Nothing Short of Perfect. Day Leclaire
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count on today and tomorrow and next month and next year. Someone who gave a damn. Someone he could call when … if—
“Mr. St. John? Is there someone we should notify?” Those words continued to haunt him, even after all these months. As did his answer, “No.” There was no one.
“I need more,” Justice whispered.
His uncle fell silent, then nodded, reading between the lines. He understood the subtext, even if he was reluctant to accept it. “It means you’ll have to stop swearing so much. Granted, it would make for a nice change.”
Justice’s mouth twitched. “I’ll work on that,” he assured gravely.
“It would also mean we’d have some decent food around here.” Pretorius warmed to the idea. “And a clean house.”
“Somehow I don’t think the woman I marry would appreciate knowing I picked her because I needed a housekeeper with privileges.” Justice leaned over his uncle’s shoulder and pushed a button. The laser printer sprang to life, shooting out sheet after sheet of material. “Which brings me back to my main concern. If I marry, you’ll have to put up with her, too. You’ve read the information on these women. Can you handle one of them living here permanently?”
Pretorius frowned. “Is that why you haven’t married before this? Were you worried about how I’d react to having our home invaded?”
Invaded. Justice suppressed a sigh. This was going to be a tough sell. “No, I haven’t married because I’ve never found someone I could tolerate for longer than a week.”
His uncle nodded morosely. “That’s where my computer program comes in, I assume? I’ve done my best to transform the Pretorius Program from a business application to a more personal one. The parameters remain similar. Finding the perfect wife isn’t all that different from finding the perfect employee.”
“Exactly. It just requires inputting different data.” He ran through his requirements. “An engineer, therefore rational and in control of her emotions. Brilliant, of course. I can’t handle foolish women. Physically attractive would be a bonus. But she must be logical. Kind. Someone who won’t make waves. And she must be able to handle isolation.”
“I thought we were talking about a woman.”
“If she’s an engineer, chances are she’ll already possess most of those qualities. More important, she’ll fit in around here.”
“Okay, fine.” Pretorius straightened, assuming a professional attitude. “If you’re determined to go through with this, I’ve narrowed the choices down to a half-dozen women, all of whom will be attending the symposium.”
“With a little help from you.”
“That was the easy part,” Pretorius said grimly.
He picked up the stack of papers the printer had coughed out and fanned through them. Justice caught a glimpse of charts and graphs, photos, as well as curricula vitae, and—dear God—what appeared to be reports from a private investigator. Never let it be said his uncle wasn’t thorough.
“And the hard part?”
“Women are odd creatures, Justice. They tend to have a negative reaction when you invite them for a cup of coffee in one breath and in the next tell them you want a wife.”
“Well, hell.” He hadn’t thought about that.
“You could always make up an excuse for needing a bride so quickly. I’m sure they’ll buy it. After all, you are The Great Justice St. John. Or so all the scientific journals claim.”
“Oh, for—”
“Or you can listen to the not-quite-as-great Pretorius St. John, who’s actually considered that small detail.”
“And?”
“And you’re not attending the symposium in order to find a wife. You’re there to find an apprentice.”
His uncle caught him off guard with an abrupt left onto an unmarked road. It took Justice a moment to brake, make a swift U-turn and input the new course. “I don’t need an apprentice.”
“Yes, you do. At least, that’s what you’re going to tell these women. It’s the only way to get them in your clutches. Once you settle on someone you think you can stand for longer than a month, get her to move out here. Work with her for a bit. Get her to fall in love with you and then marry her. That way she won’t think you’re some sort of kook. Or with luck, once she realizes you are, it’ll be too late. She’ll be wedded and bedded, with possibly a TGJSJ, Jr. on the way. And maybe she’ll even cook and clean just because that’s what women do.” Pretorius shoved the stack of papers into Justice’s hands. “In the meantime, study these. The symposium lasts three days which divides out to two candidates a day. You have that long to come back with an apprentice/wife we both can live with.”
“And if it doesn’t work out?”
His uncle folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been thinking about this. And even though I don’t want a strange woman wandering around here, poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong, I’ve realized something.”
“Which is?” Justice asked warily.
Pretorius stabbed a stubby finger in his direction. “You have a lot of knowledge and ability going to waste. You have an obligation to share it with others. Even if she doesn’t work out as a wife, you’ll have invested in the future either by providing inspiration for some brilliant young thing or, if you get lucky, you’ll pass on your genetic code to another generation.”
“That’s a hell of a way to put it.”
“Don’t forget this was your idea, boy. Whether you realize it or not, that genius label you carry around comes with a price tag attached. You owe a debt to the universe.”
“I gather the universe sent a bill?” Justice asked dryly.
“And you neglected to pay. That’s why you’re blocked. You’ve hoarded your knowledge instead of spreading it around. If the wife thing doesn’t work out at least you’ll have passed along your know-how to a worthy successor. And that I can live with since it’ll only be temporary.”
“And if she happens to fall in love and it’s not temporary?”
Pretorius narrowed his eyes. “You think she’s the only one who’ll fall in love? Not the both of you?”
Justice knew better than to expect that. He doubted he was capable of love any longer. “Just her,” he confirmed.
“In that case, I like my dinner served at six.”
Justice St. John.
Daisy Marcellus stopped dead in her tracks the instant she caught sight of the familiar name centered on the Coronation Hotel’s advertisement placard. Late-afternoon sunlight cascaded across the stunning black-and-white photo of him, threatening to bring her to her knees. Her bright fuchsia carryall slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the floor, pens and stickers and trinkets for toddlers spilling at her feet.
It was him.
Granted, a much different him than the one she’d known a full decade ago. This man appeared harder, far fiercer than the version she’d known. Oh, his eyes were the same, betraying that heartbreaking wariness she remembered so vividly, like an animal constantly on the alert for danger. But that wariness seemed more intense now, and shaded with cynicism.
She studied each line of the revealing photograph, searching for other changes and finding them all too easily. Time had weathered creases into strong masculine features, the deepest ones bracketing a mouth set in far too severe a line. He’d acquired a grim edge over the years, a hardness that she could only hope was at the instigation of the photographer for overall effect, rather than a true reflection of the man.
Despite the worrisome changes, desire