Marion Lennox: A Child In Need

The first book in the Parents Wanted series, 2000

‘MY PERFECT woman…’

‘Yeah, Nick. You must have someone pictured in that cool, calculating head of yours. If you were ever to consider marriage…’

‘Ha!’

‘No, but say your career depended on it. Say you really needed a wife. Who would it be?’ Nick’s fellow lawyers were clustered around the bar late on Friday night, and they weren’t letting him off the hook.

So Nick thought about it-but just to humour them. There was no way this could ever be serious.

‘Okay. Wife requirements coming up.’ He frowned. ‘Anyone I married would have to be independent. I don’t need a wife so she couldn’t need a husband.’

There was a hoot of derisive laughter and the questioning intensified. ‘We guessed that much. Independent. Okay. What else?’

‘Beats me.’ Nick gave a mental shrug. This was stupid. Marriage wasn’t on his cards at all. But if it was…

‘She’d have to be really something,’ he said slowly, thinking it through. ‘Tall and gorgeous. Of course.’

‘Oh, of course,’ his friends agreed, rolling their eyes. ‘Cat-walk gorgeous.’

‘Trophy-wife gorgeous,’ Nick agreed. ‘After all, that’s the only reason I’d be marrying.’

‘And smart?’

‘Absolutely. Professional something. A lawyer or a doctor, maybe. So she’d have her own life.’

‘Rich?

‘Yep. There’s no chance I’m supporting any woman!’

‘That’s a bit unfair. You make a mint.’

‘And that’s the way I like it. Wealth. Position. Travel. What else is there in life?’

‘How about kids?’ they asked curiously.

‘You have to be joking!’ That was emphatic. ‘No!’

‘Now, how did we guess that?’ His friends now had their summary. ‘So… Gorgeous. Intelligent. Rich. Independent. Wanting no ties. Cold as ice? Something like you, in fact?’

‘Am I cold?’ Nick asked mildly, but he knew the answer. Of course he was cold. Nick Daniels kept his emotions to himself. He didn’t get involved. Not after what he’d been through.

So this conversation was ridiculous. Marriage for Nicholas Daniels was never going to happen.

‘It must be getting close now-or has John popped the question already?’

Shanni McDonald laughed and shrugged. They were a strange partnership, these two. Shanni, kindergarten director at twenty-seven, still looked about sixteen. Her assistant, Marg, was in her fifties, but they worked together brilliantly. There was only one disadvantage as far as Shanni was concerned. Marg’s age meant she was never backward in asking the hard questions.

So now she was waiting for an answer, and there was only one to give.

‘Not yet.’

‘He will. I can feel it. And you’ll agree. ’Cos he has to be your perfect man.’

‘I guess.’

‘Isn’t he just what you’ve always wanted?’ Marg demanded. ‘Don’t you have a list?’ She held up one finger after another. ‘Lives locally and never wants to move. Loves animals and kids. Family man. Loves the country. Has room to stable horses and house half a dozen kids. Your families like each other. Everything’s right, then. John fits everything on the list.’

‘I guess he does,’ Shanni said, and tried to stop the note of doubt creeping into her voice.

But Marg was astute enough to hear it. ‘So what’s wrong?’

Shanni caught herself and shrugged. ‘Nothing, I guess… When he pops the question I’ll be the happiest girl in the world. After all, he is my perfect match. Where could I find a better partner in life than John?’

THE man who just might interfere with her wedding plans wasn’t talking marriage now. Nick had other things on his mind, all bleaker than the thought of an unwanted wife.

‘I don’t want to be a magistrate in Hicksville. I don’t wish to be within a hundred miles of this place-so why on earth am I here?’

It was a good question, but there were sensible answers. Nick Daniels had one burning ambition and one only-to make high-court judge. Historically, once a lawyer joined Queens Counsel he could be appointed a judge without leaving the city, but that was hard to do now. There were new rules. No one wanted the country magistrate positions, and there was only one way to force aspiring judges to take them on.

‘If you want the plum job, then you need to do the hard work first,’ Nick had been told by the head of his chambers. ‘Politically there’s no other way. There’s a job going as local magistrate at Bay Beach. Great little fishing town, four hours’ drive from Melbourne. You’re not married-you’ve no kids-no ties to keep you in town. Put in the hard work there, boy, and we’ll see what we can do.’

‘For how long?’ Nick had been aghast.

‘Two years.’

‘Two years !’

‘You never know.’ Abe Barry had sucked his pipe and had surveyed his hawk-like junior with the beginnings of amusement. Nick was too darned clever by half. If he didn’t get shot of him soon Nick would be edging him aside as chamber head before he knew it. ‘You might even enjoy a spot of rustic idyll. You could apply for a county court judge position and stay there for life!’

‘In your dreams!’

‘No. In your dreams, and I know you dream of the big one,’ Abe had told him, the steel in his voice telling Nick he had no choice in this. ‘But there’s only one way to get it. You’ve had a taste of magistrate work already so you know the ropes. Now take yourself off to the country and show us what you’re made of.’

‘What I’m made of…’ Nick’s hands clenched the wheel of his sleek little sports car until his knuckles showed white. Magistrate at Bay Beach! It was an uninspiring name for an uninspiring place. Nightmare stuff.

Accustomed to big-time criminal cases, now he’d be dealing with parking infringements, fines for illegal fishing and not much else. Though it served as a base for a much larger fishing and farming community, Bay Beach township had less than a thousand inhabitants.

So…fishing and farms! What qualifications did he have for judging farming or fishing disputes? What did he know of either?

Farms gave milk, steak, or wool which was exported to Italy and returned as Nick’s superbly tailored suits. And fishing… Fishing produced salmon and caviar. That was the end of Nick’s interest in farming and in fishing. Period.

Two years as country magistrate… Two years of purgatory! He rounded the headland, still groaning. Bay Beach lay before him, its whitewashed stone cottages glistening in the morning sun. The fishing fleet was coming in-at least, it must be the fishing fleet. There were six boats heading into harbour, and surely there couldn’t be many more boats than six in this ends-of-the-earth place?

‘I’ll go stark, staring crazy,’ he told himself. The sea air was blowing warmly on his face but he hardly noticed. His skin was so tanned he didn’t fuss about protection, and his deep black hair was combed into submission so firmly the sea air didn’t shift it. He sniffed-and wrinkled his aquiline nose in disgust. Salt! And cow dung! Ugh! Give him petrol fumes and city pollution any day!

Another bend in the road and the town limits came into view. There was a petrol station on this side of the town boundary and, on impulse, Nick pulled in. He had to fill the car with petrol, and he might as well do it now-give him a few more minutes before he entered this dump!