He called back and she answered on the first ring. “Steven, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening.”
“Business. You know, that thing I do for a living.”
He heard a sniff and imagined the disdainful expression on his mother’s well-preserved face. “Don’t bait me. You know you don’t have to work. It’s some perverse streak that pushes you to earn a living when you’re more than comfortable.”
Georgia Rockwell, queen of the understatement. His mother’s version of comfortable meant filthy, stinking rich, a fact he’d been only too aware of his entire life. She’d never understood his ambition to be self-made, to spend his hours grappling with complex problems in order to feel some degree of achievement.
No use trying to convince her now, he’d wasted enough breath in the past. “What did you want?”
She sighed, a superficial sound she’d used many times in the past to coerce him into doing something he didn’t want to do. “Your grandmother’s condition is progressively worsening. I thought you should know.”
A strange hollowness filled his heart at the thought of the delicate old woman who had been the only person to show him any real love growing up lying helpless in a bed, ravaged by cancer.
“How bad is she?”
“The doctors only give her another few months at the most.”
Panic gripped him. He’d made a promise to Ethel St. John when she’d first been diagnosed and unfortunately, hadn’t followed through. She’d said the one thing sustaining her was the thought of him marrying and producing an heir for her fortune. They had that in common, a lack of confidence in his society mother who would squander the money rather than fulfil a dying lady’s wishes.
His mother’s next words made him sit down. “She told me, Steven.”
“Told you what?”
Surely his grandmother hadn’t confided in the daughter she despised?
“About your promise. So what are you doing about it?”
His mother hadn’t mentioned the money and he found that unusual. If she knew about the stipulation in Ethel’s will she’d be screaming into the receiver rather than speaking in the cultivated voice he’d grown to hate. “What do you mean?”
“Stop answering my questions with questions. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Mother informed me the only reason she’s fighting this nasty disease is to see you married. Well? What are you doing about it?”
Her short, clipped tones reminded him of endless criticisms of days gone by. “Steven, don’t talk with your mouth full, don’t run inside, don’t speak like the ruffians in the local public school, don’t let me catch you playing with that little tramp from next door...” It had continued throughout his childhood, a never-ending nightmare.
Thankfully, his grandmother hadn’t divulged her whole secret. Otherwise, his mother would be even more insufferable, if that were possible. “I have everything under control, Mum. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“But I do worry, Steven.”
Yeah, over who has the bigger sportscar, the newest designer handbag or the largest portfolio. His mother hadn’t worried about her son, ever.
“Leave it alone.” He unfurled his fingers, not realising he’d clenched his fists. “Send my love to Gran and tell her I’ll see her soon.”
“Oh, Steven.” How she managed to install so much disapproval into those two words, he’d never know.
“Bye, Mum.” He hung up without waiting for a reply, annoyed she pushed his buttons every time.
As he undressed, he recalled the last few months where he’d dated what he termed ‘suitable women’ for his venture. For that’s what marriage would be to him, a joint merging of two people, profitable to them both. However, he had standards and he’d found most of the women lacking. Besides, bearing a child would be part of the deal, a fact most of the women in his world would go to any lengths to avoid.
In the meanwhile, his Gran was dying and he couldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t.
A glimmer of an idea insinuated its way into his tired brain. This marriage needed to happen quickly and it had to be a win-win situation for both parties. He needed a woman who would understand the terms of their agreement, a logical business deal profitable to them both.
Luckily, he’d just met the perfect candidate.
* * *
Short of listening in at the keyhole, Amber had no other option but to wait until her father’s meeting with Steve concluded to hear the outcome. She paced the grounds, supervising the new pirate ride and exchanging banter with some of the operators. Most of the carnival workers had been here for years and she marvelled at their loyalty in the face of lucrative offers from the ‘big boys’ down the road.
She owed them a lot. If only there was something she could do to stave off the inevitable.
“What happened to the fortune teller outfit?”
She jumped, unaware the man whose image had kept her up all night had snuck up behind her.
“I was filling in yesterday. How did the meeting go?”
She didn’t have time for small talk. Her feet itched to run straight to her father and hear the news from a loved one rather than the smooth lawyer whose kisses had ensured she tossed and turned all night.
He grinned, his cocky smile making her treacherous heart lurch. “So all that fortune stuff you told me yesterday was guess-work? Nice going. And here
