Cinderella And The Billionaire

But if such an inspector had come...say, last week...and Charlie had panicked and realised one of the sets was flat...

Why not grab the set from Bertha’s bag? Bertha wasn’t being used for charters. She wouldn’t be checked.

All these things were flying through her head like shrapnel. Her head felt as if it might explode. For one awful moment she thought she might be sick.

And then Matt’s hand was on her head. He was leaning forward, propelling her downward.

‘Head between your knees until it passes,’ he said. ‘And there’s no need to panic. We’re safe. One step at a time, Meg.’

She had no choice but to obey. She ducked her head and started counting breaths. It was a trick her grandpa had taught her after her parents had been killed.

When all else fails, just feel your breath on your lips, lass. That’s all that matters. One breath after another.

It felt wimpy. It felt as if she’d handed total responsibility to a stranger but she put her head down and counted.

She was up to about a hundred and twenty before she heard Henry, his thin little voice piping up from the back. ‘Where are we going?’

She should answer. She should...

‘We’re going over to that big rock you see in front of you.’ And Matt sounded totally in control, as if he were stranded at sea after fire every day of his life.

‘Is that Grandma’s island?’

‘Nope.’ Matt’s voice sounded almost cheerful. ‘We’re going to this island first. Garnett Island’s a bit far away for us to get there in this little boat.’

‘But how will we get to Grandma’s?’

Good question, Meg thought. Right now she didn’t have an answer. Luckily Matt did.

‘We might have to wait awhile,’ he conceded. ‘But I’ve been checking this interesting bag our skipper’s brought with us. Apart from muesli bars and bags of nuts and sultanas, there are some cool things that look like flares. When you light flares you can be seen for miles. So my guess is that we’ll land on this island, we’ll eat our muesli bars and our sultanas, and we’ll wait for Meg’s boss to realise she’s no longer in radio contact. I imagine they’ll send a helicopter to find us. If we need to, we’ll light our flares to help him find us and then we’ll all be rescued. Even Boof. Is that a good plan?’

‘We might need a drink,’ Henry said cautiously.

‘There’s a water carton under the seat you’re sitting on,’ Meg managed and then turned and checked herself. All the tenders carried fresh water. At least that was there.

‘And what if it gets dark?’ Henry quavered.

‘I’d imagine Meg’s boss will send help before that, but if he doesn’t then we’ll build a fire with driftwood. I can see matches in Meg’s Marvellous Bag. We’ll sing songs and tell each other stories and then we’ll lie on these...yep, thermal blankets...and we’ll wait until they come. Is that okay with you, Henry?’

‘I...guess...’

It was okay with Meg, too. It sounded like a workable plan—the only hiccup being...

Charlie.

We’ll wait for Meg’s boss to realise she’s no longer in radio contact...

Charlie’s charter boats were supposed to check in every hour, acknowledging to Charlie that boats and punters were safe. Meg couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Charlie monitor those calls. The calls were made—most of his skippers were punctilious—but they were made to an empty control room.

Charlie was always on the pier, chatting to the locals. He watched his boats come in every night. If Meg was due in tonight and didn’t show, Charlie would notice. The trouble was, Meg wasn’t due back tonight. Or tomorrow.

She closed her eyes.

‘Bad?’ Matt asked sympathetically.

And she thought, He’s not going to be sympathetic when I tell him I work for one of the world’s shonkiest charter companies.

But it was no use telling him now, especially not when he’d just reassured Henry.

‘I’m okay,’ she muttered and lowered her head again. It must be the smoke still making her feel sick. ‘We’ll all be okay. Eventually.’

CHAPTER THREE

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER they reached their destination.

The combination of medication and salt air had worked their magic. Meg’s lungs felt almost clear.

She still wasn’t in control, though. Matt had taken over. The letterhead on the documents she’d read had been embossed with the words McLellan Corporation. Matt’s name? Her first impression had been wealth and command, and she was now adding skill to the mix. Wherever he’d learned it, he’d acquired knowledge of the sea and small boats. He was now in charge, and the feeling was almost overwhelming.

How long had it been since anyone had taken charge of her world? Not since her grandpa had got sick. Even as a child Meg had learned to be leaned on. Her grandparents had been gutted when her parents had been killed. If she cried, they couldn’t handle it. She’d had to act cheerful even when things were dire.

When she was sixteen her gran had died, too, and Grandpa had pretty much fallen to pieces. That was when she’d decided to quit school and go fishing with him. She’d cajoled him back to enjoying life.

It was only when he was gone that she realised how restricted her own life had become. She could heave craypots. She could count punters in and out of charter boats and she could cope with boats in heavy seas.

Was that what she wanted for the rest of her life?

At twenty-eight, what other choices did she have?

Oh, for heaven’s sake, why was she thinking that now? They’d reached the outcrop. Matt was steering carefully—because the boat was inflatable and the rubber could rip on any one of these sharp rocks—into the tiny cove. There was a stony beach.

She needed to stop thinking of the complications of her life. More immediately, she needed to stop thinking how good it was to let this guy take over—and how good he looked while he did it—and start being useful.

She hauled up the legs of her jeans, checked the bottom and jumped out into knee-deep water. Beaching the tender wasn’t an option on these sharp stones.

The cove was sheltered from the prevailing winds, and she could see to the bottom.

‘I didn’t mean you to do that,’ Matt said, sounding displeased. ‘I thought we’d run her up on the beach.’

‘And rupture the membrane?’

‘Instead of your feet? Yes. And we won’t have any more use for her. We’re hardly here to reprovision and set off for the mainland.’

‘But why wreck a perfectly good inflatable?’ She wasn’t about to tell him it might well be needed again. Focus on now.

She clicked her fingers. Boof jumped into her arms and she carted him to shore. Ouch, these stones were sharp! Her shoes were...with the remains of Bertha.

Henry next. ‘Will you let me carry you to Boof?’ she asked him.

‘I’ll take him,’ Matt said but she shook her head.

‘Can you stay at the tiller until we’re unloaded? If we get an unexpected swell the boat might be damaged.’

His eyes had narrowed. ‘So that matters?’

‘That matters.’

He got it. But he glanced at Henry and didn’t comment.

‘You’re not fit enough to...’

‘Lift Henry? Of course I am. Henry, I bet you don’t weigh as much as Boof. Will you let me carry you? You could jump in and walk, like me, but the water’s a bit cold. I think I saw a seal somewhere round the back of these rocks. Boof might show you if you ask.’

But the strangeness of their situation was taking its toll. Henry clutched his seat and held. ‘Our boat burned,’ he said flatly.

‘It did,’ Matt told him. ‘It was a bad accident and we’re lucky Meg brought this little boat along. Now we need to stay here for a bit.’

‘Will you stay?’ Henry demanded and Meg heard raw fear. Matt, then, was more than just his mother’s employer to this little boy. He was the only link Henry had to his past, to an unknown future.

And Matt obviously got that, too. ‘I’ll stay with you,’ he said solemnly, and Meg thought what choice did he have? But Matt didn’t waste time explaining. He simply promised. ‘I said I’ll stay with you until you’re with your grandma and I will. No question, Henry. Now, will you let Miss O’Hara...?’

‘Meg,’ said Meg.

‘Will you let Meg carry you to the shore?’

There was a moment’s thought. Then: ‘Yes,’ Henry said. ‘Yes, please, Miss O’Hara.’

‘Meg,’ Meg said again.

‘Yes, please, Meg,’ Henry said and looped his arms around Meg’s neck and allowed her to carry him.

And why that made her feel like bursting into tears, she had no idea.

* * *

She was amazing.

Half an hour ago she’d been coughing so hard she’d been retching. Now it was as if this were nothing out of the ordinary.

He couldn’t fault her.

While he kept the boat steady she gathered the bag and carted that to shore, as well. Finally she agreed to allow him out of the boat.

‘We need to take the motor off and cart that up the beach, then the water and the bench seats, and then carry the tender itself,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not strong enough to cart it with the motor attached.’

‘We can’t just anchor?’

‘Too risky—these rocks are sharp. Leave your socks on by the way.’ She was already disconnecting the motor.

‘So we’re being careful of the tender...why?’ Henry was out of earshot now. Boof had met him on the shore and they were both tentatively looking for seals. With his hand on the dog’s collar, Henry seemed to have found courage.

‘If we can get it onto the sand it’ll make a comfy place to sleep,’ Meg told him. ‘With the thermal blankets, we’ll be snug as bugs in rugs.’

‘We’re not expecting rescue tonight?’

‘No.’

‘I would have thought,’ he said almost conversationally, ‘that a burned boat in the middle of Bass Strait, with three stranded passengers and one dog, might mean immediate search and rescue.’ He kicked off his shoes, hitched his trousers and was over the side. ‘You hold the boat. I’ll cart the motor in.’

She was more than happy to let him. Someone had to hold the boat. She’d heaved an outboard motor before, but she was five feet four and slightly built, and even a lifetime of heaving craypots wouldn’t have prevented her from staggering.

So she could only be grateful as Matt disconnected bolts, heaved the motor into his arms and strode through the shallows to the beach.

What sort of New York financier and lawyer was this? One who worked out, obviously.

She’d given them both sou’westers and lifejackets as they’d boarded the boat. Henry was still wearing his, but Matt’s was on the floor of the tender with his shoes. She thought fleetingly of his gorgeous leather jacket, replaced with the sou’wester. It’d be ashes by now, but he wasn’t worrying about a jacket.

He’d hiked up his trousers and rolled his shirtsleeves. He’d taken her advice and was still wearing socks. Another guy might look naff in bare legs and socks, but not this man. He was all hard muscle, lean, toned, ripped. He carted the motor as if it were nothing and, as she held the boat steady, Meg had a sudden fantasy of what it’d be like to be carried by such a man. To be held in those arms...against that chest...

Um...not.

‘Earth to Meg,’ Matt said as he returned, hauling her back to reality. ‘You were explaining why rescue isn’t imminent.’

Time for confession. Just say it.

‘The radio’s not in the bag, nor is our emergency transmitter,’ she admitted. ‘Someone’s head will roll for that.’ Probably not, though, she thought. Charlie was her boss and she was hardly in a position to complain. ‘Our phones don’t work out here. We have no way of saying we’re stranded.’

‘I’d imagine your boss will be checking your position, though. If you don’t make it to Garnett tonight, surely he’ll notice.’

And there was no way she could sugar-coat this. ‘Don’t bet on it. Monitoring the radio takes staff or work, both of which Charlie keeps to a minimum. The reason you were able to hire Bertha at such short notice is that we’re not a flash operation. In fact—’ go on, say it ‘—Charlie runs on the smell of an oily rag. If there’s a corner to cut, he’ll cut it. Bertha’s due back to port by Monday. On Monday night he’ll start wondering.’

‘But not before.’

‘Probably not.’

He didn’t comment. Instead he heaved the water container from under the seat and carried that to the beach as well, then did the same with the removable seats.

A lawyer with muscles.

She thought, suddenly, idiotically, of fairy tales she’d read as a kid, and romance novels since. It had seemed to her that a hero would be rich and handsome. She’d thought mistily that a hero might even heave her craypots for her.

And here he was, rich—presumably, if his name headed a prestigious Manhattan law firm. Handsome... Yeah, tick that. Now he was carting the motor and water as if they were featherweights.

Fantasy plus. She almost grinned but then he was striding back, gripping the boat’s bow, readying to lift it and carry it to shore.

He couldn’t do this alone. It wasn’t the weight; it was the sheer size of the thing.

‘So we’re dependent on Peggy,’ he said, almost conversationally.

She’d already thought of that, with some relief. Peggy Lakey. Henry’s grandmother.

‘I assume you told her your travel plans,’ she said.

‘I did. She knows we landed in Melbourne this morning. She knows we were using this charter company and she’s expecting us by dark.’

‘And she has a radio.’ They were heaving the boat upward, out of danger of scraping, working as a team. Once again she had the impression that this guy was used to boats, used to the sea. Used to work?

‘It was a shaky connection this morning,’ Matt said. He was moving backward. She had the easy option of walking forward. ‘But I’d imagine if we’re not there by dark then she’ll call Charlie.’

‘And if Charlie doesn’t answer?’

‘Is that possible?’

‘The local football team’s reached the finals,’ she said dryly. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘And you work for this man?’

She couldn’t defend herself. She didn’t even try. They had the boat out of the water now, carrying it over the rocks to the strip of sand beneath the cliff. They set it down with care and Meg breathed a sigh of relief. The boat was safe. They had water and supplies. This wasn’t a total disaster.

‘So Peggy?’ she ventured. She knew a little about Peggy Lakey, an elderly woman who’d bought Garnett Island years ago. She was said to be reclusive—she’d have to be to live on Garnett—but the fishermen who carted her supplies over had always been impressed with her.

‘She seems no-nonsense,’ Matt told her. ‘Charlie assured me—and I assured Peggy—that we’d be there before dark. I’m thinking she’ll contact the rescue services soon after. This is her grandson, after all.’

‘Does she want him?’ Her gaze moved to Henry. The little boy had found a shallow rock pool. He was pointing to something in its depths and Boof, bless his doggy heart, was paying attention.

It’d be minnows. The thought almost made her smile. Years of devoted hunting, and Boof had never caught one.

She watched kid and dog watching the fish darting below the surface. Matt was watching, too.

‘Does his grandmother want him?’ she asked again.

‘I think so.’

‘You think so?’ That jolted her. What the...? ‘You bring him all the way here—and you think so?’

‘There’s no choice,’ he said, heavily now. He wasn’t taking his eyes off the child. ‘Amanda’s will left him in the care of his grandmother. Peggy’s expressed willingness to take him.’

‘But she wouldn’t fetch him.’

‘No.’

‘Does he even know her?’

‘They write,’ he said. ‘He tells me he gets a letter every week, old-style, in an envelope with a stamp. She sends Polaroid pictures of the island. That’s what’s in his backpack—letters and pictures she’s been sending for years. I’ve seen them. She also makes radio telephone calls when she can. He feels like he knows her and there’s no doubt she cares.’

That was something at least, but she hadn’t finished probing.

‘Has he ever met her?’

‘Will you cut it out?’ His voice was suddenly laced with anger. ‘The paperwork’s in order. It’s your job to get us there safely, and might I remind you that you’re doing an appalling job of it.’

‘And so are you,’ she snapped back. ‘Your job’s to get him to his grandma, so we’ve both failed. Get over it.’

‘I’m over it. Just don’t make me responsible...’

‘For what?’

‘For bringing him here.’ He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture of total fatigue. ‘Look, this is a no-win situation,’ he said. ‘Amanda was an excellent lawyer but an appalling mother. According to office gossip, when she turned forty she decided she wanted a child like some people decide they want a puppy. She’s been paying as little as she could get away with for child care. During term breaks Henry would be alone in her office for hours. Now she’s dead and she has no friends close enough to care. Henry has a grandma he’s never met and no one else.’

‘So how come he’s never met her?’

‘Because Peggy hasn’t seen Amanda for years, either,’ he said wearily. ‘Peggy told me the outline when I contacted her. She’s Australian. She was married to an American. He died a couple of years back, but the marriage broke up when Amanda was in her teens. Peggy came home to Australia. She says she tried to keep in contact, but Amanda wasn’t interested. When Henry was born Peggy doubled her efforts. Maybe she knew what sort of mother Amanda would make. I gather Amanda allowed Peggy to write to him and speak to him occasionally via her not very satisfactory radio connection, but that’s all. Now she’s all he has.’

‘He has you, though,’ Meg said, thinking what she was hearing wasn’t weariness. This was desolation for a child left with nothing.

Desolation from a high-flying businessman who’d dropped everything to bring a kid to his grandma.

Her first impression of this guy had been arrogance. He’d reacted with astonishment when she’d questioned his right to bring Henry to the island, and what he was paying Charlie was astounding. He was obviously accustomed to throwing money and watching minions jump.

But now... Yes, the need to control was still there, but despite it she was starting to like what she saw around the edges. Even before the fire she’d been sensing helplessness in the way he was caring for Henry. Now he was stranded, shaken from his controlled world, his desolation was exposed, and it touched something deep within.

‘It’s okay.’ Her hand went to his shoulder, a touch of reassurance. ‘I bet Peggy’s lovely. Writing real letters every week... That’s awesome. We’ll land on the island, she’ll love him to bits and they’ll live happily ever after.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. She’d tugged her hand back but the look he gave her... It was as if he couldn’t figure her out. ‘But meanwhile...’

‘Meanwhile we collect driftwood before it starts getting dark,’ she said. ‘A fire will cheer us up. It’s a warm night. With the seats removed from the boat we have a comfy bed, and we have thermal blankets. We have the means to make a fire and we have food.’

‘Muesli bars?’ he said dubiously, stooping to check her bag.

‘Yes, but some of them have chocolate coating. Yay.’ She investigated with him. ‘Plus, here’s a fishing line and a lure. By the time you have the fire going, I’ll have fish to cook.’

‘Right,’ he said dryly.

‘You doubt me? I may not be able to deliver you to your island without sending you up in flames but I was born with a fishing line in my hands. Watch this space.’

‘And we’d cook it how?’

‘Seaweed and ash,’ she said. ‘Don’t they teach you anything in law school?’

‘Apparently not,’ he said faintly. ‘Henry,’ he called. ‘Do you want to help me make a fire, or watch Meg fish?’

And that was a no-brainer. Henry headed straight for Meg. And as dog and boy clambered over the rocks toward them, Matt thought, He looks almost happy.

He’d never seen Henry look happy.

It was almost enough to make a burned boat and a night on a deserted island worthwhile.

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