‘Well, you figure it out,’ he tossed back with a shrug. ‘My policy is if you fancy a woman, go after her. Attack the moment. Seize the day. God knows it passes soon enough!’
Ethan rolled his eyes at him. ‘Maybe sometimes you should take a longer look before plunging in. As you do with horses.’
Mickey laughed. ‘Horses are infinitely more rewarding than women. Forget the PA and concentrate on Midas Magic, Ethan. He’ll give you a better run for your money.’
Having moved on to his favourite subject, Mickey regaled Ethan with a potted history of the jockey he was to meet, his many successful rides and his natural empathy with horses—best man for the job today.
Although he listened and made all the expected responses as they strolled on to the saddling paddock, Ethan did not forget Daisy Donahue. She was like a burr in his mind. And his body. He felt a quixotic urge to rescue her from Lynda Twiggley, make whatever was wrong for her right.
Absurd, really.
He knew so little about her.
Yet his instincts kept insisting she might be worth knowing and he could very well regret not pursuing the interest she stirred.
Seize the day…
The big question was…how to do it?
CHAPTER TWO
THE big race gave Daisy the chance to rest for a few minutes. Quite a few guests had left the marquee to watch the horses being led to the starting gates. The rest of them had their attention glued to the television screens. No one was going to make a fuss about anything while their interest was totally captivated by what was happening on the racetrack.
She found a chair and sat down to give her feet a break. The TV commentator was giving a run-down on each yearling—its bloodline, owner, trainer, the colours the jockey was wearing. Gold and black for Midas Magic. Daisy grimaced as she heard that. Of course, the money man would have chosen gold. And he’d be more in the black if the wretched horse won. No depressing red debts for him.
She thought glumly of her parents’ situation—ordinary people who’d worked hard to bring up and educate five children and finally believing they could afford the luxury of renovating their home—a new kitchen, a second bathroom, a playroom for the grandchildren and two extra bedrooms so all the family could come and stay, especially for Easter and Christmas and school holidays. They had mortgaged the house to do it, and the bank which had happily lent the money would just as happily sell the property out from under them if the interest on the loan wasn’t paid every month.
And no way would they get the full value of the house in a forced sale, given the current slump in the property market. It wouldn’t get her parents out of trouble. Besides, it wasn’t fair for them to lose their home at this stage of their lives. They deserved a carefree retirement.
Their investment advisor had got it hopelessly wrong. Last year’s share market slide had sliced over thirty percent off their superannuation savings. The resulting loss of income was never going to be recovered. Neither was there any hope of the situation improving during this recession.
The rest of the family wasn’t in a position to help. Her three older brothers and one sister were all married with young families, struggling to make ends meet. Two of her brothers, Ken and Kevin, had been laid off by their employers in the workforce squeeze. Keith had gone into business for himself and was feeling the pinch. Violet, her sister, had an autistic son who needed so much care, her marriage was very rocky because of it. They simply couldn’t cope with more pressure on their shoulders.
Which meant she was the only one who could carry the load. By far the youngest—the late accidental pregnancy—she had moved back to her parents’ suburban home in Ryde to give them the rent money she’d been paying for her share-apartment in the inner city, as well as covering most of the food bills to ensure her parents didn’t stint on their diet in their anxiety over the debt. Her contribution meant the monthly interest bill could be paid, but it was an endless cycle. She didn’t make enough money to pay off the loan.
What really irked her was if her parents had sought out Ethan Cartwright to manage their nest-egg…But how were ordinary people supposed to know he was the man to go to? There’d been no publicity about him until after the economic crash. Besides, he probably only dealt with multi-millionaires. The big spenders in this marquee only mixed with each other.
The commentator’s voice rose several decibels as the race began, calling out a string of names. A hubbub of excitement broke out from the spectators gathered in front of the television screens. Daisy rigidly refused to look, resenting how much money these people were prepared to risk on stupid bets. It was a well-known fact that race-fixing went on all the time. If you weren’t in the know…although perhaps the Magic Millions was different with all the owners wanting their new purchases to perform well in such a prestige event.