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.
Chapter Three
“My only trouble with giving you this job,” said Mrs. Lipton the next day, “is that you’re overqualified. I haven’t had much luck keeping people from the city, let alone university-educated workers, here.”
“I didn’t finish,” Bronwyn said, because this was an important distinction as far as she was concerned.
“Nonetheless. Well, we’ll give it a try. We have a room in the employee bungalow for you and another for your son. Ordinarily he would have to share with the other children, but there are none living in the bungalow. Only a few of the staff actually live at Fairchild Acres. Most of them are local.”
Bronwyn nodded. “Thank you very much. I’m glad for the chance to do this job.”
The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman whose hair was neatly styled in a short cut, studied her. “Are you a horse lover?”
“Not especially,” Bronwyn admitted. Then she realized her error.
Mrs. Lipton said, “What brought you from Sydney? I would think, with your background, you could have found a better job there.”
Bronwyn was ready. She’d known this question would come up. “I wanted a change of scene for my son. I was searching for the kind of place where I wanted him to grow up and decided that the Hunter Valley looked perfect.”
“But it’s expensive to live here, dear, if you’re looking to own your own home sometime.”
Bronwyn tried again. “My husband died recently, and it was painful to remain in Sydney.” That much was certainly true. Reading the housekeeper’s sympathetic look, she decided this would be her main story from now on.
“Well, let’s get you your Fairchild Acres shirts, and then I’ll take you out to the kitchens. Or perhaps first we should settle your boy into the cottage.”
“Thank you,” Bronwyn said again.
Wesley was her worry now, Wesley with too much time on his hands while she was in the kitchens. The sooner she could register him in the local school the better.
“Lipton!”
The voice came from outside. The housekeeper stood up, and so did Bronwyn. They went outside, and Bronwyn hung back as an elderly woman in trousers and a button-down shirt said, “There is a dog in the kitchens. We can’t have that. Not around the food preparation area. It’s a stray, I think. It would be best if you could call someone to take it away.”
Wesley, sitting on the stone wall outside the office, peered up at Bronwyn, and she gave him a small wave, but kept her attention on the figure who was giving instructions about a dog. This was Louisa Fairchild, and Bronwyn couldn’t help staring. The woman radiated confidence and charisma, and Bronwyn could tell that Mrs. Lipton genuinely liked her employer. Bronwyn could think of no finer recommendation for a human being.
Louisa Fairchild glanced over at her. Mrs. Lipton said, “Bronwyn Davies, our new dishwasher. Bronwyn, this is Miss Fairchild.”
Bronwyn tried hard to meet the older woman’s eyes as Louisa gave her a curt nod, seeming preoccupied.
“The dog, Lipton,” Louisa Fairchild repeated.
Bronwyn was glad to escape the matriarch’s piercing gaze.
If only she never finds out who I am or that I was married to Ari.
Doping horses. Racing fraud. Damn it, Ari. Why didn’t you think about Wesley and me, about what would happen to us if you were caught?
She blinked the thought away.
All her recollections of Ari were now tinged by what she hadn’t known about
