hate his father because she’d found out he was a criminal? She’d become so brusque all of a sudden, always in a hurry, constantly issuing orders. She’d told him, I’m just concentrating on surviving, Wesley. That’s what we’ve got to think about now. Making sure we have a place to live.
His father used to be free with money, but his mum never had been. She used to get mad if she came in his room and found change on the floor. Don’t you understand how important money is, Wesley? I hope you’ll always have enough, but you need to treat it with respect.
Did they have enough money now? His father had said his mother worried too much about money; she’d always have plenty. Well, now he was worried about money.
And his father was dead.
After a brief discussion with Wesley on the necessity of conserving water, especially in the country, Bronwyn left him occupied in his temporary bedroom, reading a manga comic book he had brought with him, and headed for the bathroom herself. There, she stood under the spray of the shower, praying, begging. Begging a divinity by any name to give her the job she’d come here to obtain.
But was getting this particular job so important anymore? Patrick had been so rude, so presumptuous, that the thought of telling him that Wesley was his son held no appeal whatsoever. Bronwyn knew men, understood them. Patrick’s ego was obviously still smarting from her rejection of his proposal almost eleven years before. Bronwyn didn’t flatter herself that any attraction remained on his side, but a man like Patrick… Yes, the bitterness would remain.
How would he treat Wesley, then? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he would completely reject his son.
And what was all this stuff about her coming to get money from him? Did he think she was that devious? Or just insane? In any case, it offended her to be perceived as a gold digger. When had she ever not worked for a living? Even when she’d lived with Ari, she’d contributed to caring for all of his homes, working right alongside the staff whenever a dinner party or other entertainment was planned. Ari hadn’t wanted her to hold an outside job, or even to finish her degree in sports nutrition and physiology, wanting her instead to manage his homes and devote herself to Wesley. And she’d thrown herself completely into the role of mother, volunteering at Wesley’s school, going to soccer and rugby and cricket practices. Shutting off the water to soap her hair, Bronwyn wondered if being a mother counted as work to someone like Patrick Stafford.
Like Patrick?
What was Patrick actually like? He seemed so different, even dressed differently, from the way he had as a student. Now he was a stockbroker, and the wild, romantic dreamer was gone. Bronwyn knew that there was a steadiness and self-confidence to Patrick now that hadn’t been there when he’d been fantasizing different futures for himself. But there was an aloofness and distance, too. And Bronwyn was curious. Because of Wesley.
But it wasn’t because of Wesley that she noticed that Patrick was still a very attractive man, more attractive, if possible, than he had been at university.
Well, that was natural. There was probably even some biological reason for her being interested in Patrick that way, something to do with his being Wesley’s father. In any event, she wouldn’t be seeing much of Patrick, once she started work in the kitchens.
If she was hired at all.
Patrick was not sleeping. He resented that he wasn’t sleeping, that seeing Bronwyn should keep him awake. What was she up to anyway? Why had she come to Fairchild Acres, knowing he was there, to get a low-paying job in the kitchens? The answer had to be him. She denied wanting money from him, but Patrick wasn’t sure he believed that. Did she want to take up where they’d left off? Crazy. But she was here for a reason. Everything Bronwyn did was deliberate. Coincidence did not stretch far enough to explain her winding up in the same place as him.
But the question troubling him was whether the puzzle of her being here was what was really keeping him awake. Or was it just Bronwyn? She was, if anything, more beautiful than before. It was easy to believe she’d been living in luxury for the past ten years. Her honey-colored skin showed no sign of age.And that hair, the long red hair, the green eyes, whose color struck so forcefully. Lying awake in the dark, he saw not a money-grubbing widow with schemes in her heart; he saw Bronwyn. Bronwyn, Bronwyn, the only woman who’d ever broken his heart. The only woman he’d truly loved.
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