by Miranda Lee
‘I’ll get one.’
‘You can rent them, you know.’
‘I do know that, Vivienne. I’m not a total Philistine. But I always prefer to buy rather than rent. So why did you leave it so long between dental visits?’ he asked, finding it strange that such a perfectionist would neglect her teeth like that.
‘What? Oh, I...um...that wasn’t recently. It was ten years ago, when I was seventeen. After Mum and Dad’s divorce, Mum just didn’t take me. And I didn’t think about it, not till I was in my final year of high school and I got this dreadful toothache.’
‘But why didn’t she take you? Couldn’t she afford to, was that it?’
‘No. She had the money. She...she... Oh, it’s very complicated, Jack. Please, I don’t like talking about those years. I survived and my teeth are fine now. See?’ And she flashed an impressive set of pearly whites at him.
Jack only had to look into Vivienne’s haunted eyes to know that she might have survived—physically speaking—but she’d been left with some lasting emotional damage. Reading between the lines, he worked out that her mother must have become seriously depressed after the divorce. Divorce was like a death to some women. He recalled how depressed—and useless—his own mother had been after his father had died and it had taken her years to bounce back. It sounded like Vivienne’s mother had never bounced back. Instead, she’d neglected her only child. Very badly, by the sound of things.
Jack would have pried a little more into her background but a quick sidewards glance showed that she’d brought the shutters down, her expression closed and bleak. Jack decided to change the subject.
‘We might actually have to do some work up here today, Vivienne,’ he said.
She turned happier eyes towards him. ‘Oh? What kind of work?’
‘Nothing too strenuous. But I want to make up our minds which way to tackle the renovations. Whether we just tart up what’s there or go the whole hog and rip out walls.’
‘I definitely won’t be advising that you rip out any walls, Jack. The floor plan of the house is great. It’s just what’s in the rooms which needs ripping out, especially the bathrooms and kitchens. The bedrooms just need new paint and carpet. And furniture, of course. Plus all those hideous curtains will have to go. Perhaps you could think about double glazing on the windows. And tinted glass, of course. Keep out the glare of the morning sun.’
‘Wow. You’ve really been giving this some thought, haven’t you?’
‘Well, I had nothing to do all Friday, so I thought I should get started.’
‘Good girl.’
‘I can’t wait to move in. I was thinking next Sunday. Provided you get my contract ready before then, of course,’ she added, somewhat cheekily.
‘Next Sunday will be fine. And we’ll definitely get your contract drawn up and signed this week.’
‘Good.’
‘Now, you sure you won’t find it too lonely up there?’
Vivienne shook her head. ‘I’m used to living by myself, Jack,’ she said.
Another enigmatic comment. One which he would have liked to explore, but decided not to. Not yet.
‘To tell you the truth, I’m looking forward to it,’ she added.
In a way, so was Jack. Because he couldn’t keep up with what he’d been doing this past week for much longer. He’d found it hard to concentrate on work after making love to Vivienne half the night every night. He was a very hands-on builder and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He’d been glad he had an excuse not to see her on Friday night, giving him the opportunity to recover. Though sleep hadn’t come as easily as it did when he was in bed with Vivienne. Sex was a wonderful sleeping tablet, no doubt about that.
But he really did have an important job to complete in the coming weeks, finishing off a block of units, with a killer deadline built into his contract. He couldn’t afford to slack off, or let his men slack off. They took the lead from him, he’d found. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist being with Vivienne whilst she was in Sydney but it would be another matter once she was living in Francesco’s Folly. He could hardly drop in every evening. He would miss her but it would make the weekends even sweeter. He could just imagine how he would feel by the time he arrived on a Friday evening: more than ready for her to be his beck-and-call girl, that was for sure.
Spots on his windshield brought a frustrated groan. He hated driving in the rain. Especially heavy rain, which was exactly what he was contending with half an hour later. Their usual stop at Raymond Terrace was a respite, but not long enough to last out the rain. It was still pouring when they both ran for the Porsche and dived in.
‘I hate this kind of rain,’ Jack grumbled. ‘Makes a builder’s life hell. Puts you behind, big time.’
‘You don’t have to worry too much about the rain with Francesco’s Folly, though,’ Vivienne said. ‘Most of the work is indoors.’
‘True. How long do you think it will take? I’d like it all complete before Christmas.’
‘That depends, I guess, on how reliable this builder is you’ve hired.’
‘He’s very reliable. And if he isn’t, I’ll rely on you to crack the whip.’
Vivienne laughed. ‘I thought I told you I wasn’t that kind of girl.’
‘Maybe not in the bedroom, but you’re quite formidable at work. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you in action. You always want everything done just so.’
‘You ought to talk!’
‘We’re two peas in a pod, then, aren’t we?’
They glanced over at each other, their eyes laughing.
So Jack was surprised when a strange wave of bleak emotion suddenly washed through him. His gaze swung back to the road ahead, his eyebrows bunching together in a frown.
‘You do like me now, don’t you, Vivienne?’ he asked.
His question startled her. Then worried her. Because it forced her to face the fact that she liked him more and more with each passing day. How long, she wondered, before liking—combined with lust—turned to love? Another week? A month? Six months? Vivienne feared that by the time the refurbishment of Francesco’s Folly was complete she would be in much too deep where Jack was concerned. Yet she’d known what she was doing, getting involved with him. He hadn’t hidden the fact that he didn’t want marriage and children; that he wasn’t looking for ‘forever’ love. Just friendship and fun. He hadn’t lied to her. Ever. Which was what she liked about him most of all.
‘Very much so,’ she said truthfully.
When Jack’s heart actually swelled with happiness, his mother’s words came back to haunt him.
You don’t do love, Jack. It just happens.
Dear God, he thought. But not altogether unhappily. Which was perverse. He’d always believed he didn’t want to be bothered with the whole love and marriage scenario, especially the children part. He’d wanted freedom from any more responsibility. But when love struck—as it obviously had—you actually wanted to embrace such things. He could think of nothing more desirable than being married to Vivienne and having children with her. How amazing was that?
Amazing, but also problematic. After all, she didn’t love him back, did she?
‘That’s good,’ he said, somewhat distractedly. ‘Look, the rain’s stopped.’ Which was just as well. Jack doubted that Francesco’s Folly would look as marvellous in the rain. And he wanted it always to look marvellous. Wanted Vivienne to fall in love with the place, as well as with him. It might take time but that was all right. She wasn’t going anywhere fast. She’d be signing that contract to work for him till the refurbishment was complete. That gave him several months to achieve his goal, though Jack suspected he would need every single one of them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SHE’D LIED TO Jack about being able to control her nerves over the party. Come the following Saturday morning
, she woke with an already churning stomach which quickly worsened once it hit her that D-day had finally arrived: Daryl Day.
She hadn’t spent last night at Jack’s apartment, because she had an early appointment at the beauty salon just down the road from her own flat. Normally, she enjoyed the couple of hours she spent there every six weeks or so, having her hair trimmed, shampooed and blow-dried, after which she usually had a pedicure and manicure. The owner of the salon, a lady in her early forties, was a bright and breezy conversationalist who made all her clients feel better for their visit to her salon. But nothing was going to make Vivienne feel better that morning.
‘What colour do you want on your nails?’ the girl asked.
‘Red,’ Vivienne replied, thinking of the red evening gown which was hanging up on the front of her wardrobe. It was too long to hang inside, and had cost her a bomb. ‘A bright, dark red.’
‘This one is very popular,’ the girl said, holding up a bottle of dark red varnish that had a shimmer in it. ‘It’s called Scarlet Woman. There’s a lipstick to match, if you’d like to buy it.’
Vivienne suspected the girls got a commission if the clients bought some of their products. Usually, she didn’t say yes to their offers, preferring to buy her hair-care products and cosmetics online. But this time she said yes to the lipstick. She might not feel confident about tonight, but by golly she was going to look it!
* * *
The expression on Jack’s face when she opened her door to him at eight that evening was gratifying, even if the butterflies in her stomach had by then reached epic proportions. She was also grateful for the distraction of how fabulous he looked in his black-tie outfit. Not just tall, dark and handsome, but very sophisticated.
‘Heavens, Jack!’ she exclaimed before he could say a word about her. ‘You do scrub up well. And that tux is amazing. It looks like it was made for you.’ Which it did, fitting his broad-shouldered physique to perfection with not a wrinkle anywhere. She’d half-imagined he might look out of place in formal clothes but she was wrong.
He smiled. ‘It was, actually. I couldn’t find anything off the peg to fit me so I had no alternative. And might I say the same about your outfit? Red suits you.’
Strangely, it wasn’t a colour she’d worn before. She’d always thought it too in-your-face. But in-your-face was the look she was going for tonight, the red having extra impact because the material had a glitter effect, similar to her lipstick and nail varnish. The style of the dress was not her usual style either, being very tight. And, whilst it had long sleeves and a high neckline, the back was cut very low, along with a split in the back seam from the hem up to her knees—possibly put there so the occupant of the dress could actually walk.
‘You look like you’ve stepped out of one of those glamorous movies they used to make in the old days,’ Jack said. ‘Especially with your hair done that way.’
Vivienne’s hand lifted to pat the jewelled comb which anchored one side of her hair back from her face, the other side waving down over her shoulder in the way, yes, the movie stars of the forties used to do their hair.
‘You really like it?’ she said, her voice a wee bit tremulous. Those butterflies were acting up again.
‘What’s not to like?’ Jack replied. ‘You look good enough to eat and you know it, so don’t come that coy nonsense with me. If ever a look was designed to make an ex-fiancé feel regret and his new fiancée feel jealous, then you’ve nailed it tonight. I just hope you won’t regret it yourself.’
‘Why should I?’ Vivienne shot back with a surge of sudden defiance. ‘I’ve done nothing to regret.’
‘Not yet. But just remember if you fire bullets at people they just might fire some back. But it’s too late now. Cinderella is going to the ball.’
Vivienne rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t see Cinderella wearing a dress like this, can you?’
‘Not quite,’ he said, and eyed her up and down with a decidedly sexual gaze.
‘In that case we’re well matched, because you’re far from Prince Charming,’ she threw back at him. ‘Come on, let’s get going. The sooner we get there and I say what I have to say, the sooner we can leave.’ And the sooner those butterflies will stop their infernal wing flapping!
Jack didn’t say another word till they were on their way. Fortunately, when he did speak, it wasn’t about tonight.
‘Are you all packed and ready for the big move north tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I’m a very organised person. Everything’s already in the boot of my car.’
‘I’ll drive over to your place in my car around nine and you can follow me up in yours.’
‘All right. Do you have the keys to the house?’
‘Not yet. We’ll have to pick them up on the way. I’ve also organized for the builder to drop by around one, so that you can meet him. His name’s Ken. Ken Struthers.’
‘Fine.’
‘Are Daryl’s folks going to be there tonight?’
Vivienne was taken aback by this abrupt change of topic. ‘What? No, no, he’s estranged from his family.’
‘How come that doesn’t surprise me?’
‘He said they weren’t very nice people. He was put into a foster home when he was only ten.’
‘And you believed him?’
That brought Vivienne up short. She sighed. ‘Yes, I did at the time. More fool me. But don’t worry, that fool has been well and truly put to bed. Daryl could tell me the world was round now and I wouldn’t believe him. I despise the man and I aim to tell him so. Like you said, Jack, tonight is all about closure.’
Jack glanced over at Vivienne just as her red-glossed lips pressed hard together in a determined pout.
Oh dear, he thought. It was going to be a difficult night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SECURITY AT THE Ellison mansion was tight; Jack had to be checked off at the gates as a guest on the guard’s list. He even had to show the guy his driver’s licence, which rather underlined Vivienne’s statement that neither of them had easy-to-recognise celebrity status. There weren’t paparazzi obviously lurking about the gate; there was a helicopter hovering which might have been filled with photographers, but more likely more security. Frank Ellison was paranoid when it came to protecting his patch and his privacy.
As he was directed to one of the multitude of parking spaces available in the huge grounds, Jack experienced a measure of pride at how magnificent the house looked at night, lit up by the literally thousands of lights Frank had commissioned him to build in everywhere: the façade, the roof, the garden, not to mention each of the two-dozen stone steps which led up to the impressive entrance.
‘Is this the biggest house you’ve ever built?’ Vivienne asked him as he guided her carefully up the steps, his hand on her left elbow.
‘By far,’ he replied. ‘I presume this is the biggest house you’ve decorated as well.’
‘Absolutely. It took me over six months, even with lots of help.’
‘Building the house took two years.’
‘I can imagine. I hope you made plenty of money out of it.’
He grinned over at her. ‘Heaps.’
‘Good,’ she said, and there was that determined look again.
Once they reached the massive front porch, with only the equally massive front doors separating them from the party inside—you could hear the music from outside—Vivienne sucked in sharply and squared her shoulders.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ Jack said quietly by her side, even as he reached to ring the doorbell.
But it was already too late; both doors flung open before his finger connected with the buzzer.
And there stood Frank Ellison, as huge as his house. Around sixty, he had a large, florid face, and an even larger stomach.
‘I told them to keep these damned things open,’ he boomed before noticing his new arrivals. ‘Jack! You came. I’m so glad you did. And who’s this stunning creature by your side?’
He hadn’t recognised Vivienne, Jack realised. Of course, she did look different from how she did in her work wardrobe.
But still...
Vivienne thought it was typical of the man that he didn’t recognise her. He’d rarely spoken to her during the months she’d worked on this house. They’d only ever had one decent conversation when he’d actually looked at her, and that was the day he’d come to Classic Design to hire their services.
‘Money’s no object,’ he’d said. ‘Just make sure everyone else knows that. I want the place to look like it’s owned by royalty. Or a filthy-rich sheikh. You got that, girlie?’
She’d got it. And she’d delivered. The place was seriously palatial, from the Italian marble floors to the exquisite furniture—all genuine antiques—the air of opulence enhanced by the seriously expensive artwork hanging on every single wall.
‘It’s Vivienne, Mr Ellison,’ she said with a cool smile. ‘Vivienne Swan. I was the interior decorator for this house. Don’t you remember me?’
He didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. ‘Yes, of course I remember you. I just didn’t recognise you in that smashing red dress. So, you and Jack are dating, are you? I didn’t realise that when he told me you were the best interior decorator in Sydney. A somewhat biased recommendation, eh, Jack?’ he said, with a ‘nod nod, wink wink’ grin. ‘Not that you didn’t do a fabulous job, girlie. Actually, both of you did a fabulous job. I couldn’t be happier with the finished product. Couldn’t be happier tonight all round, with my daughter finally finding herself a bloke man enough to put a bun in her oven. And then to actually agree to marry her!’
Vivienne realised in that instant that Frank Ellison had no idea she’d once been engaged to his daughter’s fiancé. He obviously didn’t recall her being with Daryl at their house-warming party. He’d probably been too busy impressing his other celebrity guests that night to notice her, or who she was with.