Man About the House

by Alison Kelly

  Five hours later Brett drove into the underground parking lot of the agency for yet another meeting with Meaghan and a plethora of legal eagles about the proposed purchase of the UK firm. But that wasn’t what was occupying his mind.

  He was convinced the brawl-and-bond session in the kitchen that morning was a positive step in the relationship between him and Joanna. He wasn’t certain why he felt this, but suspected it was because for once they’d stopped tiptoeing around and being so stiltedly polite and considering of the other. Well, at least that was what he felt as if he’d been doing since he’d come home three weeks—

  Was it really only that long? Geez, it seemed as if he’d been living on his nerves, or more accurately his hormones, for three centuries! Which proved that not only was trying to pretend he wasn’t attracted to Jo dishonest, but stress inducing. At thirty-four he should begin trying to eliminate stress from his life, not cultivate it.

  Which left him where? he asked himself, activating the car alarm and crossing to the elevators.

  Well, for starters, telling his compulsively maternal, paranoid sister that all bets were off! Sure, Jo was young, but she was six years beyond gaol-bait and she had had a lover. And, while she might be a novice when it came to the flash, glitter and grime of the real world, she had a strength and emotional maturity beyond her years. She hadn’t rebelled against her background out of wilfulness, but rather from a genuine belief that she didn’t belong there.

  She recounted incidents from her miserable childhood without ever bad-mouthing or showing resentment towards her parents, though in his opinion such actions would have been justified, and despite the way her sister had disowned her after the fiasco with the married creep Jo still wrote to her. He realised then that he’d never once heard her say a bad word against anyone. Hell, she was still grateful to her mongrel of an ex-boyfriend for giving her a pair of jeans!

  He took out the irritation that thought produced by viciously stabbing the ‘DOOR CLOSE’ button of the elevator and the floor number.

  Sure she lacked the street smarts and superfluous social graces of most of her contemporaries, but she was also devoid of their jaded cynicism. She was intelligent, articulate and ambitious, though thankfully not obsessively so. Her sense of humour was delightful and she possessed an insatiable curiosity and, as their trip to the cave had shown, a dash of daring.

  The bottom line here, Brett realised with no great surprise, was that Joanna Ford fascinated him and he’d end up a wreck if he didn’t stop pretending otherwise and do something about it! It was time he got off the sideline and into the game, and gave Steve-wondar-coach-Cooper a little competition!

  In fact, it was way past time! So, while Cooper might have a date for tonight with her, there was no time like the present to start running a little interference.

  He was still smirking with self-satisfaction when the elevator doors slid open at his designated floor and brought him face to face with his sister.

  ‘What are you grinning like an idiot about?’

  ‘Just the fact that I’m through acting like one.’ Meaghan smiled and nodded. ‘Thanks for pointing that out. I’d hate to hurt your feelings by not noticing it.’

  Stepping back and rising onto her toes to kiss his cheek, she let the elevator leave without her. ‘I also hate to ruin your obvious good mood by telling you this...but you’re too early. The meeting isn’t scheduled for another hour.’

  ‘No problem,’ he replied easily. ‘I’m here to take Jo to lunch.’

  ‘Oh? Then in that case I’m afraid you do have a problem.’

  Brett fought to keep his voice even. ‘Meaghan...look, you’re my sister and I love you dearly, but I am not going to make a martyr of myself for your noble causes, regardless of how well-intentioned your motives may be.’

  ‘Okay,’ she conceded with a breezy shrug. ‘But you’re still not going to be having lunch with Joanna... She’s left for the day.’

  ‘Left! When? How long ago?’

  ‘Brett...this might come as a surprise to you, but I’m too busy to stand at the front door and keep a log of when my staff come and go. Since she asked to leave at twelve-thirty, I assume that’s when she left.’

  Brett glanced at his watch. Damn! He’d missed her by thirteen minutes. Then again... ‘Catch you later, Meaghan!’ he said. ‘If I don’t make the meeting...have it without me!’

  ‘If—Brett!’ she yelled as he hurried down the corridor. ‘You better make the meeting; I need you there!’

  ‘Rubbish! In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been running this place solo for four years. You’ll handle it on your ear,’ he assured her, knowing his presence at the previous meetings had been superfluous. Giving her a thumbs-up sign, he turned and darted in the direction of the reception area at a fast jog. Fortunately, aided by his leather-soled shoes and the tiled lobby, a radical shift of his weight was all that was necessary to avoid colliding with two slow-moving models and have him literally skating into the reception desk. The thud of his hands acting as brakes on the timber gained him the instant attention of the two people sitting behind it.

  ‘Brett!’ Elation burst through him at the sight of Jo’s startled and startling face. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Not now I’ve found you.’ He grinned at her wide-eyed reaction to his deliberately silky tone. ‘I came to take you out for a slap-up Chinese lunch.’

  ‘Half her luck,’ the girl next to her purred, her pouty smile lost on Brett.

  ‘Oh...well, thanks...’ Faint pink tinged Jo’s cheeks.

  ‘That’s very nice of you, Brett. But I’m using some of my accrued flexi-time and taking the afternoon off. I was planning on just grabbing a hamburger and doing shopping.’

  He shrugged. ‘Okay, I’m easy. A hamburger and shopping is cool with me. You about ready to leave?’

  She blinked. ‘Er, well...yes, but... Don’t you have a meeting scheduled?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘So what are we shopping for after burgers?’ he asked five minutes later as he guided her out of the building and across the road to a fast food shop.

  ‘Well, first I want to stop by the bank and pick up my credit card.’ She grinned. ‘They rang this morning saying my application had been approved.’

  Brett grimaced theatrically. ‘Ahh. And like all women you’re so eager to give it some exercise you’re going to spend the afternoon buying stuff that in all likelihood you don’t need.’

  ‘No, I’m going to buy stuff I do need, but didn’t know I needed until you told me.’ She laughed, undoubtedly at the baffled expression Brett knew he had to be wearing. ‘Clothes, Brett... I’m buying some “understated” clothes, that aren’t black.”

  Partly from the guilt he felt for being indirectly responsible for Joanna going into possible debt splashing out on new clothes, but mostly because he wanted to impress her, Brett insisted he knew just the place for her to shop.

  As they drove through the congested traffic of the once blue-collar, now fashionably upmarket suburb of Rozelle into the neighbouring and even more trendy area of Balmain, he could feel Joanna watching him with such scorching intensity he felt as if he was on fire. No, more likely it was his own desire burning away at him, he decided later, when it managed to destroy his concentration to the point where he almost missed his turn. Making it late, he found the nose of the car mere metres from two jaywalking, grunge era leftovers who were either blind or had a death wish. Jumping hard on the brakes, he brought the car to a timely, but body-jarring halt.

  Blowing out a relieved breath, he turned to Jo. ‘Sorry about that.’

  She started, as if not expecting to see him in the driver’s seat. ‘Uh...about what?’

  ‘Never mind,’ he said, amused by her vagueness. ‘Mentally calculating exactly how you’re going to dent the plastic, huh?’

  ‘Calculating what?’ Her confusion was so gorgeous he couldn’t decide whether it would be a good or bad thing were she ever to be totally d
emystified by slang.

  ‘How you’re going to spend your money,’ he amended, cruising the street slowly and scanning for a parking spot. Bingo!

  ‘Oh, I see. No, I wasn’t doing that. Well, in a way I was,’ she corrected herself. ‘I was wondering if it hurt much when you got your ear pierced.’

  ‘Why? Thinking of having yours done?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve already decided I’m definitely getting that done today,’ she told him. ‘But I’m still uncertain about getting my navel done.’

  The thump that shook his body could have been his heart, but since even when shocked it didn’t normally sound like crushing metal Brett had a horrible feeling he’d just had the first prang of his driving career. The ashen face of his passenger pretty much confirmed it.

  ‘Joanna...are you all right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you all right?’

  ‘Never mind me,’ he told her, gently taking her chin. ‘How’s your neck?’

  ‘Brett!’ She jerked her head away. ‘My neck’s fine. Okay? You were only reverse parking. You barely nudged it.’

  He knew she was right, but it didn’t dull his irritation any. Did she have to react so negatively every time he touched her? How was it she could be willing to let him rub oil over her back, when she was practically naked from the waist up, but every other time he touched her she acted as if he had bubonic plague!

  Sighing, he got out of the car and walked fatalistically to the rear of it.

  Unlike Meaghan, for seventeen years he’d had a flawless driving history. Now, within a four-hundred-metre distance he’d narrowly missed wiping out two pedestrians and managed to dent his mother’s car. While he wasn’t going to cast blame on anyone but himself, the woman in the passenger seat had definitely been a contributing factor to both incidents. The health department should slap a sticker on her stating: Warning! This woman can affect your mental and physical reactions—do not drive, or operate heavy or dangerous machinery while in her presence.

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t look too serious at all,’ Jo said with cheerful relief when she joined him at the rear of the car.

  ‘I doubt the panelbeater’s invoice will reflect that assessment,’ he muttered.

  Physically his mother’s car had come out the worst of it, but the ‘victim’, a black, customised Mercedes Sports with a paint job that looked as if gold plating would’ve come cheaper, was going to run to a nice hefty sum and wouldn’t please the insurance company. He bent to inspect the extent of the damage underneath and noted the registration plate. The very distinctive car had equally distinctive vanity plates: Carlo 7.

  ‘Brett!’

  He straightened at the panic in Jo’s voice and immediately sighted the source. A very large, very excited Italian was running towards him, waving his arms and shouting, ‘Mamma mia! I cannota believe this!’

  Before Brett could do or say anything, he was seized by the rotund middle-aged man.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CARLO BIORDI had been nicknamed ‘The Italian Bear’ by a very young Meaghan because of his overpowering welcoming embraces and his equally bear-like bulk. Nothing had changed, and Brett was once again subjected to fervent hugs and air kisses, punctuated with chants of, ‘Ah, my young Brett! It’s a binna too, too long! Mucha, mucha too long!’

  As his father’s old friend patted him on the back with close to violent enthusiasm, Joanna stood back looking more than a little bewildered. No doubt she’d been anticipating the owner of the car attacking him with anger, not unchecked joy. Brett winked at her over Carlo’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay. I think I’ve met him once before.’

  When Carlo finally wound down, he stepped back and made a thorough head-to-toe inspection of Brett. ‘Si, you are Mac’s son!’ he stated approvingly.

  ‘Mum’ll be glad to know you verified that for her.’

  Carlo chuckled. ‘She’s in Europe, no?’

  ‘She is, if it’s August.’

  ‘And her health; she’s well?’

  ‘Fighting fit. Still trying to foist her business onto Meaghan or me, of course, but so far we’ve been able to palm her off. With luck she’ll start directing her efforts towards Karessa real soon.’

  ‘Ah, the bambina! She’s getting big, no?’

  Brett nodded. ‘Fourteen last birthday.’

  ‘Mamma mia! The years go too quick. Too quick!’ he insisted. After a moment of pensive head-shaking, he said, ‘So tella me this, Brett, why after four years have you come to wrecka my beautiful car, uh?’

  Brett smiled sheepishly. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Carlo. I got distracted for a second and... Well, I think the damage is severe enough that the insurance companies might want a police report. I’ll give them a call now.’

  ‘Pah! Forget the police! We deal with this bit of nothing later! But now we talk! Be sociable! Come inside.’

  ‘Well, actually, Carlo, I’m here for business purposes—’

  The old man’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Atta last! Ah, Mac and the angels musta be celebrating witha the Chianti!’

  Brett raised a silencing hand. ‘Don’t get too excited, Carlo. My foray into the fashion industry is extremely short-term. And I’m afraid on the most minuscule scale. I’ve merely brought you a potential new client.’

  He gently turned the man in Joanna’s direction.

  ‘Carlo, I’d like you to meet Joanna Ford; Joanna, Carlo Biordi—fashion designer extraordinaire and my late father’s closest and dearest friend...and, as you’ve just witnessed, forgiving to a fault when someone creams his latest luxury toy.’

  They spent over three hours with Carlo, and Brett enjoyed every minute of it. Once Joanna had ceased insisting she couldn’t afford anything but off-the-rack clothes, she’d given in to Carlo’s demands that she tell him the sort of clothes she wanted. Carlo, of course, had very firm opinions on how ‘such fragile beauty shoulda be presented.’ But in no time he and Joanna were engaged in an animated and excited exchange of ideas. Not since his father died had Brett sat and watched anyone sketch the most detailed of creations from nothing but the vaguest description.

  Bar a few occasions when he was required to translate some of the designer’s Italian-English for Jo, Brett’s presence was virtually redundant. When they eventually left it was with promises from Carlo that he would start making the patterns immediately and would call Joanna soon.

  The next stop Jo wanted to make was at a jewellery store to have her ears pierced. Fortunately, a large sign stated the staff did not pierce any other parts of the anatomy. They left the store with her grinning like a kid at Christmas and insisting that despite her winces and watery eyes at the time, the stud gun hadn’t hurt a bit!

  Finally she had him stop at a patisserie so she could purchase an extremely decadent chocolate and coffee confection to take to her party. For Brett it was a signal that the hours he’d enjoyed basking in her bubbly laughter and chatter were drawing to an end, and for most of the trip home he felt wired and edgy.

  By the time they reached home, he’d decided sitting around while she got ready for a date with another man was too masochistic to endure, and he headed straight for the surf. But nature wasn’t feeling any empathy for him and he returned to the house after less than an hour when a late afternoon wind shift made conditions more frustrating than challenging.

  He was about to walk into the laundry to shed his wetsuit when mutterings in the kitchen had him detouring to find Jo seated at the table rummaging through the open first aid kit.

  ‘Joanna...’

  She turned, and the sight of her tearstained face had him negating the distance between them without his feet touching the floor, his heart pressing against his teeth.

  ‘Honey, what happened? Where are you hurt?’ he asked, scanning for blood as he crouched next to her chair. ‘Should I get a doctor?’

  ‘I don’t need a doctor.’ Her forehead creased with annoyance. �
�I’m not hurt. Just useless.’ She hooked her hair behind her right ear and turned her head so he could inspect it.

  He hissed at the inflamed lobe. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I took the stud out, so—’

  ‘Why the devil did you do that?’

  ‘Because,’ she said testily, ‘I wanted to wear the gypsy hoops I bought.’

  ‘Jo,’ he said, ‘the saleswoman told you the studs had to stay in at least four weeks.’

  ‘No, she didn’t. She said I had to keep earrings in continually for four weeks. She didn’t specify it had to be these.’ She dropped the offending item on the table and began reading the instructions on a tube of antiseptic cream.

  ‘This sounds like it might help,’ she mused aloud, but Brett didn’t respond.

  Now that he knew she wasn’t in any danger of bleeding to death or passing out, it was impossible to ignore the fact that this self-induced calamity had befallen her between showering and selecting what she would wear. Her unsecured robe hung open and over the sides of her chair, drawing attention to rather than concealing the white camisole and matching pair of high-cut French knickers she wore beneath it

  Her blood might not have been flowing unchecked, but right now Brett’s was heating so fast his wetsuit was probably about to melt onto his skin.

  ‘I wish now I had had my navel pierced.’

  The grumbled words lured his eyes to her belly and the deep dimple peeking out between the hem of her camisole and the vee front of her panties. The image of a stone the same colour as her eyes somehow affixed there made Brett’s knees almost buckle, but the thought of that perfect milky skin being marred by a needle was enough to banish the idea.

  ‘I think...’ He stopped to clear the desire from his throat. ‘I think the chances of getting an infection in your navel might be higher than getting one in your ear.’