contemplated the immediate future.
The really immediate future would be spent on the beach after she found Miles and told him she would sort out his inheritance. This evening she was visiting Jim and Sharon at their home in the bush about six kilometres out of town. Dinner with them in lieu of payment for her advice. With Sharon assessing her aura, it was difficult to decide what to wear. Something neutral like blue jeans and a white blouse, perhaps?
Tomorrow between nine and twelve she’d start working seriously on the piles of paper. Miles had to be informed he was in possession of hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash, and must change the accounts into his name. She could tell him this afternoon.
The contact between Grant Davidson and Nancy Frobisher tickled her imagination with persistence. What was it that couldn’t be related to Miles by a mother to whom he was presumably so close in many other ways?
Someone tapped on the door.
‘Just a minute.’
Tiffany wiped her greasy fingers on the balled up fish and chips wrapping paper and grabbed for decency in shorts and a t-shirt.
Miles waited patiently outside her door. He wondered if she would accept his offer to stay. He doubted it. It wouldn’t fit her idea of professional conduct. If she remained in Birrigai long enough she’d find out that nothing here fitted a city person’s idea of anything which was why he loved it. People did things because they felt right or helped someone else — not from a notion of professional conduct but from basic humanity. Sometimes, as in Xanthi’s case, it was pure nosiness, of course.
But the premise seemed logical to him. Payment in kind.
The door opened and Tiffany stood there a little breathless in those sexy, white shorts and a tight white singlet style top, which revealed becoming curves and soft female bulges. She had a sheen of oil on her mouth and lips and a distinctive fish shop odour. He licked his lips and wished he could do the same to hers. Could he pretend it was an extension of the kissing exercise they’d shared?
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Her voice was slightly husky.
‘Boris told me.’ So was his.
The top had a low neckline. He’d kissed that delicious neck and almost made it to the swell of her breasts. He tore his eyes away from the perfection of her chest before she accused him of being a lecher. Lower down her bare legs tempted his fingers unbearably. His gaze snapped upward to her eyes. He was a lecher.
She smiled.
‘I have some good news, Mr Frobisher. My boss said I should stay and sort out your financial situation for you. I’ll be working at your house from nine until twelve each morning.’
‘Will you accept my offer to stay?’ he asked, ever hopeful but knowing he shouldn’t underestimate her devotion to professionalism.
‘No, thank you.’
‘If you change your mind...’
‘I won’t.’
‘You might.’ He stepped nearer, rested his hand on the door frame beside her head.
‘I won’t.’ The words tumbled out. She completely failed to meet his eyes, but her blush travelled right down into the shadowy hollow between those breasts. ‘Mr Frobisher, I think I should tell you, from my preliminary reading, and it is only cursory at this stage, but from what I’ve seen so far, there are two bank accounts — savings.’
She paused and he jumped in, unable to conceal the anger any reference to his father evoked. ‘I told you, I’m not interested in his money. Whatever he had, give it away.’
It would be filthy money, tainted by the selfishness and callousness of a father he never knew. A reminder of the hardship, pain and suffering his mother need not have endured for much of her life. He couldn’t possibly use it, spend it.
‘Give it away,’ he said again, dropped his hand from the frame and shoved it deep in his pocket. He half turned from her to glare across the empty parking area.
She spoke quietly behind him. ‘Mr Frobisher, I
The really immediate future would be spent on the beach after she found Miles and told him she would sort out his inheritance. This evening she was visiting Jim and Sharon at their home in the bush about six kilometres out of town. Dinner with them in lieu of payment for her advice. With Sharon assessing her aura, it was difficult to decide what to wear. Something neutral like blue jeans and a white blouse, perhaps?
Tomorrow between nine and twelve she’d start working seriously on the piles of paper. Miles had to be informed he was in possession of hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash, and must change the accounts into his name. She could tell him this afternoon.
The contact between Grant Davidson and Nancy Frobisher tickled her imagination with persistence. What was it that couldn’t be related to Miles by a mother to whom he was presumably so close in many other ways?
Someone tapped on the door.
‘Just a minute.’
Tiffany wiped her greasy fingers on the balled up fish and chips wrapping paper and grabbed for decency in shorts and a t-shirt.
Miles waited patiently outside her door. He wondered if she would accept his offer to stay. He doubted it. It wouldn’t fit her idea of professional conduct. If she remained in Birrigai long enough she’d find out that nothing here fitted a city person’s idea of anything which was why he loved it. People did things because they felt right or helped someone else — not from a notion of professional conduct but from basic humanity. Sometimes, as in Xanthi’s case, it was pure nosiness, of course.
But the premise seemed logical to him. Payment in kind.
The door opened and Tiffany stood there a little breathless in those sexy, white shorts and a tight white singlet style top, which revealed becoming curves and soft female bulges. She had a sheen of oil on her mouth and lips and a distinctive fish shop odour. He licked his lips and wished he could do the same to hers. Could he pretend it was an extension of the kissing exercise they’d shared?
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Her voice was slightly husky.
‘Boris told me.’ So was his.
The top had a low neckline. He’d kissed that delicious neck and almost made it to the swell of her breasts. He tore his eyes away from the perfection of her chest before she accused him of being a lecher. Lower down her bare legs tempted his fingers unbearably. His gaze snapped upward to her eyes. He was a lecher.
She smiled.
‘I have some good news, Mr Frobisher. My boss said I should stay and sort out your financial situation for you. I’ll be working at your house from nine until twelve each morning.’
‘Will you accept my offer to stay?’ he asked, ever hopeful but knowing he shouldn’t underestimate her devotion to professionalism.
‘No, thank you.’
‘If you change your mind...’
‘I won’t.’
‘You might.’ He stepped nearer, rested his hand on the door frame beside her head.
‘I won’t.’ The words tumbled out. She completely failed to meet his eyes, but her blush travelled right down into the shadowy hollow between those breasts. ‘Mr Frobisher, I think I should tell you, from my preliminary reading, and it is only cursory at this stage, but from what I’ve seen so far, there are two bank accounts — savings.’
She paused and he jumped in, unable to conceal the anger any reference to his father evoked. ‘I told you, I’m not interested in his money. Whatever he had, give it away.’
It would be filthy money, tainted by the selfishness and callousness of a father he never knew. A reminder of the hardship, pain and suffering his mother need not have endured for much of her life. He couldn’t possibly use it, spend it.
‘Give it away,’ he said again, dropped his hand from the frame and shoved it deep in his pocket. He half turned from her to glare across the empty parking area.
She spoke quietly behind him. ‘Mr Frobisher, I
Similar Books
