until Cara appeared in the doorway, her sultry face alive with curiosity and interest.
‘Hello,’ she said, and watched with the eye of a connoisseur as the policeman leapt to his feet ‘I’m ready to go,’ she told Bryn, her voice soft and caressing. ‘Bye, Gerry. Have fun.’
Bryn smiled, the crease in his cheek sending an odd frisson straight through Gerry. Go now, she commanded mentally. Right now. And flushed as he looked at her, a hard glint in his eyes.
Fortunately the doorbell pealed again, this time heralding the social worker, a pleasant, middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a knack with babies. Cara and Bryn left as she came in, so Gerry could give all her attention to the newcomer.
‘I’m rather sad to see her go,’ Gerry said, watching as the woman efficiently dressed the baby in well-worn but pretty clothes, then packed her into an official carrycot while the policeman took the box and its contents. ‘For what it’s worth, I think her mother fed her before she put her behind the hedge—she’s not hungry. And she wasn’t very cold when I picked her up, so she hadn’t been there long.’
The social worker nodded. ‘They usually make sure someone will find them soon.’
Gerry picked up her towel and the still dry cashmere jersey. ‘What will happen to the baby?’
‘Now? I’ll get her checked over medically, and take her to a family who’ll foster her until her mother is found.’
‘And if her mother isn’t found?’
The social worker smiled. ‘We’ll do our best for her.’
‘I know,’ Gerry said. ‘I just feel a bit proprietary.’
‘Oh, we all do that.’ The woman gave a tired, cynical smile. ‘When you think we’re geared by evolution to respond to a baby’s cry with extreme discomfort, it’s no wonder. She’ll be all right. It’s the mother I’m worried about. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a pregnant woman looking over the hedge this last couple of weeks, or anything like that?’
‘No, not a glimpse.’
The policeman said, ‘I’d say she’s local, because she put the baby where she was certain she’d be found. She might even have been watching.’
Gerry frowned, trying to recall the scene. ‘I don’t think so. Apart from the traffic, I didn’t see any movement.’
When they’d gone she lifted the cashmere jersey to her face. It smelt, she thought wryly, of newborn baby—that faint, elusive, swiftly fading scent that had probably once had high survival value for the human race. Now it was just another thing, along with the little girl’s heart-shaking fragility and crumpled rose-petal face, to remind Gerry of her empty heart.
‘Oh, do something sensible instead of moping,’ she advised herself crisply, heading for the laundry.
After she’d dealt with the clothes she embarked on a brisk round of necessary housework that didn’t ease her odd flatness. Clouds settled heavily just above the roof, and the house felt chilly. And empty.
Ruthlessly she banished the memory of wide shoulders, narrow masculine hips and a pair of gleaming green eyes, and set to doing the worst thing she could find—clearing out the fridge. When she’d finished she drank a cup of herbal tea before picking up the telephone.
‘Jan?’ she said when she’d got through. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ said her favourite cousin, mother of Gerry’s goddaughter, ‘and so are Kear and Gemma, but why aren’t you at work?’
‘How do you know I’m not?’
‘No chaos in the background,’ Jan said succinctly. ‘The agency is mayhem.’
‘Honor persuaded me to take a holiday—she said three years without one was too long. And she was right. I’ve been a bit blasé lately.’
‘I wondered how long you’d last,’ Jan said comfortably. ‘I told Kear a month or so ago that it must be time for you to look around for something new.’
‘Butterfly brain, that’s me.’
‘Don’t be an idiot.’ For a tiny woman Jan could be very robust. ‘You bend your not inconsiderable mental energy to mastering something, and as soon as you’ve done it you find something else. Nothing butterfly about that. Anyway, if I remember correctly it was your soft heart that got you into the modelling business. You left the magazine because you didn’t agree with the way it was going—and you were right; it’s just appalling now, and I refuse to buy it—and Honor needed an anchor after she broke up with that awful man she was living with. Whatever happened to him?’
‘He died of an overdose. He was a drug addict.’
‘What a tragedy,’ Jan sighed. ‘If you’re on the lookout for another job, will you stay in the fashion industry?’
‘It’s a very narrow field,’ Gerry said, wondering why she now yearned for wider horizons. She’d been perfectly happy working in or on the fringes of that world since she’d left university.
‘Well, if you’re stuck you can take over from me.’
‘In which capacity—babysitter, part-time image consultant, or den mother to a pack of wayward girls?’
Several years previously Jan had inherited land from her grandfather in one of Northland’s most beautiful coastal areas, and had set up a camp for girls at risk. After marrying the extremely sexy man next door, she’d settled into her new life as though she’d been born for it.
Jan laughed. ‘The camp is going well,’ she said cheerfully, ‘but I don’t think it’s you. I meant as image consultant. You’d be good at it—you know what style means because you’ve got it right to your bones, and you like people. I’ve had Maria Hastings working for me, but she, wretched woman, has fallen in love with a Frenchman and is going to live in Provence with him! And I’m pregnant again, which forces the issue. I sell, or I retire. I’d rather sell the business to you if you’ve got the money.’
‘Well—congratulations!’ It hurt. Stupid, but it hurt. Jan had everything—an adoring husband, an interesting career, a gorgeous child and now the prospect of another. Quickly, vivaciously, Gerry added, ‘I’ll think about it. If I decide to do it, my share of the agency should be enough to buy you out.’
‘Have you spoken to Honor? Does she mind the thought of you leaving?’
‘No. Apparently she’s got a backer, and she’ll buy my share at a negotiated price.’
‘I don’t want to over-persuade you,’ Jan said quickly. ‘I know you like to develop things for yourself, so don’t feel obliged to think about it. Another woman wants it, and she’ll do just as well. You’re a bit inclined to let the people you like push you around, you know. Too soft-hearted.’
‘You’re not over-persuading.’ Already the initial glow of enthusiasm was evaporating. What would happen when she got tired of being an image consultant? As she would. A shiver of panic threaded through her. Surely that wasn’t to be her life? Her mother had spent her short life searching for something, and had failed spectacularly to
