‘So, what’s the emergency?’ Stella’s red lipstick was still beautifully intact, the colour on her fingernails a perfect match. If Julia didn’t like her so much, she would definitely have to hate her.
Julia spread her arms wide. ‘Take a look around. Can’t you tell? I need style advice.’
Stella took in the room. ‘Yes, you do. So you’re selling up then?’
Julia nodded and dared herself not to cry about it. No, she would be strong. She’d made her decision and now had to get moving. She straightened her back, lifted her chin. ‘I’m going home to Melbourne. I’m selling.’
Stella tapped a forefinger on her chin. ‘And, of course, you want it looking gorgeous so someone with huge pockets will empty them directly into your bank account, right?’
Julia gulped away the tiny taste of doubt in her mouth. Stella was right. Who else would have the money to buy the place? Did it hurt, knowing that the kind of people who turned their noses up at her when she was a teenager would be buying her mother’s house? Of course it did. It burned. But this was no time to be sentimental. She was saying goodbye to Middle Point for good.
‘I just want a fair price for it,’ she said.
Stella threw an arm around Julia’s shoulder. ‘Of course you do. And lucky for you, there’s nothing I like better than giving style advice.’ She propped her stylish sunglasses on her head without interrupting the gleaming fall of her bob.
‘I have some coffee brewing,’ Julia said. ‘Can I tempt you?’
‘I’d love one. Styling is thirsty work, you know.’
Julia motioned for Stella to follow her to the kitchen table. A French press sat full of freshly brewed coffee and Julia filled two mission-brown ceramic mugs.
‘Black, no sugar?’
‘Oh, you remembered!’ Stella smiled warmly. ‘I’m touched.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down, draping one leg over the other in an elegant pose.
Julia sat opposite her, and propped her chin in her hand, an elbow on the table.
‘I still can’t believe this is you, Stella. How did this transformation happen?’
Stella sipped her coffee and placed the mug back on the table. ‘You weren’t the only one who wanted to get out of this hick town and see the world. A few months after you drove off to Melbourne, I flew to Sydney. Studied fashion, saw some great bands and made some terrible choices in men. Owned a boutique for a while. Lost everything. Got my heart broken. Came home.’
Julia clapped a hand to her cheek. ‘Oh God, there’s a story.’
Stella shrugged her shoulders. ‘You’re not kidding.’
‘So after Sydney went pear-shaped, you came back here?’
‘As much as I tried, the Harbour city never felt like home to me. When I hit thirty I woke up one day and felt absolutely exhausted and realised I needed to come home. You know what they say. You can take the girl out of Middle Point …’
‘But you can’t take the Middle Point out of the girl.’ They finished the sentence together and laughed.
‘Now I have a successful little shop in Port Elliot, full of beautiful things, and it makes me happy. And as luck would have it, I’m making a very nice living, thank you very much, from all the weekenders who simply love my stock.’ Stella lifted her mug and clinked it against Julia’s. ‘And I love them when they whip out their credit cards, which they do on a regular basis.’
‘The weekenders,’ Julia mumbled. Did the whole south coast have to revolve around them?
‘They’re good for my business and a whole lot of other people’s too. Without them, I think I’d be back at the general store. If they’d have me.’
Julia laughed at the idea, at her memories of working there with Stella. Surprisingly, they were happy ones for a change. ‘And so we’re both back here. Right where we started.’
Stella raised her eyebrows. ‘Not exactly. Lizzie told me about your job. Sounds incredible. Important enough to drag you right back to Melbourne.’
‘It’s a great job with a fantastic firm. I love what I do. And I’m on a tight timeframe. That’s why I would love your style advice, Stella. If this house is going to sell in a constricted market in the middle of winter, it has to have that something. That funky something. What should I do to the place to make sure someone buys it?’
Stella stood, pushed in her chair. Her leather boots clip-clopped on the floor as she stepped distractedly into the space. She looked as if she was making mental notes.
‘Well?’ Julia asked.
‘Mmm.’
‘What do you think? What should I do?’
‘You could do a retro vintage look with some of this stuff. I adore the orange vinyl sofa and if we dress it with some throw cushions, it’ll look fab.’
Julia nodded.
‘Don’t even think about donating those curtains. Straight to the bin. The dining chairs?’ Stella knelt down to take a closer look. ‘The chrome on the legs is flaky and the dining table is chipped. I’d say they should be donated.
‘Mum would be so proud,’ Julia mumbled. ‘What else?’
‘The record player is gold. Every holiday home should have one. It has to stay. Those chipboard bookshelves? Be gone. And the books too. The whole place needs painting, a soft white, perhaps with a blue undertone. And when you’re done I’ll drop by with some things from the shop so you can brighten up the walls. Sound like a plan?’
Julia threw her arms around her friend for a fierce hug. ‘Thank you so much.’
Stella hugged her back. ‘Let’s just get one thing absolutely clear. I do advice. I don’t do painting. Okay?’
Deal.’
As soon as Stella had driven off back to Port Elliot, Julia had hit the local hardware store and stocked up on supplies. Two hours later, the boxes at her feet were filled with scrapers and brushes, paint rollers and plastic drop sheets. There was sugar soap to wash down all the walls and surfaces in the house. A shiny new lightweight aluminium ladder leaned against a living room wall, and tins of paint in neutral colours were arranged in a neat pattern on the floor.
As Julia changed into a pair of old jeans and a patchwork appliqué windcheater of her mother’s, she went over Stella’s style advice, creating an inventory in her head of all the furniture she would keep and what had to be hauled down to the dump or donated. There was a lot of work to do, so Julia slipped the buds of her MP3 player into her ears and let the familiar beat of her favourite music get inside her head and take over.
She spent the next few hours moving and storing all the smaller items, taking down the swirly orange patterned curtains from their dusty rods and bagging them for dumping, stacking the ancient paperbacks into boxes, rolling the rugs and dragging them into the hallway. She’d been slightly distracted by delving into some of her favourite old books, the obligatory old romance novels, 1970s crockpot cookbooks and her childhood favourite, Where the Wild Things Are. That was definitely going back to Melbourne with her and she was careful to stash it in her suitcase so it didn’t get mixed up in the donation pile.
By late afternoon, the light was diminishing and Julia knew it wouldn’t be long before it slipped beyond the distant waves of the Southern Ocean, so she flicked on all the lights to wring some more hours out of the day. The sudsy mix of sugar-soap and water was in a bucket at her feet and a new mop served as a giant squeegee. Pressing it up and down the walls was the best upper-arm workout she’d ever had.
And that’s how Ry found her as darkness hit.
Walking home along the esplanade from the pub, most of the houses he passed were in darkness, their weekend owners back in the city during the week. But Julia’s little place stood out in the distance, lit up like a Christmas tree. The sensible thing would have been to keep on walking. He’d passed on his condolences and his business with her was done.
But he wasn’t thinking with his head. A smile tugged at his lips and a warmth hit his belly when he saw her through the front windows. Julia was mopping the walls in the living room and shakin
g her booty at the same time. How did she do that? Even in baggy jeans and that loose-fitting quilt thing she was wearing, she looked hot, especially with that booty-shaking thing going on. She had a great arse, round and firm with just the right amount of jiggle, he decided. She’d been kind of skinny when she was younger, but not anymore. Luscious. There was no other word for her. She looked like a woman should look; curves and softness and long, long legs.
Stepping from side to side, Julia wiggled her hips in a silent rhythm, leaning forward and then back and shaking her breasts at an imaginary audience. As if that wasn’t already a turn on, her next move had him sweating and straining for control.
Dunking the mop into the bucket with a splash, she planted it there. Her fingers curled around the handle firmly and then she began the best pole dancing moves he’d ever seen. Eyes closed, she tossed her hair wantonly from side to side, her thighs inching closer and closer to the wooden handle until she clamped tight around it. She threw one arm out and arched her back, leaning backwards, her breasts thrusting to the ceiling, her hair dangling down her back in curly waves.
He couldn’t move.
Until she screamed.
He jumped and the string of swear words that followed had him grinning. That mouth would have done a wharfie proud. With a clatter, Julia dropped the mop to the floor and snatched the buds out of her ears.
‘Shit Ry! What the hell are you doing here?’
Cheeks flushed and eyes wide, she glared at Ry. A small part of him hoped the blushing was all about seeing him again, rather than from the damn sexy floorshow.
‘Saw your light on, thought I’d drop in. Friendly neighbourhood tip. You might want to lock the front door next time.’
‘No one locks their doors down here. Except you weekenders.’ Julia planted her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes. ‘Shit, Ry, you scared me half to death.’
‘Sorry,’ he grinned, not sorry in the slightest.
‘Tell me … exactly how long have you been standing there?’
Ry leaned on the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘For the whole floorshow. And judging by those moves, I’d say you’re listening to either Beyonce or Lady Gaga.’
She tried to look fierce. She looked anything but. She was delicious and sexy and damn it if he didn’t want to see more of the floorshow. Except with her naked. She was driving him crazy.
She watched him for a moment, then cocked her head to the side. ‘If you were a true gentleman, you’d be throwing money at me.’
He took a long, slow look up and down her body.
‘If I were a true gentleman I wouldn’t be throwing it. I’d be slipping it inside your G-string.’
Julia turned to pick up the mop, pushing curly tendrils of hair from her face. She’d always fought with her hair, he remembered, and had another sudden flash of déjà vu. He’d seen her like that before, her face flushed, her hair untamed. Her body wild and uninhibited. He swallowed and realised he’d have to take the conversation down a notch or he’d be about to make a bloody fool of himself.
He checked out the room, trying to give himself time to think about something else. And that’s when it hit him. The dirty dancing renovation show meant one thing. She’d put her emotions aside and gone with the cold, hard business decision after all.
‘So, you’ve made your decision.’
Julia nodded.
‘You’re selling.’
‘Yes.’ Julia swiped her hands on the front of her jeans.
And he wondered, if she was so sure about it, why she couldn’t look him in the eye to confirm it.
‘So you’re doing it all yourself, judging by all this stuff?’
‘Mostly. Someone’s coming in next week to do the gutters. Painting I can handle, but don’t let me get near a drill or frankly anything else with a power cord. I become a very dangerous woman, mostly to myself.’
‘Well, if you need help, I’m around for a couple of days before I head up to Adelaide for some meetings. I have a driver’s licence for a drill if you need any … drilling.’
Julia regarded him and bit her lower lip.
‘There’s one thing I do need help with.’ She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.
His hopes were dashed when she pointed to the dining table.
Ten minutes later, it was stored in the third bedroom, and the living space was completely empty. They stood in it, taking a long look at each other. He could see the flush on her face again and she broke the look, concentrating hard on slapping off the dust and grime from her thighs. Then, before he could even think of looking away, she was whipping off her patchwork quilt windcheater. With her arms stretched above her head, tangling with her sleeves, he caught a glimpse of her bare stomach, pale and soft. Jesus. First a floorshow. Now a strip show? He turned back towards the door so she wouldn’t see the straining bulge in his jeans.
‘Well, I’d better go.’
‘Thanks Ry. Next time I need some man muscle I’ll remember to call you.’
He looked over his shoulder and back at her. There was something about her mouth and something in her glistening brown eyes that satisfied his very male ego. Her full and pale lips were slightly parted, as if she was on the verge of saying something but reconsidering. He watched her eyes as her gaze slid from his shoulders to his arse and then slowly back up again to his face. Oh yeah, she was checking him out.
‘Night JJ.’
The next morning Julia could barely move. Last night’s best upper-arm workout in the universe was today’s world of pain. She lay in bed a little longer, savouring the warmth and the ache, remembering last night. God, did she have to look like little orphan Annie every time she ran into Ry? Was she cursed to only ever see him when she was wearing the daggiest clothes imaginable? The jeans she’d been wearing? They were her mother’s high-waisted denims from the eighties. And even if they were back in fashion on the catwalks of Paris, they looked disgusting on a normal person, especially a normal person with hips.
She shuddered at the memory. Coming home had somehow turned her into a total fashion-free zone. What would Stella say? Julia hadn’t been out of Melbourne for more than a few days and her feet had already grown comfortable wearing ugg boots in the house and runners outside of it. She hadn’t felt like putting on a suit or heels, swishing mascara over her eyelashes or blushing her cheeks. The effect would have been totally wasted here anyway.
The real question she couldn’t answer was why it mattered so much what she was wearing when she saw him.
And what about the pole dancing? She pulled the covers over her head. The past year had been tough and, for the first time in months, she’d wanted to let go, have fun and, yes, dance along with all the single ladies. How appropriate that song was for her life. She’d be damned if she was going to be embarrassed by that. Although she hadn’t been expecting an audience, judging by the expression she’d seen on his face, it was an appreciative one.
Despite the stiffness and the freezing cold, Julia finally edged out of bed, speared her feet directly into her ugg boots, reached for her dressing gown and shuffled out to the kitchen to make coffee and Vegemite toast.
Where she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of Ry Blackburn.
He was peering into the front windows, his form a shadow in the pale morning light. Wearing a navy coat and a gray scarf looped around his neck, he looked like he’d just stepped off the front cover of GQ magazine. While she, once again, was in her pyjamas. She blew out her frustration and swung the front door open.
‘What do you want now?’
‘Good morning to you, too. I come bearing fresh bread and coffee.’ Ry nudged past her and strode across the room to place a cardboard box on the kitchen counter. She’d always loved his long-legged stride and took the opportunity to observe him from behind. She found herself observing his behind with immense concentration.
The aroma of the coffee instantly overruled any objection she had to his presence.
&nb
sp; ‘I hope you like a café latte. I took a punt.’
Julia graciously accepted the steaming takeaway cup he handed her. ‘Thank you. It’s my favourite.’
‘As my piano teacher used to say, “Every Good Girl Deserves Coffee”. Or maybe that was something about fruit. I can’t remember.’
Julia sipped the brew and considered it. Okay, it wasn’t Lygon Street but it wasn’t bad at all. It warmed her through and the smell of the bread was tantalising.
‘So, Ry, as much as I appreciate the breakfast, what are you doing here?’
He grinned as he unlooped his scarf and shed his coat, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath. It looked so soft and lived-in that Julia instantly wanted to feel it under her fingertips. It hugged his chest and draped over his stomach. She swallowed hard and tried not to look.
‘Let’s get started,’ he announced.
‘Started with what?’ she asked, still sleep fuzzy and distracted by the sight of him in that T-shirt.
‘The painting. I’m here to help you.’
He was what? Every bone in her body knew this was a bad idea. Hadn’t they resolved to stay as far away from each other as possible? As it was, she’d been struggling to keep her eyes off him and if they spent any more time together, she’d be struggling to keep her hands off him as well. Which probably wouldn’t go down very well with The Princess.
‘Ry,’ she said, trying her damned best to sound casual. ‘Really, it’s not necessary. Don’t you have some properties to develop or some office blocks to build?’
‘I have good people doing that while I’m down here and besides, I think I owe you one.’
He owed her one? ‘Why on earth would you owe me?’
Nobody But Him Page 9