by Alicia Hope
It took thirty minutes to drive from her townhouse to the villa complex early that evening.
Living here, I’d be further from site, but it’d be worth the travelling time to be this close to the beach.
She found the place and pulled into a parking spot out the front. After turning off the ignition, she remained sitting in the car, taking in the building’s exterior.
She felt a twinge of guilt remembering all the issues at the office awaiting her attention. ‘But a girl’s gotta live somewhere,’ she told the reflection grinning back at her from the rear view mirror. The smile lingered as she surveyed the elegant apartment complex. ‘And the CEO of a multi-national mining company is expected to uphold certain standards....’
Chapter Five
The name ‘Ocean Mews’ in brass letters graced the complex’s front entrance. A path, edged thickly with palms and shrubs, meandered past each villa to a central square, and from there, to the beach. In the square, water spilled from a fountain into a dark pool, where the sun’s rays flashed gold off darting fish. Around the fountain’s base, a bed of double balsams fluttered their soft white blooms in the sea breeze, and above their veiled heads, palm fronds swayed and danced. Everywhere Verity looked, tropical lushness abounded.
Wish you were here, Mum, you would’ve enjoyed seeing this place with me.
Her smile faded and her eyes grew sad at the memory of the awful day when her mother’s big, generous heart, without warning, called it quits. Verity’s own heart had almost stopped when she’d arrived home to find her mother still and cold, slumped over in her favourite chair like a discarded rag doll. Although it had been years ago now, sometimes the loss felt acute, as if it had only happened recently; as if she’d only just become an orphan after having lost the one person in the world who loved her unconditionally, no strings attached, and was proud of her no matter who or what she chose to be.
A rare love indeed, the kind I won’t ever have again. But I should be glad that at least I had it once. Not everyone is so lucky.
Suddenly impatient to see the villa, Verity decided not to wait any longer for the agent.
It won’t hurt to take a peek at it from the path.
She opened the car door and got out. Straight away she was greeted by the scents of sea, salt and a hint of seaweed on the air. She took a deep breath to clear the stale indoor air from her lungs, and ambled over to the path.
Strolling along it, she glanced at each unit as she passed. While they were all two-storey, painted in the same washed-out white and with fenced courtyard gardens, each enjoyed a different décor. The first unit was Mexican in style, with brightly coloured pottery adorning its walls and terrace, and vivid green agave plants reaching upwards to embrace the sun from their shiny, blue-glazed pots. The next villa was more Grecian in style. Flowering ivy-leafed geraniums spilled from moss-covered urns, and a statue of a lady in flowing robes graced the garden, while two impressively carved columns guided visitors to the front door.
Verity passed four more units, one in English cottage style, another Moroccan, and two with lichen-covered Buddhas in pebble gardens. Potted bonsai plants, and bamboo wind chimes clacking softly overhead completed the picture. ‘Delightful,’ she murmured as she passed each one, until she found herself at the gateway to number seven. Her villa, if she chose.
She paused for a moment to take in the garden behind the decorative wrought iron gate. All the greenery obscured the villa itself, but the gate suggested a Mediterranean influence. The sound of bird song caught her attention and she looked into the branches of a lillypilly tree. She searched for the feathered soloist, but the glossy green foliage was too dense and the bird too small for her to see. While standing gazing through the gate, she heard footsteps behind her. When she turned, she saw a woman in a navy business suit approaching with a smile on her face.
‘Hello!’ she called. ‘You must be Miss Parker?’
‘Yes, I’m Verity Parker.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ The agent extended her hand. ‘I’m Rosie McGovern, resident property manager for Ocean Mews. We spoke on the phone?’
‘Yes. Good to meet you, Rosie, and please call me Verity.’
Rosie gave a smiling nod as they shook hands. ‘Well, if you’ve already had a bit of a look at the complex, I guess you’ll be anxious to see inside number seven? I can show you the parking and other facilities afterwards if you like.’
‘Great.’ Verity smiled and followed Rosie through the gate. They walked along a pebble pathway bordered by shrubs and shaded by overhanging branches, to the front door, where Rosie produced a set of keys.
‘If the garden’s a bit dense or overgrown for your taste, we can ask our groundsman to give it a trim.’ Rosie ran a critical eye over it. ‘The original owner apparently loved the idea of living in a jungle,’ she sniffed, ‘and attempted to create a mini-rainforest when she designed this garden.’
‘Thank you, but it’s lovely exactly as it is. I like the concept of natural air-conditioning and leafy privacy screens, and I love having birds around.’
But I’ll have to make sure TBJ stays inside most of the time, otherwise the poor little birds won’t stand a chance against ‘Sir Huntalot’.
Verity loved her cat, Three Bells Jack, but wished he wasn’t such a rampant hunter of all that moved, squeaked, chirped, scuttled, slithered, or twinkled. Even her Christmas decorations weren’t safe from his 'stalking with intent'. Many had sustained serious bodily injury from his teeth and claws, and she’d had to pronounce them DoT, dead on tree.
While Rosie was busy unlocking the villa, Verity glanced around and noticed a delightful little paved terrace off to one side, furnished with a wrought iron table and two chairs. She pictured herself sitting there in the mornings, with a steaming cup of tea at her elbow and Jack on the chair beside her, busily cleaning breakfast remnants from his whiskers. Her ears caught the throb and rush of waves on the beach, and more bird calls from the surrounding greenery which she imagined glistening with morning dew.
She sighed in anticipation as Rosie called from the open doorway, ‘Please come in, Verity.’
As she stepped into the bright entrance foyer, Verity took in the gleaming polished floor boards and the floor-to-ceiling windows. The foyer opened into a generous lounge area, which had high ceilings and large windows offering a spectacular panorama.
‘Oh, I thought it would have ocean views, but I never imagined the beach would be so close! Wow,’ she breathed.
‘I know, everyone says that the first time they see it. You don’t realise how close the complex is to the beach until you come into one of these ocean-front villas.’
They both stood for a moment as though spellbound by the sight of gentle waves, kissed gold by the setting sun, and sparkling blue water merging seamlessly into an equally blue sky, until Rosie seemed to recall what she was there to do. She became business-like again.
‘Now, would you like to see the kitchen, and upstairs?’
Verity tore her eyes away from the view, and followed Rosie through the lounge into the gleaming white kitchen. Its granite bench top and impressive array of modern appliances had her picturing herself, apron-clad, busily creating culinary history a-la-Julia Child.
She smiled, thinking, I’ve always wanted a white kitchen, one that inspires the inner cordon bleu. The house David chose for us had a gloomy brown kitchen, which he loved and I hated, hence my reluctance to spend much time in it. And although my townhouse’s kitchen is perfectly functional, its window looks into a stairwell. Not the most inspiring of creative spaces....
They climbed the spiral staircase to the first floor.
‘This is the main bedroom.’ Rosie pushed the door open with a flourish.
Verity entered the enormous room and stopped. The wall facing the ocean was glass from floor to ceiling, with doors opening onto a balcony. Filmy white curtains were tied back, but twitched softly in the breeze. This room shared the same fabulous view as the lounge room be
low. Out on the balcony, an elegant water feature bubbled from within an assortment of terracotta pots filled with bougainvilleas dripping purple blooms onto the tiled floor.
‘It’s lovely,’ Verity breathed.
Rosie grinned smugly. ‘The second bedroom is along the corridor here, and has its own bathroom....’
But Verity was barely listening, she was overawed by the place. She followed the agent politely through the remaining rooms, and out to the front porch. When Rosie turned to look questioningly at her, she didn’t hesitate.
‘I’ll take it.’
‘Good,’ Rosie murmured, sounding as though she hadn’t doubted for a second what the response would be, ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements and send the paperwork to your HR department.’
The keys jangled in her hands and she turned to lock the villa again, as a deep voice called from the pathway, ‘Is that you, Rosie?’
Verity shivered. That voice was awfully familiar....
‘Yes?’ Rosie replied, hurrying towards the gate.
A hand lifted the latch as the voice commanded, ‘Sit. Stay. Good dog,’ and then the man behind the voice walked in.
Rosie greeted him warmly. ‘Hello, Royce.’ She leaned her head out of the gateway and saw a dog sitting obediently on the path. Spotting her, the dog gave a quick, happy thump of its tail. Rosie straightened again and smiled up at Royce. ‘Been doing another spot of late afternoon fishing with your old pal, I see.’
Royce’s smile in reply seemed to freeze when his eyes fell on Verity, and it took a moment for them both to regain their composure.
Verity found his casual dress a little off-putting, as though she couldn’t place him. Under his partially unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt, she caught a glimpse of a smooth, tanned chest. He’d rolled up his sleeves revealing muscular brown arms. In one hand he held a fishing rod and tackle box, and in the other, a white bucket half-full of sea water. The legs of his jeans were rolled up as well, but still damp at the bottom. He wore rubber thongs on his feet. The setting sun had him crinkling his eyes against the glare, and its rays revealed some greys among the dark, tousled hair brushing his temples.
That’s not fair, Verity found herself thinking, grey hairs only add to his sex appeal. She flushed when she met his eyes, realising that he’d been taking her in as well. Her face still glowed with pleasure from seeing the impressive villa, and the white of her soft cotton sun dress made a delightful contrast with the golden tan of her bare legs. Her carefully styled hair had loosened, and some strands had broken free. They danced around her face in the sea breeze. Standing barefoot among the greenery, strappy sandals in her hand, she made quite the pretty picture.
Royce’s eyes hardened but he managed a tight smile as he turned to address Rosie. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to catch you before you go.’
‘Of course, Royce, but may I first introduce you to Miss Verity Parker. Miss Parker will be taking up residence in Villa Seven, so you’ll be seeing her around the complex.’
‘Yes. We know each other.’ His clipped words were spoken through tense lips.
‘Oh, of course you do! How silly of me. You’re both with RCL. Well, Verity, you won’t have any excuse to feel lonely here with work mates so close by. You haven’t mentioned anyone else moving in with you, so I assume...?’ Rosie raised her eyebrows.
Verity felt an uncomfortable inner radiance creeping upwards, towards her face. She nodded, ‘That’s right, it’s just me.’
Rosie’s well-meaning interrogation and Royce’s scrutiny made Verity twitchy, and she had to steel herself not to let it show. She was starting to wish she hadn’t committed to taking the villa.
I should’ve known he’d live here. After all, this complex is home to a number of RCL staff.
Verity took a deep breath and fixed what she hoped was a polite smile on her face. She shook the agent’s hand, saying, ‘Thank you for your time, Rosie. As Royce seems to need your attention,’ and she raised a sardonic eyebrow, ‘don’t worry about showing me the parking and other facilities now, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.’
‘Thanks, Verity.’ Rosie returned the smile. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say we’re looking forward to having you here.’
Verity nodded a curt farewell to Royce, who returned the gesture stiffly and made way for her to pass. But as she was heading out the gate, Rosie called after her, ‘Oh and we have a ritual here. We hold a cocktail party to welcome each new tenant to the complex. It gives everyone a chance to get to know each other. I’ll contact you to arrange a convenient date.’
Verity threw her an uncertain smile before striding purposefully away.
Rosie watched the gate close behind Verity before turning her attention to Royce. When she noticed a calculating look lingering in his eyes, she arched a carefully sculptured eyebrow and said softly, ‘Well, well. So that’s your new boss, hey?’
Chapter Six
The weeks immediately following Verity’s promotion were a hectic blur. She closely shadowed Clyde until he left, and then plunged into the complexities of the new role on her own. And her after-work hours weren’t much more restful, with the relocation to Ocean Mews commandeering every spare moment. Thankfully, Claire’s newly unattached status meant she had time to help with the move.
‘Keeping busy stops me thinking too much,’ she’d puffed when Verity suggested she take a break from packing boxes and lugging gear, ‘and puts His Nibs out of my mind, which is where he belongs.’
Claire didn’t have much luck with men, and her latest beau, Owen, an engineer a few years older than she, was no exception. While he was reasonably good-looking, successful, and had treated her like a fairy princess at first, it quickly became clear that nobody could compete with Owen for his own affections. He’d been a bachelor for too long. Claire once laughed dryly to Verity, ‘He only takes me to fancy restaurants to read the menus for him, ‘cos he’s too vain to put on his glasses.’
The Claire-n-Owen show ran for a mercifully brief season, and as usual, her buoyant ‘glass half full’ personality helped Claire bounce back promptly from the break-up. While that was a blessing, it did make Verity wonder if Claire had ever actually been in love. At the same age, Verity had already been married.
Despite her friend’s cheeriness, Verity could see that this break, what Claire called her ‘latest paper cut’, did sting a little. Verity was sorry her friend’s soft heart had yet again been, if not exactly broken, then harshly pinched, but she was grateful it meant she had some company and help during the move. Taking a breather from unpacking one day, and out in the courtyard enjoying a mug of coffee, Verity heard Royce’s voice from a couple of fences over. She found herself idly wondering if he was also feeling the sting of disappointment still, at missing out on the job.
Since their chance encounter outside the villa that day, she hadn’t seen much of him. In truth, she was a bit relieved that business commitments were keeping him occupied. It gave her time to establish herself in the role and reinforce her corporate armour. She did wonder though, if Royce had taken Travis’s words at the now infamous meeting to heart—the ones about him assisting her to settle into the job. She gave a wry smile.
Obviously not. Too busy sucking on sour grapes, I guess. Who needs him anyhow? I’m doing fine on my own.
You hope, a rebellious inner voice whispered maliciously.
Following their not-so-pleasant last exchanges, Verity wasn’t sure what to expect of her next meeting with Royce. At work she received his operational updates via email or inter-office memos, and although they’d had no need for face-to-face discussions as yet, she knew it wouldn’t last. He was RCL’s operations manager and she, his CEO. They had to stay in close contact, to maintain her knowledge of the company’s operational status, and his awareness of production targets, executive directives, budgetary realignments, and industry and market variations.
With this in mind, she’d enter
ed a reminder for herself in her schedule, on a date by which he should, at least, have made an appointment to meet with her. That done, she refused to dwell on it any further. Too many other issues called for her attention, both at the office and at home. She’d simply wait, although not indefinitely, in the hope Royce’s professionalism would override his sour grapes.
When she’d finished unpacking the last of her gear into her new villa, Verity was at first surprised and then excited to find it still looked half empty.
Well, we can’t have that, can we? Look out homeware stores, here I come!
She and Claire had a wonderful weekend of shopping, decorating, and trying to master—with varying levels of success—the villa’s state-of-the-art espresso machine. In the evenings, they adjourned to the terrace and celebrated with chilled glasses of bubbly and Verity’s home-made pizzas. Jack was allowed outside for a prance in the afternoons, and he sat, smiling benevolently at them, watching for any dropped morsels of flavoursome salami or, better still, salty anchovies.
Claire was gratifyingly awestruck, not only by the delicious food Verity was taking delight in producing from her kitchen, but also by the villa itself, which now sparkled with Verity’s individual style. Indoors, she’d succeeded in making the combination of rainforest and Mediterranean themes complement each other. Black wrought iron occasional furniture rubbed shoulders with fabric sofas, deep-pile rugs, decorative wall sconces, and shiny-leafed fig and palm trees in glazed pots. In the kitchen, she’d toned down the whiteness a little by introducing brightly coloured mugs, candles of varying sizes, scents and colours in wrought iron holders, and white-washed wicker baskets.