“Sure.”
“Working with me? You know how busy I am,” she rushed on, “and I like the way you took the trouble to do the paint job properly.”
Freya laughed. “Margaret, I would love to!”
“Good. Great.” Margaret collected her keys. “Well in that case, why not start Monday. Say eleven thirty?”
Freya waved until Margaret drove off before going inside. She’d started walking up the hall before she remembered. Bolt the door!
»»•««
On Saturday morning Freya took Lucy along with her to Tanya’s. She wanted something special for the evening ahead.
“So, what will it be?” Tanya asked.
“Well, green has always been my favorite color but I’ve just spotted that pale blue silk dress over there.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it? And with your coloring it will look fab. Try it on,” Lucy urged.
The dress slithered over Freya’s body with a soft swish. The not-too-fitted bodice settled around her breasts seductively, the gored skirt, as she turned, swung against her bare legs, the lace-thin straps showed off her tanned shoulders, and the color was just perfect.
“I’m getting it!” she called.
Dressed, back in the shop, Freya smiled seeing Tanya sitting on the chair, a pair of cream high-heeled sandals on her lap. She grinned at Freya. “The only footwear to go with that dress,” she said.
Freya and Lucy left the shop arms linked, and as they walked around a corner, they almost collided with Rochelle.
“Oh, sorry.” Freya stepped back. “Hi there.”
“Freya. Hi.” Rochelle pushed a lock of hair behind her ears, her cool glance sliding over Lucy. She looked at the bag. “Lucky you shopping at Tanya’s,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good choice. She has divine dresses for special occasions, doesn’t she?”
“Sure does.” Freya said.
Rochelle looked at her levelly. “I bought my Christmas outfit from her last year…for the O’Neill’s party.”
Freya smiled. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, but yes, the festive season will soon be upon us, so I’ll start looking around. Nice seeing you again, Rochelle.” And squeezing Lucy’s arm, she guided her away.
“Hey,” Lucy said, “don’t let her take the spring out of your step, girl!”
“Huh. She is stunning though.”
“Stunning maybe, cold definitely,” Lucy said with conviction.
»»•««
Freya spent the next couple of hours keeping her hands busy pinning and pressing for Lucy as the curtains began to take shape, but she found busy hands are no match for an overactive mind.
What exactly, she wondered, was the relationship between Flynn and Rochelle? From the brief conversation earlier, she felt certain Rochelle knew about the dinner tonight. Had she laughed when Flynn told her about it? “Keeping her sweet till the deal’s signed and sealed?” she imagined her asking him, while leaning over to kiss him.
Freya pricked her finger, sucking it while she thought about this.
“Stop it!” Lucy called over. “I can tell you’re ruminating! Forget her, look forward to tonight.”
Freya laughed and checked her watch. 3:30.
Heavens, another three hours to wait!
“Need me for anything else, Luce?”
“Not right now. I’ll call you if I do.”
With nothing else to occupy her mind, Freya decided to tackle the one job she had put off since arriving at Byron House, that of sorting through Archie’s bedroom. Armed with trash sacks she went upstairs. The room smelled musty, and she swung the windows open. Into the sacks went years of faded medical journals, magazines, newspapers, periodicals, and advertising material.
The drawers in the chest held an incredible amount of clothing—shirts, ties, underwear, still in their cellophane packets, among piles of neatly folded socks, handkerchiefs, and scarves. In the large wardrobe, a dozen or more suits hung still in the dry cleaning bags, alongside sweaters, more shirts, and on the bottom, rows of polished shoes.
Most of it was too good to be thrown away, so Freya laid piles of the best clothing on the bed for the charity shop. Removing the shoes, she spotted an old shoebox tied with string, at the back of the wardrobe beneath a fallen dressing gown, and taking it out, went to sit on the chair by the window. She opened it and gasped softly. It was full of photographs, all of her. The top one showed her smiling into the camera wearing her cap and gown on graduation day, diploma clutched in her hand, and after that, picture after picture took her back through her life to one of her, clearly a newborn, wrapped in a pink blanket. Tears coursed freely down her cheeks because intermittently, among the images, were the envelopes which held short notes her mom had sent with the photos—“Freya at her first birthday party, looks so like you.” “Freya learning to swim, her hair is the same color as yours.” “Freya with her broken arm,” et cetera. And always the notes ended, “Hope you are well and happy.” One thanked Archie for allowing the adoption, and Freya could almost feel his anguish, imagine him holding the pictures as she was doing now. “Poor Archie,” she whispered. The envelopes, she noted, were all addressed to the hospital in New York. Her mom had either never known where he lived or simply been discreet. Placing everything back in the box, the impetus for any more clearing out gone, she wiped her face, blew her nose, and closed his bedroom door with one last look. As soon as possible, I will get someone in to move the furniture. The springs were clearly gone on the bed, the mattress sagging sadly in the middle. It wouldn’t be used again, and the wardrobe and chest had both seen better days.
Taking the box to her own room, she placed it on the bed. Finding the carefully stored photos had made her feel like an unwelcome intruder.
Thoughts of her father and what she’d missed, what could have been, crowded her mind, but it was all water under the bridge now. There was nothing she could do about it except cherish his memory and respect her heritage.
Freya heard Lucy come upstairs and checked her watch. Five forty! Her heart gave an involuntary little jump.
»»•««
Thanks to Al’s excellent plumbing and Sparky’s almost-finished electrical work, she was able to soak in a bath of jasmine-perfumed foam, her thoughts swiveling between the discovered shoebox and Archie, to the coming evening with Flynn.
For a brief moment, Rochelle lurked at the back of her mind and Freya considered calling him to cancel.
What was the point after all?
She rose suddenly, causing a surge of water to almost swell over the bath side.
No, I am going.
She dried off, applied body lotion, and taking the blue dress off the hanger, slid it over her head. It shimmied into place over her curves, making Freya smile. It felt extraordinarily sexy. She had never been aware of herself as a sensual woman before, but she certainly felt that way now.
With the sandals on, she sat before the mirror to apply a thin layer of lipstick and a smear of eye shadow and then brushed her hair until it shone. Finally, a light flick through it with her fingers pulled the waves into soft, large curls.
Hearing the crunch of gravel from his car wheels, her pulse rate quickened.
She collected her shawl and walked out onto the landing. “I’m off, Luce,” she called. “Enjoy the play.”
Lucy’s door opened. “You too. Wow!” she said. “Watch out, Flynn O’Neill!”
Freya laughed and walked downstairs as quickly as the sandals would allow, picked up her purse, and stepped outside. Flynn waited for her, leaning against the side of the car. He’d opened the passenger door.
“Hi,” he said. “You look fantastic.”
Wearing black trousers and a white silk shirt and casual jacket, Freya thought he looked pretty darn good too!
She smiled. “Thank you.”
He waited until she was seated and then closed the door and walked around the front to the driver’s side. Freya watched him. Oh, lordy!
“Mm. Lucy’s been making curtains. I’ve helped a bit. You?”
“Oh, a few hours with the wine estate manager.”
“Wine estate!”
“Yeah. In the Napa. I bought it years ago. We’ve just planted a new Chardonnay which we have high hopes for. I drove over interested to see how it’s doing.”
“I loved the Napa. Lucy and I went. What’s the vineyard called?”
“Montana.”
“Didn’t see that one, though I have to say we didn’t drive the whole length of the valley. But how intriguing, you know, planting a new variety, the wait until it’s harvested and bottled, the tasting.”
Flynn grinned, swinging competently out onto the highway. “It is. I love viticulture with a passion. I’ve been very lucky in that the success of our golf courses has allowed me to indulge in that passion.”
“A man of many talents,” Freya said.
He laughed. “Not quite! Anyway, what about you? I called Mom earlier, she told me she’d badgered you into working with her.”
“Hardly badgered. I think I’ll thoroughly enjoy it.”
“Here we are.” Flynn turned off the road down a short driveway.
Freya looked surprised. “I didn’t see any signs.”
“It’s there, just hard to see.”
“I must need glasses.”
“On the post there’s a little green frog.”
“Ah.” Freya smiled. “Clever. They don’t shout their whereabouts from the rooftops then?”
“When you’ve tasted the food you’ll understand why they have no need to. I hope you’re hungry.” Flynn turned the engine off.
“Famished!” Freya made to open the door.
“One moment,” Flynn said. He got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, and opening hers, held out his hand.
Freya took it and rose to her feet. “Manners maketh the man,” she said with a smile, enjoying the warmth of his hand on her back through the flimsy dress as he guided her into the restaurant.
Looking nothing much from the outside, The Green Frog saved its wow factor for inside. A bank of floor-to-ceiling glass afforded magnificent views over a wide stretch of white, sloping sand leading down to the soft, curling waves of the Pacific Ocean.
“Oh my goodness! It’s beautiful,” Freya said. She turned around, Flynn was watching her.
“Indeed,” he said. “And the frogs I told you about. Up there.”
Freya looked up to the shelf running all the way around the large room, packed with different shapes and sizes of green frogs. It made her giggle.
“Mr. O’Neill,” the maître d’ smiled, “your table is ready.”
»»•««
The meal would be memorable for Freya in many ways. The food was excellent; the wine, chosen by Flynn, a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, was exquisite; and his company…well, she had never enjoyed herself so much, ever. He told witty, funny tales regarding projects he’d worked on worldwide. He had an enquiring mind, wanting to know all about her upbringing, her job in Philadelphia, and more about her future plans for the business, and his warmth and charm gradually eroded the barrier she had carefully built between them. He is, she thought, just simply adorable.
Night had descended. The panoramic view before them had switched from the bright blues and orange of a spectacular sunset to one of a black canvas scattered with stars, the moon shining, wavering on the water. Very few diners were left and Freya didn’t want to go home.
“Let’s take a walk along the beach,” Flynn said. “I need to walk off that Tiramisu and Irish coffee!”
Freya watched him as he settled the bill. She felt slightly tipsy, or was it, she wondered, pure, happy giddiness!
A waiter slid the door back for them, and they stepped down onto the beach. Freya took off her sandals, relishing the feel of the cold, soft sand between her toes. She slipped the shawl across her shoulders.
“Cold?” Flynn asked.
“Only a little.”
He immediately took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Better?”
“Much. My dress is not exactly suitable for walking on the beach in the middle of autumn.”
“That may be true, but you look beautiful in it.”
“Um…the sky looks fabulous doesn’t it? Do you know that because it’s such a clear black night we should be able to see Aquarius? I only know that because it’s my sign so I made it my business to discover its whereabouts.”
“I’m impressed. Show me.”
Freya pointed. “See there, south, southeast? Very faint, like a woman’s dress on its side?”
Flynn had moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, resting his chin lightly on her head. “Well, just about. But I thought it was supposed to look like a water carrier? I shall stun you with my bit of knowledge now.” He turned her around and pointed. “There to the northeast is Taurus…looks nothing like a bull, and I believe there, to the northwest, is Pisces.”
Freya felt the lightest touch of his body on her back. His hands were still on her shoulders. “Well it sure was a stunning bit of information,” she said with a laugh and started walking. Flynn fell into step by her side. The only sounds were the squeak of their feet in the sand and the soft swish of the ocean as it lapped, lazily rolling onto the shore.
“I didn’t ask you what you’d be calling the golf course,” Freya said. She turned and in the gloom saw his charismatic smile and her heart lurched. How she wished…
“I thought Byron was a good name, with your approval of course.”
“Not a problem, I like it. And when that’s underway, what next for you?”
“I’ll be looking at a site in the Caribbean. Then I think a week, maybe two, of total relaxation. I have a small place on Parrot Island where it’s impossible to do anything other than fish and laze around.”
“It sounds idyllic.”
“It is. I’d like to show it to you one day,” he said, taking her by surprise. “I’m glad you’ll be staying here,” he continued. “As long as you don’t start missing the bright lights, the big smoke, you’ll fit in well.”
Freya shook her head. “I won’t miss that at all. Family though, are a different matter.” As she said that, Freya felt a pang of remorse. When did I last call Mom?
“Tell me about them.”
“Oh, yes. Well there’s Mom, my sister Sammy, her husband Joe, and baby Peaches.”
“Peaches?”
Freya laughed, thinking of River. “At the moment she looks nothing like one. She’s always angry and red-faced, though since Sammy’s put her on formula she seems to have settled down more. I’m hoping all my family will come for Christmas. I’m really looking forward to seeing them, especially Sammy.”
“You sound very fond of her.”
“Very. As you’ll have gathered, Archie didn’t father both of us. I did worry at first that it would make Sammy see me in a different light, but in fact it’s brought us closer.”
“Yeah? That’s great. And, may I ask how things are going with Tim?”
Freya felt a tiny flutter go through her stomach. “Things?”
“I’m being nosy again. Yeah, you know. Are you and he…close?”
“Not as close as I am to you right now,” Freya said, amusement in her voice. He really was incorrigible.
“Cleverly answered. You’re cold,” Flynn said. “Let’s get you home.”
In the car they talked quietly. Freya said she intended getting a book from the library on constellations. Flynn laughed, asked was she hoping to rubbish him because really he hadn’t a clue, he’d only remembered scraps of information from school.
“Well for someone clueless you certainly put on a good show,” Freya said.
All too soon they were on the driveway to her house. Flynn switched the engine off and turned to her.
“Thank you for a great
evening. Thank you for agreeing to sell to me. And thank you for eating every scrap of food put before you…I’m like Mickey, just love a woman with a good appetite.” His teeth glistened in the darkness.
“Thank you too. I enjoyed it.” Freya had her hand on the door handle, but he said, “Wait. I’ll see you safely inside.”
He opened her door, and once again held his hand out. This time when she stood, he pulled her gently close to him to kiss her cheek. Freya stumbled, falling against his body, and held back a gasp as he whispered, “Thank you again.” For in that tiny, brief moment as their bodies touched, she’d felt his desire for her.
Turning, she almost ran to the front porch, fumbled with her key in the lock and let herself in. She turned to wave and closed the door, leaning back on it.
It was hopeless, mad to feel like this about him. She made her way upstairs, the excitement of the evening gone, drained away as quickly as sand through a filter. She checked the kitchen clock. Eleven thirty. Was he right now on his way to Rochelle’s?
She made a cup of tea, wishing she’d asked him in for a nightcap and then threw the tea bag into the sink, glad she hadn’t. An embarrassing refusal from him was something she could quite well do without.
Upstairs she put the cup down on her bedside table. About to move the shoebox of Archie’s photos from the bed, she frowned, certain she’d put the lid on properly. It was now askew and the top photo was face down.
Freya picked it up, turned it over, and placed it back in the box, puzzled.
“I’m sure…” she muttered. But then, she’d been in such a state of high excitement over her dinner with Flynn, she couldn’t really be sure what she had done!
In bed she went over and over the evening, examining in detail every word, glance, and smile which had passed between them, but however often she did, couldn’t find a moment when Flynn had shown anything other than courteous interest in her. Until that last moment! Perhaps, she mused, he felt a little heady with drink.
Freya sighed, wishing Lucy was home to talk to, but she was at the theatre in San Jose and had decided to stay over.
She thumped the pillow into shape and eventually fell asleep.
The Way Love Goes Page 12
