Page 16 of Prognosis Irreconcilable Differences

She would not let him monopolise her thoughts. She’d proved over the last ten years that she could push him to the outer, and she would not let sentiment and hormones hijack her Zen-like attitude to their failed relationship.

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Fifteen minutes laterthe cloud-like lift had delivered her to the foyer, and she walked the short distance to wriggle her toes in the warm sand of Surfers Paradise beach. A brisk stroll restored some equilibrium to her being. She and Shep walked on the beach every morning at home, and she was grateful that Nate’s address allowed her to be near the regenerating calm of the ocean.

The pounding of the surf was like music to her suddenly troubled soul, and she lingered on the beach, letting the water lap her ankles. Far out beyond the bobbing heads of eager swimmers a row of surfers waited for the next big wave. Scantily clad sunbathers lazed about, despite the bite of the blazing morning sun. Children squealed as the waves caught them unawares, and lovers took full advantage of bare skin.

It was paradise.

The broad arc of perfect white powdery sand was breathtaking. The high-rise skyline, as much a part of the vista before her as the beach, was somehow almost beautiful in its grandness, the landscape somehow co-existing peacefully with the sun and the surf.

A breeze blew her hair behind her, and even the knowledge that it would be tangled beyond belief wasn’t enough to make her secure it. There was just something about the sea breeze on her scalp that was enriching and, despite her russet colouring and tendency to freckle, Jacqueline raised her face to the ball of solar energy above in silent worship.

‘Thought I’d find you here.’

Jacqui allowed her eyes to slowly drift open and focus on the man beside her. He was in a business shirt and tie, his trousers rolled up, his jacket slung over one arm and his shoes held in the opposite hand. He should have looked like a pimple on a pumpkin, and yet somehow he managed to look as if he belonged here.

Poseidon risen from the sea in the guise of a modern-day businessman. He certainly out-manned every other male on the beach.

A dangerous observation with the memory of his kiss still fluttering through her mind like the tail of a kite in a fresh breeze. Her heart thudded a little harder.

‘Interesting beachwear.’

Nathan shrugged. ‘When in Rome.’

Jacqui studied the horizon for a few moments, then the waves lapping at her feet, excruciatingly aware of the occasional brush of Nathan’s shirt against her bare arm. Her earlier sense of calm was disappearing fast.

‘Did you want something, Nathan?’ she prompted.

‘I forgot to mention that tonight is quite dressy.’ He dragged his gaze from the ocean and juggled his shoes while he reached into his jacket. He pulled out his credit card and passed it to her. ‘Buy yourself something amazing.’

Jacqui looked at the piece of plastic he was pushing at her, and then up into his face as a cold hand gripped her heart. She felt as if every system in her body had just ground to a crashing halt.

‘Why is it that I feel like Julia Roberts to your Richard Gere?’

Nathan rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be melodramatic, Jacqui. It’s a prop, that’s all. I’m asking you to go out and buy a very expensive prop. I don’t expect you to pay for it.’

Jacqui sucked in a deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In through her nose, out through her mouth. She’d been back in his world for less than twenty-four hours and he was already making her nuts. First a kiss, then an insult.

She pushed his hand away, searching for some of that Zen. ‘I’m going to pretend we didn’t have this conversation. We’re on the beach and the sun’s shining and it’s a beautiful day.’ She shut her eyes and took another cleansing breath.

‘Abigail will be dressed to kill.’

Jacqui opened her eyes, assessing the cool jade chips in his flinty gaze as she pinned him with one of her own. ‘So will I.’

A brush against her leg distracted her from the sudden heat in his eyes and the flare of his pupils, and she looked down. A small child clung to her calf for dear life. She swayed and tottered, trying to find purchase in the shallows as the outbound waves eroded the sand from beneath her feet, before finally landing with a hard plonk on her bottom.

She started to cry. ‘Hey, there, baby girl,’ Jacqueline crooned, crouching beside the chubby toddler.

She looked around for a concerned mother, and when none seemed to be forthcoming picked her up to comfort her. She was wearing navy bikini pants with frills adorning the seat, and a matching sun shirt. A floppy yellow hat, the rim wet, completed the picture.

The little girl grasped Jacqueline’s arm, her pouty lips turned down, her forehead crinkled, her blue eyes full of fat tears. Her whole face, from the strawberry-blonde fringe plastered to her forehead to her dimpled chin, was a picture of such tragic wounded toddlerhood it was hard not to laugh.

She looked at Jacqui, and then at Nathan, and pointed a fat sandy finger at him.

‘I know,’ Jacqui soothed, swaying slightly. ‘It’s all his fault, isn’t it?’

‘Hey,’ Nathan protested.

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