‘And did you know, Maggie, that I always exceed the town planning regulations regarding open spaces, sports fields and community centres like kindergartens? They may appear to you like little boxes, the houses I build, but they’re always well provided with those facilities. And while my houses may not be mansions, they are not shonky.’
‘I’ll… I’ll have to take your word for it, Jack.’ She rinsed the last dish, then turned to face him. ‘On the other hand, I could not but regret this property, for example, being scraped bare and built on.’
He was sitting back looking relaxed, even amused, although she wasn’t sure why.
‘What?’ she asked with a frown.
‘I’m in agreement with you, that’s all.’
She blinked. ‘But you said—’
‘I said I was contacted about it with a view to urban development. As you probably know that would mean applying for a re-zoning that I doubt I’d get, but that’s not why I came to look at it personally.’
‘It isn’t?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m interested in providing a buffer zone now.’ He ruffled his hair. ‘So I’m looking for the right properties to provide it. I’m also looking for one that I might live on. This could be it.’
Maggie stared at him with her mouth open and all sorts of expressions chasing through her eyes.
‘I felt sure the irony of that would appeal to you,’ he drawled. ‘Why don’t you sit down and have another drink with me before you explode?’
‘I… you… this… I will,’ Maggie said. ‘Of all the…’ She couldn’t find the words and she dropped into a chair and accepted the glass he handed her.
‘Double standards?’ he suggested.
‘Yes! Well…’
He laughed softly. ‘But at the same time preserving the rural environment? That is a tricky one.’
‘I was thinking about you joining the ‘‘ivory tower’’ club after all you said on the subject,’ she returned arctically.
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any chance of that,’ he drawled.
Maggie sipped some Scotch gratefully. It was getting cold. As she felt the warmth of it go down she watched him covertly.
He had his hands shoved in his pockets, he was sprawled back and he appeared to be lost in thought.
It suddenly struck Maggie with a peculiar little pang that Jack McKinnon was actually in a class of his own. Much as she would like to, she couldn’t deny his ivory-tower-club theory, although she’d certainly fought her own battles against being drawn into the socialite/debutante kind of society he meant: the polo, the races, fashion shows, winter skiing/summer cruise followers.
She’d always longed for a broader canvas. She wanted to work; she wanted to travel, but a different circuit from the one her father and his friends travelled from one exclusive resort to another.
She wanted, she realized, to know people like this man and overcome his basic contempt for her kind. Yet, it struck her with some irony, only hours ago she’d been so angry with him, her thoughtless expression of it had reinforced everything he disliked about her ‘kind’.
The mystery of it all, though, was why did it matter so much to her? There was a whole world of unusual, interesting people out there…
‘So what do you suggest?’
She came out of her reverie at his question to find him watching her narrowly, as if he’d got the vibes that her preoccupation was to do with him, and she moved a little uncomfortably.
‘Uh—what do you mean?’
He shot her a last lingering look, then got up and stretched. ‘Where do we sleep, Miss Trent?’
‘That’s not a problem. I’ve already worked it out,’ she told him as her mind moved like lightning. ‘I’ll use the back seat of the car. You can—’ she gestured ‘—use the settee.’
He grimaced. ‘Quick thinking, that.’
‘You’re too long for the car,’ she pointed out reasonably.
‘I’m too long for the settee and it looks filthy.’ He crossed over and tested it, then looked down at it critically. ‘On the other hand, if this is what I think it is,’ he said slowly, ‘I might not be so hardly done by after all.’