short time his sexual know-how—and their own basic needs—overcame their natural antagonism. He’d had several rather lengthy involvements with such women, and prided himself on keeping them as friends afterwards.
Oh, yes, he would have remembered having sex with…damn it all, he didn’t even know her name! She’d only supplied Doris with the name of her baby.
Bonnie.
As if that would mean anything to him!
He watched till she disappeared under a street awning, certain that that would be the last he’d see of her.
Perversely, he almost regretted having had her thrown out so hastily. He should have questioned her further, listened to her tall tale, found out what it was she wanted from him.
Money, he supposed, as he turned from the window and strode across his office towards the door. What else could she possibly have wanted?
He ground to a halt with his hand reaching for the doorknob, his forehead creasing into a frown.
But why had he been the target of her attempted con? It wasn’t as though he had a reputation for indiscriminate and promiscuous behaviour. He certainly wasn’t the sort of man who could be convinced he’d slept with some stranger whilst drunk or under the influence of drugs. He never drank to that much excess and he never took drugs!
Maybe she’d mixed him up with someone else, he speculated. Maybe she was the one who’d forgotten who it was she’d slept with. Maybe the father of her baby was someone else working at Hunter & Associates. Or a stockbroker from another firm. Someone who looked like him, perhaps.
Yes, that had to be it, he decided firmly. It was a case of mistaken identity.
Now, forget her and get back to work, he ordered himself. You’ve wasted enough time for one day!
Mrs Hunter’s address was in Clifton Gardens, an old but exclusive Northshore suburb which hugged Sydney Harbour and where even the simplest house had an asking price of a million.
Mrs Hunter’s house, however, wasn’t simple. It turned out to be a stately sandstone residence, two-storeyed, with a wide wooden verandah. The block was huge, and the gardens, a visual delight, immaculately kept.
Tina frowned at the sight, and the conclusions such a property evoked. Dominic Hunter’s family possessed old money, the kind which inevitably produced people who thought they were a cut above ordinary folk. Arrogance was as natural to them as breathing.
If Mrs Hunter proved to be such a snob, maybe she wouldn’t welcome an illegitimate grandchild into her life, regardless of how adorable Bonnie was. Maybe she would be as sceptical—and as rude—as her son. Maybe she would swiftly show Tina and Bonnie the door, as he had done.
Tina’s resolve wavered only momentarily, her confidence regained by a glance at the beautiful baby in her arms.
No woman in the world could resist Bonnie, she reasoned. Not if she had any kind of heart at all!
Tina was climbing out of the taxi before a second dampening thought occurred to her. What if Dominic Hunter’s mother wasn’t at home?
She’d set about discovering the woman’s existence and her address that morning, after she’d been told by Dominic Hunter’s secretary that she couldn’t see the great man himself that day.
Severely irritated at the time, Tina had swiftly rung Dominic Hunter’s secretary back, putting on an English accent and pretending to be an embarrassed florist who was supposed to deliver flowers to Mr Hunter’s mother that day but had lost her particulars.
At the time, she hadn’t even known if his mother was still of this world. Presuming he did have a mother. It would never surprise Tina to find out that the Dominic Hunters of this world were spawned in a test-tube. Or cloned from some other selfish macho creep with a megalomania complex.
A couple of minutes later she had hung up, with everything she needed to know. Mrs Hunter was still alive and well. And Tina knew where she lived.
She’d been going to go straight to the grandmother, but an indignant anger had sent her to Bonnie’s father first. An impulsive decision.
Turning up on Mrs Hunter’s doorstep without even ringing first wasn’t much better.
Tina sighed. ‘Would you mind waiting a few moments till I check to see if anyone’s at home?’ she asked the taxi driver as he paid him. ‘I just realised the lady of the house might be out.’
‘No sweat,’ the driver said, and walked over to open the front gate for her.
Giving him an appreciative smile, Tina popped Bonnie back in the pram and set off up the paved front path, feeling too nervous now to admire the bloom-filled rose-beds which dotted the spacious front yard. It had been one thing to confront Bonnie’s father. She’d known he was going to be difficult from the start.
His mother was proving a different kettle of fish entirely.
Although Tina tried to feel confident of the woman’s reaction, she really could only hope.
But, oh, how she hoped! She desperately wanted Bonnie to have a grandmother who would lavish love upon her in the way only a grandmother could.
Not that Tina had any personal experience of a grandmother’s love. But she gathered they specialised in the sort of unconditional affection and outrageous spoiling which both she and Sarah had only dreamt about during their growing-up years.
She also wanted Mrs Hunter to talk her son into recognising his daughter and agreeing to help support Bonnie financially, without Tina having to resort to legal pressures.
Pulling the pram to a halt at the base of the four stone steps which led up onto the wide wooden verandah, Tina put on the brake, then left the pram there while she hurried up the steps and rang the front doorbell.
For a nerve-racking twenty seconds, it looked as if no one was home, but then the door opened and there stood a woman of about sixty. Casually dressed in navy slacks and a floral blouse, she was tall and slim, with a handsome face and short, naturally grey hair. Best of all, there was a reassuring softness in her intelligent blue eyes.
‘Yes?’ she said with an enquiring smile.
‘Are you Mrs Hunter?’ Tina asked.
‘Yes, I am, dear. How can I help you?’
The dear did it. And the sweet offer of help. Tina had studied human psychology during the course of her acting career, and had become a pretty good judge in assessing character, especially when it came to women.
Mrs Hunter was no snob, for starters. Most important of all, she was kind.
Smiling with relief, Tina turned and waved to the taxi driver. ‘It’s okay,’ she called. ‘You can go now.’
‘Righto.’
She turned back, just as the woman spotted the pram at the bottom of the steps. It was facing the house so that she could see Bonnie’s sweet little face quite clearly.
‘Oh, what a beautiful-looking baby!’ she exclaimed, and moved down the steps
