Emma Darcy - In Need Of A Wife

Then, leaving her with the image of twinkling blue eyes, he was off again, his son bobbing up and down excitedly as his father broke into an obliging canter.

He was, without a doubt, the sexiest man Sasha had ever met.

SASHA was desperate. It was impossible to stay on with her parents. Their small two-bedroom apartment was uncomfortably overcrowded since she had been forced to retrieve all her possessions before Tyler threw them out. On top of that, a nine-month-old baby did not understand or make allowance for the daily rituals of a retired couple. The unavoidable disruption to the household routine was giving rise to tensions that made life difficult for everyone.

She and Bonnie had to get out.

Day after day Sasha searched for a suitable place but what was affordable was unthinkable: dingy basement bedsits, neighbourhoods where no young child would be safe, dank, sunless rooms that had an unhealthy smell about them. She would have coped if she had only had herself to consider. It was Bonnie’s welfare that concerned her. Once again Sasha opened her handbag and took out the piece of paper Nathan Parnell had given her. She hadn’t wanted to put herself in a position where she was beholden to him for anything. She had told herself it was better for her if she avoided any possible connection to him. But was it better for Bonnie?

Sasha glanced at her watch. It was almost three o’clock. This time last week she was sitting beside a sandpit in a park, discussing marriage with Nathan Parnell. His image came vividly to mind.

So what if she did run into him again? He hadn’t harassed her. He had respected her wishes. And Sasha had promised her mother she would find accommodation as soon as possible. This piece of paper was a chance to nothing. When needs must, she thought grimly.

Sasha picked up the telephone and dialled the pencilled numbers with both apprehension and determination, then stared at the woman’s name on the notepaper as she waited for the call to be answered.

Five minutes later she had an address in Mosman and an invitation from Marion Bennet to ‘come right on over’. However, when Sasha arrived at the recommended ‘friendly accommodation’, she was thrown into uncertainty about her course of action.

She stared at the magnificent two-storeyed home, unable to believe she had written down the right address. This place had to be worth a fortune, set as it was on harbour frontage and in grounds that had to encompass a couple of acres. Sweeping lawns and long-established gardens gave it an awesome look of prime real estate.

It probably cost a fortune to maintain, as well, Sasha reasoned. Perhaps having tenants helped the owner keep it. In any event, if she had somehow misheard the house number in the street, the best thing to do was find out and ring Marion Bennet again.

With a steadily purposeful step, Sasha made her approach by way of the long gravel driveway. It swept around in a semicircle so visitors could be driven right to the portico that framed the entrance to the house. Sasha couldn’t help feeling like an intruder as she walked up and pressed the doorbell.

To her startled surprise, she heard it play a few bars of ‘Jingle Bells’. It reminded her that it was the last week in November and all the shops were full of Christmas cheer. She hoped she could make Bonnie’s first Christmas a happy one.

One of the double doors opened. Sasha was faced with a woman of similar age to her mother, grey hair neatly groomed, her rather buxom figure comfortably dressed in a loose-fitting top and casual cotton trousers. Her hazel eyes were bright with interest as they swept over Sasha in quick appraisal.

Sasha had dressed professionally in a navy skirt and white blouse, stockings, low-heeled court shoes. Her long hair was wound into a smooth top-knot and she had applied a light make-up to give her face some colour. She hoped she looked like a sensible, responsible and trustworthy person.

‘Mrs Bennet?’ she asked on a slightly anxious note.

The woman gave her a friendly smile. ‘That’s me. And you must be Miss Redford.’

‘Yes.’ Sasha smiled in relief. She had the right address after all.

But it still didn’t look right when Mrs Bennet stood back and waved her forward. The foyer extended in a wonderful pattern of mosaic tiles to a magnificent polished cedar staircase that curved up to the top floor.

‘We could go up that way, but there’s another staircase by the kitchen that you’ll find handier,’ Mrs Bennet explained, leading Sasha into a side passage. ‘I’m afraid there’s no private entrance to the nursery and nanny’s quarters.’

Apparently that was the accommodation for rent. Feeling somewhat intimidated by her surroundings, Sasha simply nodded.

‘I’ll give you your bearings as we go,’ Mrs Bennet continued. ‘The formal rooms are on our right, the TV- and breakfast-rooms on our left.’

She opened doors as they passed them, giving Sasha a glimpse of luxurious living on a scale she had never met before. The ceilings had to be at least fourteen feet high, and the furniture was out of this world.

Between the breakfast-room and the kitchen was a lobby that served the second staircase. This was much less grand than the first, the treads not so wide, and there were three landings as it angled around the wall to the upper floor.

As she followed Mrs Bennet’s steady climb, Sasha had the sinking feeling that, however negotiable the rent was, this setting virtually precluded its being within her means. She should bring the matter up now to save wasting her own and Mrs Bennet’s time, but the temptation to see what was being offered was irresistable.

‘This is the nursery.’

Sasha was ushered into a bright, airy room, predominantly lemon and white, and containing every possible facility a mother and baby might need: storage cupboards, shelves, a changing table, a cot, a comfortable rocking-chair.

The nanny’s quarters were equally spacious and complete. The bed-sitting-room had all the facilities and comforts provided in a top motel: a double bed, writing desk, small lounge suite, table and chairs, television, telephone.

Sasha couldn’t even dream that the asking rent for this marvellous place would be in her capacity to pay. She tried to find some fault so she could retreat from the situation without loss of dignity. It was difficult to find a fault, but she came up with one.

‘I need a private telephone line,’ she said.

Mrs Bennet nodded a ready acceptance. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

‘I need it for my business,’ Sasha said defensively.

‘Do you sell things from home?’ Mrs Bennet enquired.

‘No. I find things.’

She saw the incomprehension in the older woman’s eyes and explained further.

‘I find whatever people want found. It started with research for family trees, finding long-lost relatives, beneficiaries for wills. But it branched into tracking down family heirlooms and other things. The provenance of paintings or other works of art. Finding the owner of some rarity that someone wants to buy. Mostly people don’t know where to start or where to go for the information they want.’

‘What an interesting occupation! Do you get many people wanting your services?’

‘Not too many lately. But I do use the phone a lot when I’m working.’

‘It must save you considerable legwork,’ Mrs Bennet said appreciatively, then dismissed the issue, leading Sasha through another doorway. ‘I’m afraid the kitchenette is more or less limited to serving a baby’s needs than cooking meals, but of course you’ll have free use of the kitchen downstairs.’

It looked more than fine to Sasha. It was sheer luxury after what she had seen this week. It provided a small refrigerator, kitchen sink, a microwave oven, ample storage cupboards, and a benchtop with several power points.