glasses.

“A race might tire them out,” Cain commented hopefully, “and make them settle down a bit.”

“They seem very happy to see each other,” Mardi conceded, still watching anxiously as she and Cain headed off after the boys—at a more leisurely pace.

She only took her eyes off Nicky when he safely reached the terrace and flopped into an outdoor chair. Ben was already pouncing on the bowl of cookies, while Elena poured drinks for them from a big jug of orange juice.

Mardi glanced around. There was no doubt about it…it was a beautifully designed garden, with its slim ornamental pines and neat flower beds, its well-clipped lawns and graceful statues. Hardly a garden for boisterous little boys.

There were no trees suitable for climbing, as Ben had pointed out, no hardy shrubs for playing hide-and-seek, no playground equipment, no sandpit, no areas specifically set aside for energetic wear and tear. Cain Templar would probably throw a fit if his son tried to stick cricket stumps into his immaculate lawn or trampled on one of his exotic plants. Or worse, knocked over one of those slender statues dotting the lawn.

“Have you ever thought of buying a jungle gym or a swing for Ben?” she asked. “Boys love to climb. Well, you’ve just seen how they…” She trailed off as Cain’s dark brow drew down in a frown. And no wonder, she thought in immediate self-reproach. She’d been here for five minutes and she was offering suggestions that in his eyes, no doubt, would desecrate the place!

“My wife believed that play equipment would spoil the view…as well as the aesthetics of the garden.” Cain’s impassive tone gave no clue to his own thoughts on the subject. “It was difficult enough persuading her to fence the pool. The garden was her pride and joy….She oversaw everything that went into it.”

Oversaw, Mardi noted. No, Sylvia Templar wouldn’t have soiled her well-manicured hands by doing the gardening herself. But she would have employed the very best landscaping artists and gardeners.

“And she had to live with it more often than I did,” Cain added with a shrug. “I’ve always worked long hours, including weekends, and I’ve spent a lot of my time away from home on business.”

Leaving his wife at home alone…feeling lonely and neglected?

Mardi shrugged off her sour thoughts. She was supposed to be thinking of what was best for his son. She turned her mind back to swings and monkey bars.

So, it was Cain’s wife who’d banned play equipment. But his wife was no longer here. Couldn’t Cain put his son’s needs first now?

“We do have a gymnasium under the house,” Cain said. “There’s all kinds of exercise equipment there.”

Mardi pursed her lips. Exercise bikes and treadmills? Not quite the same as outdoor swings, slides and monkey bars…or a cubby house. Nicky was forever building cubby houses at home…out of old cartons, under drooping trees, in bushes. She couldn’t imagine cardboard cartons being allowed to litter the Templars’ impeccably kept yard. As for hanging ropes and a tire from a tree to make a swing, as she’d done for Nicky, there were no trees here big enough.

Her spirits dipped as she remembered that soon Nicky would have no rope swing, no trees to climb, no garden to build a cubby house in. Maybe not even room to play.

“But that’s not what you mean, is it?” Cain’s eyes were on her face. “You mean outdoor play equipment. Designed specially for kids.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “You could put a swing or a slide around the side of the house somewhere, out of direct sight,” she suggested boldly.

Cain jerked a shoulder. “There’s a granny flat and a double garage on one side of the house, and a paved barbecue and entertaining area, with border shrubs, on the other. But I guess there’d be room there somewhere….”

Mardi’s jaw dropped slightly. He was actually going to consider it?

Emboldened, she added, “And maybe you could move those statues in your lawn closer to the garden beds, to avoid them being knocked over when the boys run around.”

“Mmmm…right. Any other ideas?” Cain asked as they climbed the steps to the terrace.

The faint dryness in his tone brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks. He’d sensed that she’d been less than impressed with his perfect garden. But she’d been looking at it purely from a child’s point of view, from a practical point of view.

“I’m sorry.” Her tone was placating. “You must think I’m extremely rude. I haven’t even told you how beautiful your garden is.”

The corner of his mouth tweaked. “I know how beautiful it is. What I need to know is how to make it more child-friendly. I’d appreciate your honest opinion—if you can think of anything else.”

Cain caught the surprise in her eyes as she glanced up at him, and in the same instant the sun picked up the rare amber of her eyes and made them glow like molten gold. He felt something stir, deep in his gut. Lust… What else? Cynicism twisted his lips. He’d fallen in lust with another pair of eyes once….Sylvia’s eyes had been just as beautiful…not golden, but a dramatic, depthless black.

He scowled. He didn’t want to equate this woman with his wife. Mardi, he sensed, was a different kettle of fish altogether. From what he’d observed so far, her values and priorities would be totally different from Sylvia’s. She cared about her son…cared about her grandfather…cared about people other than herself. And she wouldn’t be the kind of woman, he suspected, who would play around behind her husband’s back…or, for that matter, be the kind of woman he would want to play around with. In fact, she was the last woman in the world he would want to get involved with. Darrell Sinclair’s widow…

Damn it, but Ben needed someone like her.

Mardi caught his scowl, and the brooding faraway look that followed, and bit back the suggestion on her lips. He might be asking for her ideas, but he plainly didn’t want to hear them. Perhaps it made him feel disloyal to his wife’s memory.

Better, she decided, to keep any further ideas for another time…if there was another time.

“Let me think about it,” she hedged, and he nodded, as if satisfied. “Um, I haven’t thanked you for the pie and the cake,” she added. “There was really no need….”

“I felt responsible, calling on you at such a bad time. Hey, kids, leave some for us!” he called out as they reached the terrace. “We want some drinks and nibbles, too.”

Ben stuck out his chin. “We’ve had enough anyway. Come on, Nicky…” He grabbed his friend’s hand and dragged him away. “Let’s look for snails.” They ran down the steps together.

Cain rolled his eyes. “I doubt if they’ll find any. Our gardener’s very meticulous about snails and weeds.”

Yes, she could see that. “How often does he come?” she asked curiously. Any gardening needed at home she’d always done herself. Not that her own garden needed much attention, being mostly native gum trees with a few hardy shrubs.

Darrell, obsessed with his rise up the ladder of success, had never had the time or the inclination for gardening. He’d insisted that their house had to be furnished and decorated before they made any major changes to the existing native garden, and he’d left her with the unpaid bills for those fine new furnishings—with accumulated interest to rub salt into her wounds.

“Our gardener, Joe, comes each day, Monday to Friday,” Cain replied. “He has the weekends off.”

Five days a week? Mardi blinked. Still, it was the kind of garden, she supposed, that would need constant attention.

“Some orange juice, Mardi?” Cain was pouring a glass for her as he spoke. “Please, sit down. We can watch the boys from here.”

We? Mardi flicked an edgy tongue over her lips. He was going to stay out here with her? Or did he intend to make an excuse to escape the minute he’d finished his morning tea?

Cain, eyes narrowed against the sun, noted the nervous gesture. She was obviously uncomfortable with him. Because he was Sylvia Templar’s husband and a disquieting reminder of her husband’s affair with his wife? Well, he guessed it was understandable that she’d feel a bit uptight. Especially if she’d loved her no-good husband.

He looked into the veiled amber eyes and found himself angry on her behalf, and curious to know more about her.

Leaning back in his chair, he tried to put her at ease. “Well, Mardi, what do you do during the week, when you’re not looking after your son and your grandfather? Do you work? Have a career? Play bridge?”