world.
Her mouth remained open as they drove across the Bridge. There was so much to see with Darling Harbour and the Opera House and the Quay and all that lovely blue water. How different from the dry, dusty, grey crater-filled landscape that had been her world for eighteen years.
No, twenty, she corrected herself again, a frown forming as she remembered her other mission in coming to Sydney. Would she be able to find out more about her mother? A trip to the registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages would be a start. Hopefully, she’d be able to get a copy of her parents’ marriage certificate, which she hadn’t located among her father’s things. Then there were electoral rolls to check. Motor registry lists, maybe. Driving licences, perhaps.
But would the authorities give her such information freely? If not, maybe the missing-persons division of the police could help, because she certainly couldn’t afford a private detective. Not now. She had to be very careful with her money. And she simply had to get a job.
‘Mr Whitmore. Nathan...’
‘Mmm?’
‘Do...do you think there might be a job for me at Whitmore Opals? I’ve learnt a lot about opals over the years, you know.’
‘I’m sure you have. What would you like to do?’
‘I don’t know. I could serve behind the counter, I guess. Do you have shops like that, ones that sell opals to the public? Or do you just make jewellery?’
‘We have two retail outlets. One down at the Rocks, and one in the foyer of Regency Hotel. Yes, I’m sure we could use someone with your knowledge behind the counter, though you’d be required to do a course in Japanese first. A lot of our customers are Japanese businessmen and tourists.’
‘How long would it take me to learn Japanese?’ she asked, concerned about her money situation, not to mention her ability to learn another language. She’d only been average at school.
‘With intensive lessons, most people are able to communicate on a basic level after a couple of months.’
‘A couple of months! But I’ll have run out of money by then.’
‘I doubt that. I’m sure Byron will be very generous with his reward. That opal is conservatively worth over a million dollars.’
‘You’re joking!’ Gemma gasped.
‘Not at all. Prices are on the rise again.’
‘A million dollars...’
‘Are you upset that you’re probably not going to be an instant millionaire?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I am.’
‘Money doesn’t always make you happy, Gemma.’
She laughed. ‘Neither does being poor.’
Now he laughed. ‘You could be right there. Well, at least you have a better chance than most poor people of ending up rich.’
‘How do you figure that out?’
His head turned to rake over her once more. And once again, Gemma was shocked. Not so much by what she saw behind those grey eyes, but by the way they could make her feel. All hot and heady and helpless.
‘A beautiful young girl like yourself should have no trouble ensnaring a rich husband. Who knows? I might even marry you myself.’
Gemma sat there, stunned. Till he bestowed a wry little smile on her and she realised he was only teasing.
‘You shouldn’t make fun of me,’ she said with reproach in her voice, but turmoil in her heart. For she would marry him in a flash if he asked her, this man she’d only met twice, but who already had her in the palm of his hand. It was a shocking realisation and one which underlined her own foolishness where Nathan Whitmore was concerned.
Gemma had often wondered why women made fools of themselves over men, not having ever understood the strange power of that alien emotion, love. She’d also scorned girls who claimed to have fallen in love at first sight. What rubbish! she had used to think.
Now, as she wallowed beneath the onslaught of a tidal force of longing, she had to accept she’d been wrong. This had to be love, this dreadful drowning feeling, this mad desire to go along with anything and everything this man suggested, even something as insane as marrying him.
But of course he hadn’t meant it. She had to keep reminding herself of that. No doubt city men couldn’t resist teasing silly, naïve country girls. She simply had to pull herself together.
He was smiling at her again, amusement in his eyes. ‘Who says I was making fun of you?’
A very real resentment began to simmer inside Gemma, who was not a person to simmer in silence. ‘I can just see you marrying someone like me,’ she countered indignantly. ‘People would think you’d gone mad after having someone like Mrs Whitmore as your wife. Now she’s what I call beautiful!’
‘Is she now?’ he drawled. ‘Yes, well, Lenore is lovely to look at, no one would deny. But there are all kinds of beauty, my dear Gemma, and all kinds of wives. Speaking of which, you’ll be meeting Lenore tonight. She’s bringing my daughter over to stay for a while. Apparently, the little minx has been creating merry hell at home and is in need of a firm hand.’
‘How old is she?’ Gemma asked, picturing a recalcitrant six-year-old.
‘Fourteen.’
Her head snapped round before she could stop it.
‘Yes, I know,’ he said drily. ‘I was a child groom. Twenty-one years young the day before my wedding. And yes, it was a shotgun affair.’
Gemma caught his bitter tone and wondered if his marriage had been under duress right from the start. Marriage simply because the woman was pregnant seemed fraught with danger. The couple had to be in love as well. Still, it was hard to imagine a man not being in love with Lenore Whitmore. Maybe Nathan’s bitterness came from her not being in love with him.
‘Kirsty’s basically a good kid,’ Nathan went on. ‘But the divorce hit her hard. She just can’t seem to come to terms with it. Not that I blame her.’
‘You...you shouldn’t be bothering with me, then, if you’ve got your daughter coming.’
‘Why not? As I said, there’s plenty of room. Besides, you’re not that much older than Kirsty. She might relate to you better than Melanie or Ava.’
‘Melanie and Ava?’ Gemma must have sounded as perplexed as she felt, for Nathan chuckled.
‘Don’t worry. I haven’t got a harem installed. Melanie’s Byron’s housekeeper. She’s not that old—thirtyish, I guess—but unfortunately projects a personality that would make Mrs Danvers seem warm.’
‘Who’s Mrs Danvers? The previous housekeeper?’
Nathan smiled. ‘A housekeeper certainly, but one of the fictional kind. I’ll tell you about her one day.’
‘Perhaps you
