Facing Up To Fatherhood

CHAPTER THREE

THE nerve of the woman! The darned nerve!

Dominic fumed as he glared down at the pavement below and watched her pushing the pram down the street. What on earth did she think she was playing at? How did she think she was going to get away with such an outrageous claim? Even if he was one of the unlucky few whose condom had failed, did she honestly imagine that he wouldn’t remember sleeping with someone like her?

She wasn’t the sort of female he would forget in a hurry. For one thing, she was exactly his type. Dominic had always been attracted to tall, slim brunettes with interesting faces and dark, glittering eyes who made it obvious from their first meeting that men were not their favourite species. He liked the challenge of getting them into bed, then watching them abandon their feminist aggression for the 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 for a closer look. ‘A girl, I presume?’ she said, glancing up at Tina over her shoulder.

‘Yes.’

‘May I hold her? She’s wide awake.’

‘Please do.’

A warm, squishy feeling settled in Tina’s stomach as she watched the woman carefully scoop her grandchild up and start rocking her. Even after the seven short days Tina had cared for Bonnie she knew nothing enchanted the child more than being held and rocked in just that way. She would never cry while someone was doing that. She would just lie there and gaze up at the person rocking her, a look of total bliss on her lovely little face.

‘What’s her name?’ her unwitting grandmother asked.

‘Bonnie.’

‘And yours, dear?’

‘Tina. Tina Highsmith.’

‘So, what are you selling, Tina?’ Mrs Hunter asked while she smiled down at Bonnie. ‘If you’re an Avon lady, then I’m sorry, but I don’t wear make-up any more other than a bit of lipstick. If you’re with that other mob, then I also already have everything that opens and shuts in the houseware department. My son has no imagination when it comes to presents and always gives me something for the house. He’s into practicality, is Dominic,’ she added ruefully.

‘Actually, Mrs Hunter, I’m not selling anything. And it’s your son, Dominic, I’ve come to see you about.’

This got her attention, startled blue eyes blinking up to stare at Tina. ‘Dominic? Really? What about?’

‘About Bonnie, there,’ she said, nodding towards the baby. Tina swallowed, steeling herself for any possible negative reaction to her next announcement. She could only hope the woman was as nice as she seemed. ‘She…she’s Dominic’s daughter.’

Tina was amazed at the speed and intensity of the various emotions which raced across Mrs Hunter’s face. Shock gave way to a moment’s uninhibited joy, swiftly followed by a deeply troubled concern.

She walked slowly up the steps to stand close to Tina, her expression still troubled. ‘Does Dominic know?’ she asked warily.

‘I tried to tell him today, but I made a stupid mistake in the telling and he had Security throw me out of the building.’

Concern gave way to outrage. ‘He what?’

‘It was my fault, Mrs Hunter,’ Tina explained hurriedly. ‘I see that now. When I told him that Bonnie was his daughter I forgot to add that I am not the mother. I think he took one look at me, knew I was a stranger to him, and jumped to the conclusion I was trying to operate some kind of scam.’

Outrage changed to puzzlement. ‘If you’re not the mother…then, who is? Your sister?’

‘No. My best friend.’ Tina swallowed as that awful lump filled her throat, the one which always came when she thought of Sarah’s dying. ‘Sarah worked at Hunter & Associates all last year. She was Dominic’s secretary from late July till the 25th November. Bonnie was born on August 19th. Sarah was critically injured when she was knocked down by a bus last month. She…she lived a few days, but didn’t make it. Before she died, she made me Bonnie’s legal guardian. Her birth certificate actually says ‘father unknown’, but I know Bonnie’s father is your son.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Very sure, Mrs Hunter.’

Mrs Hunter was frowning. ‘Did your friend actually tell you Dominic was the father of her baby?’

Tina hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to the woman. It was just that the truth was so complicated, and possibly confusing to anyone who hadn’t known Sarah well. The actual evidence Tina had concerning the identity of Bonnie’s father was largely circumstantial, and partly second-hand. Mrs Hunter might think Tina was jumping to conclusions, but she knew better.

‘Sarah and I told each other everything,’ she said firmly at last, happy that this had been the truth—at least till they’d parted company. ‘We were more like sisters than friends. Your son is Bonnie’s father all right, Mrs Hunter. A DNA test should remove any doubt, however, if he continues to deny paternity.’

‘What…what do you mean…continues?’

‘Sarah went to see him when she found out she was pregnant. Dominic refused to believe the baby was his, though he did give her some money for a termination.’

‘Which she obviously didn’t have…’

‘No. Sarah didn’t believe in abortion.’

‘Thank God,’ the woman sighed, and smiled down at the baby in her arms before glancing up at Tina, tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve always wanted a grandchild. You’ve no idea. I honestly thought I would never have one. Dominic was so adamant about not wanting marriage and children. And then his brother, Mark…well—’

She broke off and frowned at Tina. ‘You said you were made the baby’s legal guardian. Why is that, Tina? I know you said you were like a sister to this Sarah, but what about the child’s maternal grandparents? Or aunts and uncles?’

‘Sarah’s mother died in a house fire when she was nine. Sarah never knew her father, or her grandparents. Her mum was a bit of a black sheep, you see. Ran away from her home in the country to the city when she was a teenager. She wasn’t married when she had Sarah. I gather the father abandoned them before she was born. So, no, there are no close relatives interested in Bonnie. I’m all she’s got at the moment.’

‘I see. And what is your situation, dear? Are you married?’

‘No, I’m not.’

Mrs Hunter’s expression was thoughtful. ‘I see. Er…are going to raise little Bonnie all by yourself, then?’

‘I will if I have to, Mrs Hunter. But I’d prefer to have some help. I haven’t any family, either, you see. My mother died in the same house fire Sarah’s did. She was an unmarried mother too, you see. And a runaway as well.’

Not to mention a woman of the night. Both women had been. But Tina thought it best not to bring up too much of their unsavoury backgrounds lest Mrs Hunter be the sort of person who thought such things were hereditary and not environmental.

‘When Welfare could find no relatives who wanted us,’ she went on matter-of-factly, ‘Sarah and I spent the rest of our growing-up years in a state institution.’ When they hadn’t been fostered out to people, that was.

‘Goodness. You poor things!’

‘We survived, Mrs Hunter. But you can understand how we became so close. Sarah has entrusted me with the care and upbringing of her daughter and I aim to make sure she has the very best. I have no intention of Bonnie ever ending up like we did, with no money, and no adult to love and care for her.’

‘You won’t have to worry about that, dear. I’ll be here for her, and for you. And so will Dominic, once I have a word or two with him. You can depend on that! Look, I think you’d best come inside and tell me absolutely everything. Then I think you’d best stay till Dominic gets home this evening and we can have a family pow-wow over all this.’

Tina was taken aback. ‘Your son lives with you?’

‘Well, yes…he does.’

‘Oh, dear!’

‘He’s not a Mummy’s boy, if that’s what you’re thinking. His decision to live with me was a practical decision, not a sentimental one.’

‘Believe me,’ Tina said drily, ‘I don’t think your son is a Mummy’s boy. It’s just that he’s not going to be pleased to find me here when he comes home. Maybe you could ring him at the office and forewarn him.’

‘Absolutely not! No! He doesn’t deserve forewarning,’ she said brusquely. ‘Besides, Fridays are never a good day to ring Dominic at the office. I’ve already rung him once today and received a very poor reception. Which reminds me. I’d best ring Joanna and cancel her dinner invitation for tonight.’

‘Not because of me, I hope,’ Tina said, while wondering who Joanna was. A friend of Mrs Hunter’s? Or Dominic’s?

Mrs Hunter smiled a strange little smile. ‘Not at all, dear. She’s just a widow friend of mine. She can come another night. I’m a widow too, so little Bonnie won’t be having a grandfather, I’m afraid. But you’ll have me, won’t you, darling?’ she crooned down at the baby. ‘Now, come along, dear, you bring the pram and I’ll carry Bonnie. We’ll have a cup of tea and a nice long chat. Then, afterwards, we might fill in the rest of the afternoon down at the shopping mall, buying a few little things for Bonnie here. Would you mind?’

‘Oh, er…not at all.’

Off the woman went, making baby talk at Bonnie as she went, leaving Tina to do as ordered, trailing after her with the pram in rather a daze. There she’d been, thinking Mrs Hunter was such a sweet, gentle soul.

Which she was. But she was also a whirlwind of energy and decisiveness. Tina supposed it was unlikely that a too soft or susceptible personality could have produced a son like Dominic Hunter.

Dominic Hunter…

A lesser girl might have quailed to think of his reaction when he first spied her in his home this evening. She could just imagine it. Those hard blue eyes of his would narrow dangerously. The thick straight brows above them would beetle together again while smoke would waft from his flared nostrils. His broad shoulders would broaden while that huge chest of his would fill with outraged air. He would be ready to explode in seconds!

Tina smiled to herself.

She could hardly wait.

CHAPTER FOUR

DOMINIC considered being deliberately late home. He even contemplated ringing his mother at the last moment and claiming a fictitious business dinner in town.

But cowardice wasn’t really his bag and he climbed into his blue BMW just before six and headed for the bridge. He would endure the dinner but had no intention of making any effort with that woman.

With a bit of luck Damien’s merry widow—and his matchmaking mother—would finally see he was a lost cause where she was concerned. Lord, nothing turned him off quicker than gold-digging females who gushed all over him.

Blondes weren’t really his thing, either. Nor double D cup breasts which jiggled like unset bowls of jelly.

Give him a tall, slender brunette, with long legs, a tight butt and firm boobs, and he was instantly interested. Make her a challenge and the combination was irresistible.

Joanna Parsons was neither.

An image of the brunette who’d been in his office today popped into his mind.

Again.

She’d been doing that all afternoon, even distracting him from work on several occasions.

Still, she’d been deliciously sexy in those tight white pedal-pusher pants and chest-hugging white ribbed top. Her hair was sexy too. Long and dark and kind of wild-looking, just like its owner.

Pity she was a con-artist. Or a fool.

Dominic was wondering which she might be when he turned into the driveway and parked the car outside the double garage. He still hadn’t made up his mind by the time he slipped in the back door.

He was halfway up the stairs, heading for the sanctuary of his bedroom and private en suite bathroom when the sound of a baby crying stopped him in his tracks.

Frowning, Dominic turned and listened. It seemed to be coming from the front living room.

The television?

Not the television, he decided when the cries came again. Too loud. And too…real.

An appalling possibility popped into his mind.

Surely not, he thought. She wouldn’t dare!

But then the baby cried again and he knew she had.

Whirling, he flew back down the stairs and over to the doorway of the room in question, disbelief and fury sending his blood pressure sky-high.

And there she was, large as life, wheeling a pram up and down on the polished wooden floor, singing very softly as she did so.

Dominic had opened his mouth to let her have it when she abruptly stopped the singing, and the wheeling. When she bent over to inspect the suddenly silent contents of the pram, the sight of those already tight white pants pulling even tighter across her extremely attractive derrière made him almost forget how angry he was for a moment.

But only for a moment.

‘Hey, you there!’ he boomed out.

She spun round, her dark hair flying out in a shining halo before settling more sedately on her slender shoulders. Her dark eyes flashed with extreme irritation as she hurried over, her fingers pressed to her lips.

‘Hush up, for pity’s sake,’ she hissed. ‘I’ve had the devil of a time getting her off to sleep. I think it’s the strange house. Normally she goes off like clockwork after her bottle.’

Before he could say another word, she put a firm hand on his chest and pushed him backwards into the hallway, after which she carefully closed the door behind them, as though this whole scenario was perfectly normal and reasonable.

Dominic could only shake his head in amazement. Not a con-woman, he decided in total exasperation. A fool! A deliciously attractive fool, but a fool nevertheless!

‘I don’t know what you’ve told my mother,’ he muttered, ‘but you’ve got the wrong man. I am not the father of your baby.’

‘Keep your shirt on, Mr Hunter. I never said you were.’

Instant bewilderment scrambled his brains. ‘Huh?’ was all he could manage.

‘You can’t be the father of my baby because I don’t have one,’ she explained, as though he were an idiot. ‘I should have told you in your office but I simply didn’t think. Bonnie belongs to Sarah.’

‘Sarah?’ he repeated blankly.

The brunette gave him a very droll look. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you don’t know Sarah, either. Sarah Palmer,’ she repeated coldly. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, she was your secretary for several months last year, Mr Hunter, during which time you had an affair with her.’