A Millionaire For Molly

‘Sam needs memories of his parents.’ She bit her lip. ‘Heaven knows they’ll fade soon enough.’

‘It’s natural that they should,’ he said gently. He crossed to a shelf where a row of trophies stood. Golf trophies and netball trophies and sailing trophies and junior chess tournament certificates. ‘There’s a whole family’s achievements here-but where are yours?’

‘I don’t count.’

‘You do count.’ He frowned. ‘For Sam, you count very much. When you were a kid what were you winning?’

‘Not much.’

‘Cow-riding competitions?’

That brought a reluctant chuckle. ‘I wouldn’t think so.’

‘Then what?’

‘Nothing.’ She met his gaze and held it, but still his eyes probed. ‘We’re going to be late for lunch.’

‘No. We have time. What?’

‘I didn’t…’

‘There must be something. Some memory of childhood that means a lot to you? Something you achieved?’

She sighed and let herself think about it. ‘I guess-knots?’

‘Knots?’ Whatever he’d been expecting it wasn’t that.

‘I talked my way into joining the boy scouts,’ she told him. ‘My first merit certificate was in knots and I caught the bug.’ Her voice tailed off. Surely he couldn’t be interested.

But it seemed he was. He was fascinated. A junior Molly as a Boy Scout. The idea was fascinating. He could see her now… ‘So then what happened?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Try me.’

She hesitated, and then shrugged. Why not? It was ridiculous, but the man was a client, she told herself. So she should treat him as a client. It was her job to keep him happy. Up to a point.

‘Just a minute, then.’ And a moment later she was scrambling around the back of her wardrobe. Her personal stuff was shoved behind suitcases, abandoned to neglect-as she’d abandoned her old life.

If he was really interested… Frame after frame was stacked neatly in the dark. She lifted the top three and carried them out.

Here were her knots.

Every knot she knew was represented in these frames. She’d tied them with care, with love and with increasing skill. Here were farm knots, shipping knots, plainly functional knots and fancy decorative ones. Every conceivable way to join two pieces of rope was displayed in these frames. They were labelled with names and often had a tiny history written underneath. She’d started her frames when she was nine years old and the last knot had been tied two weeks before her sister died.

They were part of the Molly that was.

She carried them out and handed them over to Jackson in silence-and why it felt as if she was handing over a piece of herself she didn’t know. He took them from her and stared down at them for a long, long time. His eyes took in the care, the love and the knowledge.

‘These are fantastic,’ he told her, and she flushed.

‘Yes, but they’re part of a past life.’

‘They’re part of you, and Sam should see that.’ He lifted the top one and set it up carefully behind the netball trophies. ‘They should be hung. You should have a feature wall of them.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to make Sam’s life different.’

‘Sam’s life is different.’

‘Not any more than I can help.’

He stood looking down at her for a moment, and then the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile that was almost self-mocking.

‘You’re quite a woman.’

That was a good one. ‘Yeah. And you’re quite a man. But now we need to go to lunch.’

‘So we do,’ he said slowly, but the way he was speaking made her think it wasn’t just lunch he was thinking of. ‘So we do.’

Hannah Copeland was a bright little sparrow of a woman. She was knotted with age and arthritis but her eyes were still alive with intelligence. She met them in one of Sydney’s most exclusive restaurants and proceeded to treat the place-and the staff-as if she owned it.

‘We’re in my usual alcove,’ she told them. ‘I come here every Monday, regardless. It’s my personal contribution to improving the world’s economy.’

‘Very generous,’ Molly said, and she chuckled.

‘That’s what I think, dear.’ She peered up at Jackson. ‘And you? You’re as wealthy as Croesus. What do you do to contribute to the world’s fast lane?’

‘Buy expensive farms?’ he said, and her lined face lit with laughter.

‘Very good.’ Her keen eyes narrowed. ‘But I don’t believe in sleeping money. Will you keep my farm running as it should be run? You don’t just want it as a tax dodge, I hope?’

‘It’d be a very expensive tax dodge,’ Jackson told her, helping her into her seat with care.

‘You never know these days.’ She settled herself down and surveyed her guest with complacency. ‘Isn’t this nice?’ Then she peered more closely at Molly and at her dour outfit. ‘You’re not in mourning are you, dear?’

‘She’s in business,’ Jackson said dryly.

‘And you don’t mix business with pleasure?’

‘Never,’ Molly told them. She lifted the menu, looked at the prices and gulped. She was way out of her league here. And…mixing business with pleasure? Did that mean she couldn’t savour this extraordinary selection?

‘Did you have a nice time at my farm?’ Hannah asked, and Molly smiled. That at least was easy.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Doreen tells me the three of you got on like a house on fire. You and Jackson and the little boy.’

‘There’s no relationship,’ Molly told her hastily. ‘I only met Jackson on Friday.’

‘But you like each other?’

‘We like each other,’ Jackson said, and Molly stifled a protest. Okay. For the duration-and for the sale-they liked each other.

There was a lull while they ordered. Molly thought of what she was eating in terms of how many normal meals she could buy and was silently having kittens-but she didn’t let on.

Hannah was still concentrating on Jackson when the entrees arrived, which was just as well. It let Molly concentrate on food. She intended to savour every gorgeous mouthful. Then…

‘You’re engaged?’ Hannah demanded of Jackson, and he frowned while Molly forgot all about concentrating on food.

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘I read my papers, dear. Tell me about your Cara.’

The frown stayed. ‘She’s not my Cara.’

‘So you’re not engaged?’

‘No,’ he said flatly, and Molly dropped her knife.

‘You’re kidding!’ she managed.

‘I’m not kidding,’ he told her, and smiled-and she dropped her knife all over again.

‘I thought…’

‘Cara and I are happy as we are,’ he told Hannah, and Hannah blinked and then speared a prawn as if it was an enemy.

‘I don’t approve of that kind of relationship,’ she said. ‘I like marriages.’

‘In my world marriages seldom last long.’

‘Promises last,’ she snapped. ‘If you mean them. Have you made this Cara any promises?’

He concentrated on his food for a little. It was well worth concentrating on, Molly thought. Their prawns were coated in some sort of tempura batter, tasting vaguely of coconut and served with a dipping sauce of chilli and lime.