Christmas Project, The

by Morrey, Maxine

  After his comment about one-night stands earlier, I was a little surprised that Michael had suddenly seemed to have turned a little shy. Frankly, I’d half expected that to be the first room he’d shown me, maybe hoping for another reaction. But the truth was, I’d seen all sorts in my time and there was little that could surprise me now. I opened my mouth to reassure him but he took off up the stairs before I could say anything. Quickly, I followed. He opened the door and stepped in.

  ‘Master bedroom, en suite, dressing room.’ His voice was uncharacteristically flat.

  I looked around the room before turning back to Michael. Unexpectedly, not to mention, annoyingly, he had indeed surprised me. Whilst everywhere else in the house was full of stuff, his bedroom – the one place where it should feel the most personal – felt the least. It was almost like a hotel room but with less soul. The room itself, like the others, was beautiful. In fact, it was even more so with its double-aspect windows, high ceilings and finished wood floor. It could be the perfect bedroom. My new client might be annoying, bristly, arrogant and rude but there was one thing he clearly wasn’t short of, and that was personality – however desirable or undesirable its aspects. And yet this room had none. There was no sense of him at all. Of anything really. It was sparsely furnished and had none of the junk that the other rooms had acquired.

  Evidently the surprise showed on my face.

  ‘It seems unlike you to have nothing to say Kate.’

  I turned quickly, trying to regain my mental footing.

  ‘I was…it’s just that…’

  Michael raised an eyebrow at me, but remained silent, making no attempt to help me out.

  I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair unnecessarily. ‘Do you actually use this room?’ I asked, making a couple of notes.

  ‘I do.’

  That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I just couldn’t picture this man in such a bland space. Everywhere else in this house showed aspects of who he was: his work, his motorbike, the food he liked – mostly because it was all on display. But here there was nothing. Not an inkling of the person who spent his nights there. And then it dawned on me. Maybe that was precisely the aim.

  ‘OK. You seem to have managed to maintain this one a little better, so that’s helpful.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’

  I crossed the room and opened the door to the walk in wardrobe, peering in. Much of it was empty and I had to fight the urge to fling myself down and weep for the space he had for clothes – a space that was only a little smaller than my entire flat.

  ‘Are you all right?’ The deep voice almost sounded concerned.

  ‘Hmm? Oh, yes! Absolutely. This really is a beautiful room.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He turned to leave, clearly feeling that I’d got all I needed. As I followed, I gave it another look. It could be so much more for him. I wasn’t a professional decorator but I loved the subject as a hobby and so it was easy for me to see how this could be transformed into a real oasis of calm for him. Somewhere he could escape the day, the stresses of work – assuming that all electronic devices were banned from the bedroom – as they should be.

  ‘You know, you could really make that into a gorgeous space for you to – ’

  ‘I wasn’t aware you were here to comment on my decoration tastes,’ he snapped, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.

  ‘No, of course not. I just…’ I met his eyes and saw there was no argument to be made. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, attempting pacification with a smile. ‘It’s just that it’s an interest of mine and it’s hard not to get carried away in a beautiful house like this.’

  ‘Perhaps you could try a little harder.’

  I swallowed and gave him a tighter smile. ‘Of course.’

  He nodded sharply. ‘Thank you,’ he said, before standing aside and motioning for me to precede him down the stairs, apparently ensuring that I couldn’t scoot off and peek at his bedroom again. A desire I currently neither had, nor ever planned to have.

  ‘So, what’s the verdict?’ He indicated the notes I’d made as he’d shown me around the house and the few answers to questions regarding the process that I’d managed to pry out of him.

  ‘All fine. I’ll make up a plan of attack and email you a copy so that you know exactly what we’re trying to achieve.’

  ‘You reckon you can transform this place into an oasis of serenity then?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  I ignored the sarcasm. ‘Of course. Janey’s been a very good friend to me and I want to help her. If doing this with you makes her happy, then as you said earlier, we’ll get it done.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘The process always works best when several hours can be allocated to it together, rather than little bits here and there. So I would need to try and schedule some blocks of time that work for both of us. Perhaps tomorrow you could look at your diary and see what you have available and let me know? Once I know that, I’ll do my best to work around it for you.’

  ‘How long does the whole process generally take?’

  ‘That really depends on the size of the place, how invested the owner is, what time they can give over to it, etc. Some people have a lot more stuff than others, some struggle more on what to discard, and so on. There’s no set time. Every house is different because every client is different. Obviously we have a tighter timescale than I usually work to, bearing in mind you want this done for Christmas.

  ‘But can you do it?’

  ‘I’m fairly confident of it, yes. Of course, it depends on how much time you can put aside and how well things work. I will do my absolute best but I don’t want to mislead you. You have to realise that trying to organise a house of this size with this amount of–’

  ‘Crap?’

  ‘I was going to say “accumulated items”– ready for guests in just over a month will be quite a challenging target.’ I dropped my file back into my bag.

  ‘I’ll pay you double.’

  I looked up, surprised.

  ‘I don’t work like that Mr O’Farrell. That would be unfair and, to me at least, incredibly unethical. I don’t categorise my clients by who can pay me the most!’

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that you did. I apologise.’

  Oh. So he did actually understand the concept of apologising then? That was a start.

  ‘I just…Look, I really need you to help me with this, in that timescale. I realise it’s difficult and I will do my utmost to obey whatever you say and get it done.’

  ‘It’s not about obeying me – ’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ He cut in, his lips hinting at a smile.

  I pointedly ignored the remark.

  ‘It’s about putting in the effort and believing in what you’re doing.’

  ‘OK. Look. I get it. I can see the point of all this.’ He waved his hand, encompassing me in the gesture. ‘I have a cleaner in once a week but I’m fully aware I’m not that great at housekeeping, so to speak. I sort of lost my way a bit when…’

  I waited. The hardness in his face faded. It was still all sharp planes and glass cutting cheekbones but as his expression softened, he suddenly seemed more approachable, and less …well, less of an arse. He looked back from where he’d been staring at the darkened kitchen window and saw me watching him. Immediately the hardness in his face returned.

  ‘Carry on,’ I prompted softly, trying to rescue the moment. If I could understand him a little more, it would help my job enormously. Organising a home was incredibly personal, which is why the owner had to be involved. But if I could understand that owner, what was important to them, what had happened to them in their lives, it made the whole process so much easier.

  ‘Nothing. I just need to get this done for Christmas. It’s my turn to host the family and if someone else gets stuck doing it because I didn’t pull my finger out, then that’s not fair and I wouldn’t feel right even attending. But I’ve already missed far too many. So it’s not an option. I do understand tha
t you have plenty of clients vying for your time, so if you can’t do it then I’ll just get someone else in. I’m sure there are plenty of people who do this kind of thing.’

  On second thought, I wasn’t sure anything could make Michael O’Farrell less of an arse. It was clear that was just his demeanour’s natural setting.

  ‘Yes. There are. I am, however, one of the best. I did you a favour coming tonight, and waiting until you eventually turned up. I’ve spent my entire evening here and am now aware of exactly what needs doing, all of which time will have been entirely wasted should you turn to someone else. And that, frankly, would be incredibly frustrating. I am prepared to take you on as a client of Stone Organisation, and reschedule others whose needs aren’t quite so pressing in order to accommodate you, in order to please Janey. However, it is of course your prerogative to employ whomever you wish. In the circumstances, I would ask that you let me know by ten o’clock tomorrow morning so that we both know where we stand.’

  I finished my spiel and turned away, quickly retrieving my coat from one of the overstuffed hooks that lined the wall of the hall.

  ‘I want you.’

  I turned, pausing in the belting of my coat.

  ‘Pardon?’ I squeaked.

  ‘I want you.’ He’d descended the stairs too and was now leaning against the banister, his green eyes fixed on me. ‘I don’t want to employ anyone else to do this. Janey recommends Stone Organisation, so that’s who I want. I know that I’m difficult and impatient and impossible to deal with – God knows I’ve been told it enough times over the past few years. I’m also aware that I’ve given you a hard time this evening and you’ve taken it all in your stride and pushed back when you needed to. I need someone prepared to do that. Otherwise I’ll take the piss and never get anything done and it really will be a waste of time.’

  I looked away and concentrated on wrapping my scarf around my neck, taking a moment to gather myself. Even though he was far too annoying to fancy, Michael’s soft Irish, deep gravelly tones saying ‘I want you’, completely out of the blue, was enough to throw any girl off her stride for a moment or two. No matter the context. Recovered, I turned back to face him.

  ‘All right. Good. Here’s my card.’ He closed the distance between us and I handed him a pale Tiffany blue business card. ‘Work out when you can set aside some time and email me. I’ll look at my diary and then give you a call to plan the first session.’

  ‘I’m assuming you don’t work weekends?’ he said, studying the card.

  ‘I try not to, but obviously it’s very difficult with the type of work I do, so it’s all dependent on the client.’

  ‘Right. Guess I blew that already then.’

  ‘Yes, you did rather. But lucky for you, I adore Janey so, if weekends are all you can do, then that’s what will happen.’

  He gave a small smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll do my best to clear some space in the week so that I don’t take up too many of your weekends. I’m sure your boyfriend probably likes to see you as much as possible.’

  I retrieved the leather gloves from my pocket and started pulling them on. ‘He’s aware my work hours can be a little erratic. Besides, he travels a lot and is often away over weekends too so it’s not such a big deal.’

  Michael looked at me again, studying me, his eyes almost hypnotic in their concentration.

  ‘What is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He flicked the card. ‘I’ll email you tomorrow.’

  I nodded. ‘Great. Goodnight then.’

  ‘Night.’

  He leant over to open the door and glanced up and down the street. The snow was still falling but a little less heavily than it had been earlier.

  ‘Where did you park?’

  ‘I didn’t. I got the Tube. Speak to you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Wait. I’ll walk you to the station.’

  ‘No. It’s not far. But thank you.’

  ‘Janey would want me to.’

  I gave him a patient look.

  ‘Look, just wait while I find my shoes. I know the other one is here somewhere…’ He began hunting around the ‘accumulated items’ in the hall for his other trainer.

  I shook my head. ‘Looks like you could do with a bit of organisation,’ I quipped. Stepping past him, I opened my umbrella, heading off quickly before he could get himself organised enough to come with me. The Tube station was only a few minutes of quick walking away and the area was well to do and well lit. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done a hundred times before and I certainly didn’t need chaperoning by Michael O’Farrell just because his sister would have wanted him to. I soon reached the bright, fluorescent lights of the Tube station and headed into its underworld to catch my train.

  Chapter Three

  The following morning when I opened my emails, I was a little surprised to find one from my newest client, detailing a whole bunch of times he could free up in order to get his home organised. The brief, impersonal note advised that if I was able to work something out within my schedule to those times, he would appreciate it. If not, then could I let him know and he would take another look at his own diary and see what he could do. Perhaps he did actually mean to take this seriously after all, now that Janey had applied the thumbscrews.

  I opened my calendar and took a look. I could probably manage it, but it was going to mean some serious juggling. The fact that I wished to spend as little time as possible with him wasn’t helping matters.

  ‘How did your appointment go with your friend’s brother last night?’ Bernice trotted in, her face all smiley and open. It was kind of infectious. I’d hired her as an assistant two years ago but she’d been keen to get into the actual business of organisation, so I’d agreed to train her. She’d now been a fully-fledged organiser for the past year and was loving it.

  ‘Ah. Yes. That.’ I pulled a face. ‘Oh thanks! Perfect!’ I said, taking the huge mug of hot chocolate she’d just made.

  Bernice took a sip of her own from a similarly enormous mug and I waited until her face came back into view before continuing.

  ‘Let’s just say he and his sister are quite different.’

  ‘But you’re still planning to take him on?’

  ‘Of course. I promised I would. But I think it’s safe to say it’s not going to be one of my most fun assignments.’

  ‘Difficult?’

  ‘The house isn’t anything worse than I’ve seen before. But Mr O’Farrell himself is…quite something.’

  ‘Sleaze?’

  ‘No! Not at all. Nothing like that. Well, he made no secret of the fact he’s a one-night stand kind of guy, but that’s up to him. But no, he didn’t make me feel uncomfortable like that.’

  ‘So, what is it? Normally you’re fizzing with excitement when you’re about to start with a new client. And today you’re definitely more flat than fizz.’

  ‘He’s just…’

  ‘Oooh, is he gorgeous and you don’t want to get caught in an awkward situation? I know you have this big thing about not mixing business and pleasure.’ Bernice’s big brown eyes widened as her mind went off into areas unknown.

  ‘No. It’s not that either. Although he is gorgeous, which he clearly knows. The only thing I’m worried about is that I might actually kill him and have him buried under the patio of his newly organised home.’

  ‘Oh wow. That bad?’

  ‘That bad. Think big Irish Grinch on a motorbike and you’re pretty much there.’

  ‘Actually sounds kind of yummy. Apart from the Grinch bit, obviously. So when do you start?’ Bernice asked, getting up and wandering over to gaze out of the window at the rain that was now slamming against it.

  I let out a sigh and peered again at my calendar, comparing it to the dates that Michael had sent over early this morning.

  ‘I’m not sure. Trying to find a time when we’re both free is beginning to look like more of an issue than I thought it was going to be. I think I’m going to end up having to see if he
can do weekends by the looks of things.’

  ‘Does he specifically want to work with you?’ Bernice asked, coming away from the window to perch on my desk.

  ‘No, he just said that he wanted Stone Organisation rather than anyone else as his sister had recommended us.’ I distractedly flicked over the days of my calendar again, blindly hoping that when I looked at it this time there would magically be some space. I really didn’t want to have to go back to Michael and ask for different dates. I just wanted to get this all done and over with.

  ‘Bring my calendar up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get mine up.’ Bernice leaned over and took the mouse from me, making a couple of clicks until her own schedule displayed on my screen in another window. ‘Now, when’s he free?’

  I pulled the email I’d printed off towards me and glanced between the two. Bernice had a space tomorrow that would fit in with Michael.

  ‘There you go. Problem solved.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘What is it?’

  I looked up at her. ‘I feel like I’m fobbing him off on you! I’ve just told you he’s a right royal pain and now I’m dumping him on you.’ For all my thoughts last night about pushing O’Farrell to Bernice, I’d never really intended to lumber her.

  ‘Do you really want to deal with him?’

  ‘Oh God, no!’

  Bernice laughed.

  ‘Sorry. That was a bit too emphatic, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s all right. I don’t mind dealing with him. It’s only a short-term thing anyway, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It needs to be done by Christmas so we’ll be shot of him then.’

  ‘It’s settled then. Do you want me to contact him?’

  ‘No. I told him I’d call. I’ll give him a ring now and advise him he’s booked in for twelve tomorrow.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ Bernice teased. ‘I’m totally intrigued now.’

  ‘I still feel bad.’

  ‘Don’t. I volunteered and you can’t change your morning appointment tomorrow. That’s your final one with Mrs Clarke. She’d be devastated to not finish up with you.’