“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s the man. Flynn O’Neill. And he wants my land to build a golf course, so…um.”
“So?”
“He’s being very nice to me, Lucy.”
“Aha! You know what, kiddo? If you don’t want the dratted land and it won’t spoil your outlook, sell it to him. I mean, Freya, what good is all that acreage to you?”
“I knew I could rely on you to give me a straight answer. Actually Sammy said the same. Perhaps I will. Anyway, enough about me. How are things with you and the Doc?”
There was a short silence. Freya heard Lucy sigh.
“We’re okay, hon, or at least I think we are. Trouble is he’s started making noises about us having a break again to assess our feelings and I don’t think I can cope this time.”
“What does he mean? You had a break not long ago.”
“I know.” Lucy sounded tired.
“Oh honey, what will you do?”
“I don’t know, Freya. He knows how I feel about him, but says he doesn’t want to commit fully right now, that I have to give him space. I think it’s just an excuse but can’t bring myself to tell him so ’cos I’m a coward, scared if I push it he’ll really go. And if he does, well, losing him will hurt terribly.”
“I know that,” Freya murmured. “He’s mentioned a break. Why don’t you take one instead? It might help. I’d love to have you here.”
“You’re a doll. I will think about it. But hey, no more worrying about me, you hear? Give that drop-dead gorgeous man what he wants, your land of course, then see what happens. I’m going. I have to be at the clinic in an hour. Keep me up to date.”
Chapter Six
Flynn drove to the office in Morvenna, his mind in turmoil. A car honked its horn as he pulled over without signaling. He held his hand up in apology.
He felt jumpy. Yanking the handbrake on and collecting his keys, he tried to dismiss from his thoughts those green eyes—green or hazel, it depended on the light, but they were beautiful! Fringed with dark, thick lashes beneath equally dark, well-shaped eyebrows, they had raised the hairs on the back of his neck when she’d looked at him, and that gorgeous creamy skin, the halo of golden red hair… He thought he’d blabbered like a teenager about the nose of a glass of wine under the scrutiny of her clear gaze, had squirmed with embarrassment because she’d stirred him. Had she noticed?
Flynn’s words to Rochelle and Mike now made him want to laugh. He’d wheedle his way around her! Who did he think he was kidding?
He groaned loudly, slammed his car door, and walked briskly into the office.
Rochelle, seated at reception, raised her head very briefly. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” Flynn stopped at the counter. “Hey, look, Roch, I’m sorry if my stupid remark upset you. It was uncalled for. Can we forget it?”
She looked up, a slight smile curving her mouth. “You sure do know how to tweak my buttons. You’re forgiven. You look a little harassed. I take it you’ve met her?”
“Who?”
“Don’t give me that bull, Flynn.” She laughed. “You know who. Archie’s daughter. You won’t have been able to resist eyeing up the challenge. And, I spoke to your mom. Apparently it’s right what they say about redheads, she said the young woman won’t be a walkover for anyone. Aren’t Scots known for being feisty?”
“I don’t know. Wasn’t with her long enough to find out.” He started walking through to the back office.
“Flynn?”
He turned. Rochelle had swiveled in her chair, showing her long, bare tanned legs. In the tiny skirt, it was a sight to rouse most men.
She pushed back her silky blonde hair. “Care for a drink this evening? We could use my folks’ Jacuzzi?”
“Sorry, Roch, I’ve a lot of paperwork to catch up on. Maybe some other time, but thanks for the offer.” He felt bad about the clear disappointment on her face, but his mind was too full of other stuff.
“Is the barbeque still on?” she called.
“What? Oh, yeah. See you then.”
Flynn closed the office door behind him. “Hi,” he said to Mike, busy at his computer.
“Hi. Hey, I was just looking at the plans for the course near Vallroy. There’s room for another water feature. What do you think?”
“Something big enough to drown myself in would be just perfect!”
Mike frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Let me have a look.”
»»•««
After successfully contacting a plumber who would call later that day, Freya went shopping for a fridge and small T.V, to be delivered the following morning. It was only as she began pushing her card into the machine that she had the thought. Why am I doing this? Do I really intend staying when I have a perfectly lovely apartment in Philly? And the expense?
Piercing blue eyes, a tanned face with a hint of a dimple in the chin, and the sexiest smile she’d ever seen came into her mind.
No. If I’m staying a while I need to be comfortable.
“Ma’am?” the sales girl said.
“Oh, what? Yes, sorry.” Freya completed the transaction. “Can you tell me,” she asked, “where there is a furniture store?”
In the autumn sale she bought two cream linen sofas, a rug, and two armchairs and lamps, also to be delivered the following day.
Having decided that nothing she’d brought from her apartment was suitable for a barbeque in the sun, she walked onto Morvenna’s Main Street, where she found a small boutique. Inside Tanya’s she chose a turquoise skirt and finely knitted cream top.
“Looks fantastic with your coloring,” the owner assured her. Freya thought longingly of the black slender-heeled shoes she’d left behind, which would have complemented the short skirt beautifully, and was surprised when the woman brought out a pair of flat, daintily strapped, cream leather sandals. “With your legs they’ll be perfect,” she said.
An hour later, stocked up with provisions, Freya drove into a car dealership and negotiated the purchase of a second-hand red Volkswagen Beetle on the condition the company drove the rental car back to San Jose. She returned to Byron House exhausted and with a lot less credit on her card.
»»•««
After another shower—she’d learned that by leaving the tap running long enough the water lying in the warm pipes actually became quite tepid—and wrapped in a thick fluffy towel, she made her way downstairs. Humming softly, she entered the kitchen and jumped, letting out a loud shriek, her hands clasping at the towel. A skinny man with a thin face and lank, greasy hair was leaning against the open doorway.
“Hey… take it easy, okay?” He held his hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well you damn well did! Who do you think you are walking into my house uninvited?”
“Look, I’m really sorry if I startled you. I saw your car, the door was open, and I thought I’d introduce myself.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then held out his hand. “Ian, I used to be Archie’s gardener. Jeez, but you’re so like him…”
“Well, Ian, I wasn’t expecting anyone, I’ve not been here very long, and if you don’t mind… Look, I’m sorry but would you please mind leaving.” She still clutched the towel.
“Sure.” He held his hands up in a placatory gesture. “I guess you’re not used to the way folk around here leave their doors open.”
He grinned and Freya felt foolish. She had overreacted.
“No, I’m not. Look, you gave me a fright and I made a big deal of it, which I apologize for, all the same I would prefer it if in the future you’d knock if you want to come in?”
“Not a problem. I just came by because I’d heard you’d arrived and I wondered if, you know…” He gestured to the window and the overgrown rear garden. “Thought maybe you’d need some help to get that lot straight.”
“Well as a matter of fact I do.” She studied the dark, small eyes. “When did you last garden for Archie? It’s pretty wild o
ut there.”
“Aw, about nine months ago he said he wasn’t interested in keeping it any longer, said he hadn’t much time left.”
Freya’s eyes widened. “Archie said that?”
“Yeah. So he said he had no need for me. Jobs are hard to come by around here. I was gutted when he finished me.”
“I can understand that. Look, if you want, you could start next week, say, three mornings a week, and we’ll see how it goes?”
He grinned again. “That would be great. When do you want me then?”
“Tuesday?”
“Sure. Tuesday’s good.” He walked out onto the patio.
“Where do you live, Ian?”
“Just down the lane at our old garage, it’s not in use any longer. My parents owned it, but when Dad died Mom couldn’t be bothered with it, then when she passed…anyway, I live in the flat above it. See you next week, Freya. It’ll be good to be back in work.”
“Oh!” she said, a little disconcerted. “You know my name?”
Ian smiled the smile of a child. “Like I just said, everyone in Morvenna knows Freya McFee is at Byron House!”
She shook her head. Small towns!
Ian hurried down the drive, and she watched his huddled figure disappearing in the rapidly descending dusk. She closed the kitchen door and slid the bolt into place before going through to do the same to the front door. The key would most definitely not be going back under the pot! She was not ready for California’s free and easy lifestyle yet.
Back in the kitchen, Freya made a sandwich and a cup of tea and sat to wait for the plumber.
About to give up and go to bed, lights suddenly flashed across the hallway, and she ran through to open the door. A young man was climbing out of a van.
“Freya?” he called.
“Yes.”
“Al, Alan Evans, the plumber. Sorry I’m late, had a hitch on the last job.” He glanced at her bathrobe. “Do you want me to call back in the morning?”
“No, please come in. The sooner this hot water system is sorted out the better. I can’t use the shower.”
»»•««
Freya sat at the kitchen table and went over Al’s estimate once again. When she’d blanched at the price, he’d grinned, said he’d do his best to keep it this side of ten thousand, but that the whole lot needed replacing. The old lead piping was a no-no, he’d added, shaking his head.
“Must be changed. Oh, by the way,” he’d said “do you know the electrics are a bit dodgy? I couldn’t really put a new boiler in on that old system.”
Freya had looked at him and sighed, asking, “Do you know an electrician by any chance?”
He did of course, so tomorrow she had the pleasure of Sparky, the electrician, to look forward to, who no doubt would be presenting her with an equally frightening quote. After washing the few dishes, she climbed the stairs, donned her nightgown, and slid thankfully between the cool cotton sheets, falling asleep almost immediately.
Chapter Seven
The following morning Freya was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of scratching. She lay perfectly still for a few seconds, her heart pounding as she looked wildly around the unfamiliar room, the dark, heavy furniture.
What? Where?
Then she remembered.
Archie’s house, of course. “Oh, goodness!” She sighed with relief, looking up at the ceiling where the noise appeared to be coming from.
“Squirrels!” she said with a satisfied smile. Putting her hands behind her head, she closed her eyes, not at all bothered by the noise from the critters, thinking instead about the events of the previous day.
Flynn O’Neill.
Freya squirmed in the bed recalling the way he’d looked at her, and how it had made her feel. And on a first meeting! She made a conscious effort to swing her thoughts away from him to Phillip, their work together, and how at one time she’d foolishly hoped a relationship would develop. She had liked him from the start. It had been her first job, and Phillip, the boss’ son, had made her feel welcome at once. He was attentive, charming, and, she’d thought, very easy to fall for.
But thinking back on their budding relationship at the time, he’d never made her feel as though she would be on a slippery slope if she allowed him to get too close, whereas, Flynn… She shuddered and turned to gaze out the window. Not having closed the curtains the previous evening, early morning sun filtered through the foliage of the tree outside, casting bright dancing shadows across her room. It was warm, so different to the cold East Coast. I like it. And putting Flynn from her mind, she instead thought of all the things to do while waiting for her furniture to be delivered.
A shaft of sunlight suddenly swathed the room, and she leaped out of bed, threw off her nightclothes, quickly dressed in a pair of loose slacks and an old T-shirt, and ran downstairs. The doorbell was ringing, and opening it she looked into the grinning face of a young man with a shock of blond hair standing up in spikes.
“Sparky,” he said. “Come to inspect your wiring.”
“Come in.” Freya held the door back. “I’ll leave you to it.” She hid a smile as he walked past. His ears looked as though they might fall off under the weight of all the silver rings.
“Won’t take long,” he said. “Don’t let me stop you doing anything.”
»»•««
The depressing outcome of Sparky’s inspection was that the whole house was in desperate need of re-wiring. “Come,” he’d said, “let me show you.”
In the lounge, he’d removed the light switch on the wall exposing the wiring behind it, and Freya could see the deterioration. “The rest will be like this,” Sparky commented solemnly. “The house must be at least ninety years old, and by the looks of things, nothing’s ever been touched or renewed.”
He handed her a folded sheet of paper. “Call me if you want me to start,” he said. “But don’t leave it too long…for your own safety.” He winked and sauntered out to his truck.
The espresso machine delivered its usual perfect cup of coffee, and Freya ate a slice of bread spread liberally with butter while gazing at Sparky’s neat writing. “Oh, my God!”
It was becoming pretty clear to her that if she wanted to stay in Byron House, she would have to sell the tract of land, or come up with a brilliant idea guaranteed to bring in thousands of dollars quickly.
After rinsing the dishes and armed with cleaning agents, she went into the lounge. The two old chairs, well beyond repair, were easily dragged to the French windows and maneuvered out onto the patio. Freya, perspiring heavily, stared at the huge wooden-framed shabby sofa with the springs hanging out. She blew up onto her face, bent over, and putting all her weight behind it, pushed hard, but it didn’t move. She grunted and then tried again, but still no movement. Something, she reasoned, must be stuck beneath it.
Down on hands and knees, she ran her hand under the small space and encountered hard, smooth metal. Her heart rate raced, already suspecting what it was. Wedged beneath the wooden rim of the sofa, it took her a while to loosen and pull out the gun. She left it on the floor, scrambled to her feet, and ran a hand distractedly through her hair.
She knew nothing at all about firearms. The family had never owned one, and she certainly didn’t like them. Would the thing be loaded? Yanking on it like that could have fired it! And why, in a place where the door key sat under a pot, had Archie kept a gun. It didn’t make sense. But…
Archie always bolted the doors, Margaret had said.
Why?
She walked back into the kitchen, took Margaret’s card out, and called her.
“Margaret? It’s Freya.”
“Hello Freya,” Margaret said warmly. “It’s lovely to hear from you. How did your first night go?”
“I, um, yeah, good. I slept well. Yeah, quite well. Um, Margaret, this may sound like a silly question, but when you said Archie bolted the doors because he couldn’t get used to the easy way of life here, what did you…well, did you believe him?”
Margaret’s laugh tinkled in her ear. “Of course! He was a bit of an eccentric, you know. Freya?”
“Yeah? Well, okay. I…err, I just wondered.”
“You are all right, dear?”
“Yeah, yeah. Take no notice of me. Just an overactive imagination, I guess.”
“O–kay.” Margaret drew the word out. “Well, I heard from Flynn we’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve told my father-in-law, he’s looking forward to it.”
“I am too, thank you, Margaret.” Freya closed the phone still not entirely reassured by what Margaret had said.
She opened her laptop and clicked onto Skype hoping her mom was there. She was.
“You do,” her mom observed, “look a little anxious. You’re chewing the inside of your cheek! Anything wrong? I expected a call from you yesterday.”
“Sorry, been busy. Um I wanted to ask you something. Knowing so very little about my father, I wonder what type of man he was. I mean, was he the nervous sort at all?”
“Your father? Well, Freya, that’s a strange question!” Susan Martin sounded terse. “Remember, it’s almost thirty years since I last saw him, but as I recall he was just the opposite. The most outgoing, gregarious man I’d ever met! Why do you ask?”
Freya leaned back to look through the door across the hallway into the lounge. She stared at the gun still where she’d left it on the carpet. “Silly of me, I suppose I’m picking up vibes.” She looked back at the screen. “I’m surprised to feel very happy here. I know it’s only been a short while, but I love it. The house has a good feeling, it makes me wish more and more that I’d known my father.”
She saw the shock on her mother’s face and felt something inside her harden.
“Don’t look like that, Mom. Pop isn’t here now, so he can’t be hurt by the fact that I want to speak about my father. In the future that’s how I’ll be referring to Archie.”
“Fine. Fine. Whatever you want.”
There was an awkward silence, one Freya didn’t feel inclined to break. Her mom spoke first.
“And Morvenna?”
The Way Love Goes Page 4