‘Err, what can I say? Err, I’d err love to. Err, when were you err thinking?’ Obviously doesn’t come out in my best “professional woman of the world” tone.
He doesn’t appear to notice. ‘That’s great. How about Tuesday? The rest of the cast and crew are arriving at the end of the week and I won’t have much time after that. Shall we say about four? Just in time for tea as you English say.’ He laughs and parts of me that haven’t seen daylight in years do a hop skip and a jump.
‘I’m sure you understand if I ask you to keep this whole thing under wraps for now? Feel free to bring the pooch if you’d like.’ I manage a faint ‘Of course, thank you,’ and he hangs up after promising to text me his address.
Kit and I remain sitting on the floor and stare at each other in silence. Then my phone makes a loud pinging noise, signaling receipt of a text message and we both burst out laughing uncontrollably.
~*~
Tuesday has finally arrived and I don’t know whether to be hysterically happy or just hysterical. I spent most of Monday on the computer spying on the address Noah had given me using Google Maps. The aerial view showed me a large white gabled house directly overlooking the river Dart. From the road, all that could be seen was a large imposing front door with two stained glass windows either side. It looked like a bungalow, but the view from the road was merely the tip of the iceberg. The house was originally built to take full advantage of its position and the rest of it sprawled down towards the edge of the cliff with an uninterrupted view of the river and Dartmouth Castle on the other side. Manipulating the screen, my heart started to thud with excitement and enthusiasm that had nothing to do with Noah Westbrook. I totally got why he loved it so much and to be given free rein with such an amazing house would be a dream come true. I just knew I could do it justice.
That was yesterday. Between then and now, I have nearly talked myself out of going half a dozen times. However, a good half an hour talking to by Kit has convinced me that the possibility of looking a complete idiot is greater if I don’t go than if I do…
After raining all day yesterday, we’re now back to crisp and spring like – the sort of weather that makes you feel lucky to be alive. Obviously wanting to stay that way and knowing that the road winding around the cliffs at Kingswear has a tendency to be suicidally narrow in places - presenting unique challenges to anyone needing to park further than a few inches away from a hundred foot drop - I decide to walk. As a bonus, this will not only give me the opportunity to view the house from the outside with no interruptions but also do a runner before I’m seen if it all gets too much…
I settle on dressing sensibly (I haven’t really got any other sort of clothes), determined to look professional. I go for straight jeans with sensible walking boots and a long crisp white shirt layered over the top which has the added advantage of making my hips and boobs look smaller. Finishing the whole ensemble off, I sling a sweater around my shoulders in my best old money impression. Kit would be proud of me.
Before heading towards the front door, I glance at myself critically in the mirror. My hair is going its own way as usual and I definitely look too pale despite my generous application of blusher and lipstick – nerves most likely kicking in. Still the walk will give me a healthy glow. I grab my portfolio and put it into my trusty satchel and make sure that Dotty is secured on the leash (don’t want any odor issues today thank you very much)
Just as I’m about to leave, my father bangs out of his study yelling my name at the top of his voice. After debating long and hard, I decided against telling him about Noah’s request - the potential for disaster far outweighing any possible advantage. In fact, over the years, I’ve learned not to trust my notoriously loose lipped father with anything remotely important. To be honest I’m at a loss to understand how there was never a serious military incident during my father’s time as a Two Star, but possibly they hushed it up. Still, at the end of the day, he was only ever actually a Vice Admiral – we can all sleep safe in our beds secure in the knowledge that he was never promoted to Fleet Commander…
Turning round I slide my satchel behind my back - no idea why, it’s not like he usually asks me where I’m going - however, on this occasion I must look guilty. ‘You off somewhere?’ His voice is suspicious and my heart sinks.
‘Just heading down to the gallery, you know, busy busy...’ I laugh falsely and back towards the door dragging Dotty with me. This is so not how it is normally. It’s supposed to be the other way round. I’m an excellent inquisitor, but usually a terrible liar. But there we are, it’s official – I really am a chip off the old block. All I need now is to have a bit more practice…
However, as I'm currently a complete novice at this lying lark, I turn and pull open the door, mutter a quick, ‘Got to go,’ and dash through, hauling Dotty’s leash behind me. Unfortunately the door slams shut before she can get through it and I’m forced to re open it again. Popping my head back through I shout ‘Bye,’ quickly and yank Dotty’s leash so hard, she practically shoots through the door in mid air.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I make my way down the gardens to the gate fronting the Dart and, passing the higher ferry slipway, begin the walk along the track at the side of the river. The weather is perfect. There is a slight breeze causing billowy clouds to race across the sky creating alternately fantastical shadows and sparkling waves on the choppy water. The clank of ropes securing the moored up boats is the only sound as Dotty and I stride briskly along the pathway.
It takes us about fifteen minutes to reach Kingswear, we’re making good time and I congratulate myself on my sensible decision to walk.
As we arrive at the village and begin the hike up the steep road winding around the headland, I smile to myself remembering the many times I’d done this as a child. Armed with a packed lunch, my friends and I would be gone for the whole day, following the footpath beyond the end of the road along the cliffs to the old gun casings, remnants from the Second World War. Overgrown and abandoned, they had provided a paradise for children with an imagination. I recall the many times I returned home dirty and disheveled just before dark to my mum’s scolding. Dad always seemed to be away at sea.
As we continue the uphill climb I wonder how long it is since I’ve actually walked this far. I decide to take a break and lean against a wall a little out of breath. I don’t remember the path being this steep when I was a child. I glance up at the sky. The clouds have disappeared entirely. It feels more like July. I shrug the Sloanie sweater off my shoulders and shove it into my satchel. Glancing down at Dotty, I can see she’s panting slightly and I frown. Should have brought her some water.
I glance at my watch – three forty five already. Damn, I need to pick up the pace.
Ten minutes later I am not only the opposite of pale and interesting, I am hot, sweaty and my shirt is clinging to my back like I’ve just completed a marathon. The sun is beating down relentlessly and I’m beginning to feel light headed. Surely it can’t be much further.
I decide to sit down and re establish my bearings. Parking myself on a large boulder under the welcome shade of a pine tree, I take a deep breath and, unbuttoning the bottom of my shirt, I flap the ends in an effort to bring some cool relief. Dotty luckily seems to be faring better than me and is sitting on a patch of grass unconcernedly nibbling her tail.
I am now five minutes late. Shielding my eyes, I squint up the road and see the outline of a dark figure walking towards us. I wonder if I can ask for directions without giving the game away, when suddenly Dotty jumps up and begins barking joyfully. I stop flapping, and shield my eyes again to try and see who it is.
As Dotty’s barking reaches fever pitch, I suddenly realize exactly who it is. So much for viewing the property unobserved – and for actually failing to recognize said property. I stand up self consciously just as Noah Westbrook reaches us.
Which of course means I can’t now do a runner, however strong the current urge… Dotty has no such desire and launch
es herself at the actor with complete abandon, all the while licking his face enthusiastically. I fumble with the buttons of my now limp shirt and wish I could do the same (of course the alternative would be to throw myself off the cliff…)
I saw you stop through the window.’ He gestures towards the house behind him with one hand while effortlessly holding the wriggling delighted dog with the other. ‘Thought you seemed a little lost – not to mention tuckered out.’
Yep I think the throwing myself off the cliff option is definitely winning the battle. Ignoring my very obvious awkwardness, he holds out his spare hand and briefly touches my elbow. ‘Come on, we’ll have some tea before I show you around. I’ve put the kettle on.’ He says the last bit with a boyish enthusiasm demonstrating his delight at being able to use the very English phrase in the correct context.
Then he turns and walks back to the house which I can now see is about ten yards away. My traitorous mongrel doesn’t even glance behind her to see if I’m following. They are already at the gate before I’m able to get my feet to move from their current spot and as Noah glances back enquiringly over Dotty’s head, I take a deep breath, grab my satchel and hurry after them.
I don’t have any time to observe the front (or is it the back) of the house. Shutting the gate behind me, I scurry through the open door into the welcoming coolness of the lobby. Without putting Dotty down, he continues into a large square hall with a stunning spiral staircase to one side leading up to a galleried landing. The light in the hall is provided by a large glass atrium in the centre of the high ceiling casting a myriad of exquisite stained glass colours around the hall.
I know my mouth is open but I can’t help myself. The hall is absolutely amazing. I can hear Noah chuckle at my reaction as he carries on through a door to the left of the staircase. Realising I’ve again been left alone, I hurry after him into a light airy room with floor to ceiling windows providing stunning views of the sloping lawn and of the river beyond.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathe, taking in the incredible panorama. I’m completely at a loss for words. I’ve always thought the Admiralty has lovely views, but they pale in comparison to this. I glance around the room and notice how bare it is, just a couple of sofas and a coffee table. I can feel my excitement begin to rise at the thought of being given a free rein in such an amazing house.
Eagerly, completely forgetting my earlier discomfort, I turn towards Noah, just as he is straightening up after gently putting a wriggling Dotty on to the floor. I’m about to wax lyrically about his wonderful house, but as he looks up towards me, I can see him clearly for the first time today and, for a few seconds, I am again struck dumb by his sheer masculine beauty. I note that he’s bare foot, despite coming out in to the road, wearing only well worn jeans and a checked shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal strong tanned forearms. With his hair tumbling in jet-black waves across his forehead, he looks like he’s just climbed out of bed.
My gut clenches as I stare at him mesmerized. I feel just like the proverbial rabbit trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car… ‘Would you like to freshen up a little before we take tea?’ His words bring me back to earth with a bump and I glance down at myself in confusion.
My shirt is plastered to my breasts with sweat and the top has gaped open as a result of me playing with my buttons earlier. Face flaming, I groan slightly and frantically begin doing up buttons. Oh God, he probably thinks I’m coming on to him. I have absolutely no words that might possibly make this better. Without looking at him, I ask where the cloakroom is in a despondent whisper and simply follow his pointed arm.
Once in front of the mirror, I take a deep breath and look at my face and chest. Red, shiny, horribly sweaty and my best support bra for the fuller figure on full view. Miserably, I splash my face with cold water and finish doing up the rest of my buttons, all the while trying to pluck up the courage to go back out. Then all of a sudden I hear Dotty’s insistent scratching and whimpering at the cloakroom door, and, looking at my reflection I find a smile from somewhere. At least my dog loves me.
‘So what?’ my evil inner voice responds, ‘Did you actually think he might find you attractive?’
‘Oh shut up,’ I whisper venomously to my reflection, flipping my middle finger. Then I determinedly open the door and march back into the sitting room.
Chapter Eight
If Noah notices my shiny red face, he makes no sign, and waves me to the sofa opposite. He deftly pours the tea into china cups with all the skill of an honorary member of the Women’s Institute. I busy myself taking a notebook and pen, as well as my portfolio, out of the satchel.
Dotty for once is showing her true colours by sitting snuggled up against me on the sofa (although I actually think it might be because the plate of biscuits is closer to my side of the coffee table…)
As we sit and chat about ideas for the house, I slowly relax, and I can feel myself become more animated. Interior Design is my world and I know I’m good at it. I lay examples of previous projects onto the coffee table which beautifully illustrate my skill (Dartmouth is certainly not short of big houses with big money.) Noah doesn’t say much as he studies the photographs and allows me to wax lyrically about them.
When I finally run out of words, I wonder if I’ve overdone it. After all, this guy is used to Hollywood luxury. What can a provincial interior designer from the wilds of south Devon possibly show him that’s new and different? I sort of expect him to politely show me to the door, after promising to ‘give me a call sometime’. To my surprise, he does no such thing. Standing up, he offers to show me around the rest of the house and I resist the urge to clap my hands in excitement (My behaviour’s not normally this erratic but then it’s not every day one gets to sit and discuss wallpaper with the world’s sexiest man).
I get up, clutching my notebook in a death grip and finally notice that Dotty’s wandered off somewhere. I don’t worry too much, figuring we’ll find her on our tour. ‘Ready when you are. I’ll make notes as we go.’
The rest of the house is mostly empty and as Noah leads me through each room, I can feel my uncertainty slip away and my excitement rise. Light and airy, the architect obviously built the house to make the most of the light, and nearly all of the rooms have uninterrupted views of the sloping lawn and the River Dart beyond. Feverishly scribbling ideas into my notebook, I’m in my element, totally swept away by the rising tide of anticipation and eagerness that always accompanies a new project, especially one as unique as this.
Finally we’re at the door to the master bedroom. His bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and just as I’m about to push it open, ridiculously I falter, my reluctance quite obvious. My heart begins to thumping so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. As I stand with my back to him, willing myself to stop being such a prude, a mobile phone rings downstairs and I breathe a sigh of relief as he heads off to answer it, telling me to go on without him.
I open the door the rest of the way with a determined shove and come face to face with an unmade super king sized bed completely dominating the bedroom. Against my will, I imagine the two of us naked and tangled amid the rumpled Egyptian cotton sheets and I swallow convulsively, trying to rid myself of the all too vivid image before he returns.
Then suddenly the sheet moves and I automatically recoil, taking an involuntary step backwards, all carnal thoughts taking immediate flight. Slowly the sheet undulates. ‘What the…,’ I mutter, taking another step back, just as Dotty’s head pops out next to the pillow.
‘Bloody hell Dotspot, what on earth are you doing?’ My whisper is heated as I walk towards the bed intending to grab my unruly animal and escape.
Unfortunately Dotty has other ideas and darts to the other side of the bed where she eyes me with mischief, bottom in the air and tail wagging enthusiastically. I groan, knowing that catching her in such a large expanse is not going to be easy – especially when she’s in this mood. I slowly creep around the other side, all the while looking the other way in the h
ope of catching her unawares.
She’s done this before, and each time my grab meets with thin air. Any minute now she’s going to start barking and I’ll find out first hand just what Noah Westbrook thinks of having dogs in his bed. I hold my hand up to her in an attempt to prevent the inevitable and then take one last lunge across the bed. I actually nearly manage to grasp the end of her tail before I crash full length across the mattress, just as Dotty disappears under the frame.
My first thought is ‘shit’ followed closely by ‘I’ll kill her.’ Scooting forward on my stomach, I grasp the edge of the bed to look underneath.
‘Looking for dust?’ My head snaps up so quickly I could possibly sue him for whiplash, and I stare in horror at the legs and feet in front of me. Damn, damn, damn, I didn’t hear him come back upstairs.
Swallowing again, I have a brief second to note that his feet are actually as attractive as the rest of him before my gaze continues upward in apprehension. I simply stare at him mutely. What possible excuse can I give for being on his bed?
Then my disobedient dog’s head pops out from underneath the mattress along with a joyful bark and he quickly weighs up the situation. Before he can speak, I make an effort to scramble into a sitting position and scoop Dotty up at the same time, all the while mumbling my abject apologies. Bugger, I’m still wearing my trainers. I attempt to swing my legs around without getting my dirty shoes on his pristine white sheets and in doing so, horror of horrors, I can feel myself begin to slide off the bed. I’m still holding on to Dotty, and am now in grave danger of landing on my head.
Noah (who has remained ominously silent thus far) quickly crouches down and grabs hold of my shoulders so my head is now cradled in his crutch and I’m staring up into his impassive face. How the hell did I get to be in this position…?
We stare at each other for a few seconds and I note whimsically that his eyes are actually the colour of sapphires, then Dotty breaks the spell by wriggling loose, and jumping up to give him a resounding lick on the nose.
Claiming Victory: A Romantic Comedy Page 5
