“Ben’s very moody,” he muttered, dragging his thoughts back to his son. “He won’t do as he’s told, he has temper tantrums like a two-year-old and he’s been through at least five baby-sitters since my—since Christmas.”
Five baby-sitters? Mardi felt a rush of compassion for the small boy who’d lost his mother and been left with strangers since. Why hadn’t his father taken time off work and cared for the boy himself during the long summer holidays?
“I’ve tried everything,” Cain Templar growled. “I’ve even taken odd days off myself, when an incompetent baby-sitter has let me down.”
Odd days off… How magnanimous of him, Mardi thought in scorn. Obviously today wasn’t one of those odd days. She glared at his immaculate business suit and tie, guessing that he’d come here straight from his office. No rushing home to his son first….
“Where is Ben now?” she asked, feeling for the boy.
“He’s with a new baby-sitter.” Cain grimaced. “I’ve spoken to Ben on the phone and he says he hates her already. I had to dangle the bait of McDonald’s to calm him down.” He shook his head. “It’s not as if he’s had nothing to do during the holidays. He’s been to playgrounds and kids’ movies and the beach, and I’ve arranged for our friends’ children to come and play with him, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone.” His mouth tightened. “Anyone except—”
“He’s just lost his mother!” Mardi cried, wanting to forestall what she guessed he was about to say. Anyone except his friend Nicky. Ben, she thought regretfully, would have to forget Nicky.
Cain Templar’s blue eyes grew remote, unreadable, at the mention of Ben’s mother. “It’s been weeks now. He’s getting worse, not better.”
“The long summer holidays can drag for a small child. He should be okay once he starts school.” Only, he won’t find Nicky there. “There’s only another week to go,” she said brightly.
“It’s not his mother or St. Mark’s that Ben’s missing,” Cain said flatly.
Mardi held her breath, at a loss to know how to stop what she knew was coming. “It’s his friend Nicky. Your son, Nicky. Ben keeps asking if he can play with him. I’ve tried every diversion I can think of. I was sure you wouldn’t want to encourage their friendship any more than I do.”
She shook her head vigorously. At least they agreed on that!
His chest swelled in a sigh. “But keeping Ben away from Nicky hasn’t worked. It’s just made him more rebellious and difficult. I don’t know if Nicky’s been missing Ben, too….”
His eyes pierced hers and she found herself floundering. How could she deny it? “Mmm…”
He looked satisfied. “Well, the only solution, as I see it, is to let them play together and hope they’ll get sick of each other before long, as young children do.”
She swallowed. “And if they don’t?”
He drew in his lips. “Once they’re both back at St. Mark’s, with other children around, they’ll make other friends.”
She took a deep breath. “Nicky won’t be going back to St. Mark’s this year.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why not? Even if you move out of the area, you’ll still want to send your son to St. Mark’s, won’t you, where he’ll be with children he knows? It would be a shame not to go back…it’s a very good school.”
Very good, and very expensive, Mardi thought, but as she began to shake her head, Cain gave a wry smile.
“Keep them apart and they’ll only go on pining for each other.”
She puffed out a sigh. Heck, Cain Templar was persistent. “Throw them back together and they’re more likely to get closer to each other, if I know Nicky.” Nicky was loyal to a fault. “Look, it’s best if they don’t see each other at all. Nicky won’t be going back to St. Mark’s, so there’s really no more to be said.”
“But why not, for pity’s sake? You haven’t even found another place to live yet. Why not send him back until you do?”
“Because I can’t aff—” She stopped, on the brink of blurting out the shameful truth.
He frowned. “Can’t afford it?” The expression in his eyes changed. Hardening, rather than softening. “Are you saying that your husband didn’t leave you and your family sufficiently provided for? I thought he was a successful lawyer.” He glanced round at the expensive furnishings, the new carpet, the impressive built-in shelves lining an entire wall.
She spread her hands helplessly. “He had…a lot of expenses. Overwhelming expenses.” She wasn’t going to run down Nicky’s father…not now that Darrell was gone and unable to harm them any further. She was determined to keep his image as a loving, caring father intact for his son’s sake. “Please…I don’t want to talk about it.”
Cain regarded her speculatively. She must have loved the creep…and must love him still, despite the bitterness and hurt he’d inflicted on her. Poor woman. And it was his wife who’d taken Mardi’s husband from her, his wife who was responsible for her pain. In some odd way, it made him feel responsible, too.
“Look…whether you send Nicky back to St. Mark’s or not, the boys can still see each other…if you’ll let them,” he argued on his son’s behalf, though in his heart he didn’t want the boys thrown back together any more than she did. Seeing more of the Sinclair family—of Darrell Sinclair’s widow in particular—would be a constant and humiliating reminder of their spouses’ shoddy affair.
But what he thought or felt or wanted didn’t matter. It was Ben who mattered…the son he’d taken little notice of in the past five years. The ruthless quest for wealth, success and position—and damn it, for parental approval, too—had taken over his life, coming close to alienating him from his son. Ironic, when he thought about it. He’d been so determined that history wouldn’t repeat itself.
Mardi saw his mouth tighten and felt a shiver brush down her spine. Cain Templar would be a dangerous man to get mixed up with.
“Doesn’t Ben have any grandparents who can help out?” As the question left her lips, her eyes grew pensive. Nicky had never known any of his grandparents, only his great-grandfather Ernie. Her parents had died when she was six, and Darrell’s widowed father, who’d been in a nursing home for years, unable to recognize anyone, had died early last year.
“No.” A cold, unequivocal no. “Sylvia had no parents, and my father and stepmother live in New Zealand.” A sudden chill turned his blue eyes to ice. “We’re not close.”
Mardi’s gaze searched his. Was there pain under the ice? Anger? It was impossible to tell. She shivered again, the coldness in his eyes seeming to chill the very air around her.
“You didn’t get on with your stepmother?” she ventured, injecting sympathy into her voice, hoping it might make him reveal a bit more about himself.
“I didn’t get on with my father.” His face was granite hard, his frosty eyes clearly warning her Subject closed.
She backed off. “I didn’t realize you were a New Zealander,” she said lightly. She would never have picked it from his accent, which sounded more Australian, or even slightly English.
“I’m not. I’m a naturalized Australian.”
“But you were born and brought up in New Zealand?”
“I left when I was eighteen, to go to Sydney University.” His eyes grew remote again, and even more discouraging.