“Can I help you?”
The cat sat down and looked discerningly at Todd, clearly offended by his lack of affection.
“Hello there. Miss Armstrong, isn’t it? I recognise you from the article in the local paper. Sorry to disturb you while you’re painting. I should have called first. I was just passing when I saw the door open, and heard the music.”
He smiled. She offered no reaction. He ploughed on.
“Todd Baker, from Baker Real Estate. My office is in Bay Street. You may have seen it in passing?” He offered his hand.
She gave him a disinterested stare.
“It’s right beside the post office.” He paused to see if she registered his address.
The woman kept her eyes on his face, and did not accept the proffered hand.
“What can I do for you, Mr Baker?” The open, smiling face had gone. In its place was an all-knowing look of annoyance.
“I read about your father’s passing. We were acquainted, you see, and thought I would come and offer my condolences. And, of course, offer my services when you decide to sell the property.”
“What makes you think I want to sell, Mr Baker?”
“Well, I imagine you will be returning to Paris soon, and I don’t expect you will want—or need—the upkeep and expense of this large property back here in Australia.” He smiled at her with what he knew to be his full-wattage persuasive smile.
She still had that look of annoyance, now combined with a generous helping of “I’ve heard this one before” expression in her eyes.
“You’re wasting your time, Mr Baker. As I’ve explained to others who have shown up uninvited at my door, I have no intention of returning to Paris at this time, or in the near future, and no intention of selling my home. My family has lived here for over fifty years. It just needs a bit of elbow grease, fresh paint, and some TLC, which I intend to provide. If that’s all, I would like to get back to my painting now. Come on, Truffle. Mr Baker is leaving.”
She bent down, scooped up the cat, and tucked him under her arm. Without a backward glance, she turned on her heel and walked down the hall.
He noticed she walked with a slight limp. “I’ll leave my card here on the hallstand if you change your mind.”
Walking back to the car, he contemplated her feisty tone. He was not totally surprised by the first rejection. It didn’t put him off. He would be back. Relentless didn’t come close when he wanted something. And he wanted this beachfront property.
CHAPTER TWO
Chloe decided to break for lunch. She rinsed off her roller, and the scene on the front step replayed in her mind.
“What a nerve! Who the hell does Todd Baker think he is?”
Truffle wove his sleek body in and around her ankles, immune to her sudden vocal outbursts.
“I bet he’s used to getting his own way. He had that air of self-assurance about him. He was dressed to impress in his expensive suit. He didn’t impress me with his cocky attitude and his smarmy smile.”
Truffle hopped up on a kitchen stool, his head cocked to one side.
“Did he think I’d fall for the Armani suit and his charm and sign the paperwork on the spot? His condolences my arse. What kind of an idiot does he think I am?” She opened the fridge door to select her lunch, enjoying the blast of cold air hitting her heated skin.
She pulled out a prepared sandwich, an apple, and a glass of fresh orange juice, and headed out to sit on the front step. It was the best place to enjoy the fresh air away from the paint fumes, and admire the boats and colourful kite surfers out in the bay.
She leaned back against the doorpost and tried to relax. Every muscle in her body ached. Exhaustion engulfed her at the end of the day. The moment her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep sleep. Thankfully, the nightmares haunting her since her accident were less frequent since returning to Melbourne.
She took a big bite of her sandwich and closed her eyes, enjoying the simple meal. Her stomach had been growling for over an hour. It felt good to be home, although bittersweet. Her father’s smiling face popped into her mind, his eyes shining with pride. If only she had retuned sooner. They’d had so little time in the end. She stared off into the distance as she drank her juice. Truffle padded her lap, turned twice, and settled down for his midday snooze in the warm sun.
She stroked Truffle’s head, and then rubbed her hand down her aching thigh muscles. The puckered scar, running down the outside of her thigh to her knee, appeared to be fading. It was a slow process. A mental picture of the way it had looked in the hospital caused her to shudder. She sensed the metal plate that held her together. Like a sentinel, its presence hovered at the back of her mind. I won’t let this injury define me. She had a purpose now. After discovering a love for this old house, she refused to give it up. Until she returned, she never knew the love existed, never felt the need to protect bricks and mortar. Unbelievably, she discovered she had a talent for turning the old well-worn pieces of furniture into something resembling their formal glory, albeit with a modern twist. The pressed tin roof in the formal lounge and dining room had been restored and painted, and brass light fittings had been installed to showcase the unique pattern.
Her parents, both in their forties, had been surprised and delighted to welcome a daughter into their busy lives. Until that point, they had given up believing they would ever have a child. They had loved and adored her and given her every advantage in life. She owed them, and fixing up the house brought them closer somehow. Each nook and cranny she restored brought back cherished memories.
She had no one to help her now. However, being the sole beneficiary of her father’s substantial estate, her parents’ careful planning had left her enough to live on, for a short time anyway.
The following morning, as the new day dawned she slowly stretched and yawned, happy to be awake before her alarm shrilly announced the hour. Truffle’s warm body snuggled against her as he edged closer on the bed. The sun shone brightly through the thin bedroom curtains, heralding another beautiful day. She rose and opened the windows, allowing the cool morning sea breeze to fill the room. No clouds marred the pristine blue sky.
Discarding her PJs, she stepped into the shower and hummed along with the radio as she let the warm water cascade over her body. By the time she pulled on a pair of well-worn denim shorts and a cotton singlet, she had worked out her plan of attack for the day.
She gathered up her damp curls into a ponytail. With a quick flick of her wrist, she twisted it into a coil and tucked the ends into a messy bun on top of her head, securing it with hair clips. Her walking stick sat propped by the door. Hello old friend, I’m going to need you today. She grabbed it in passing as she made her way downstairs, the dull ache in her leg more noticeable after a busy week of painting.
Truffle hopped lightly off the bed and followed her down the stairs, tail up as if anticipating an early breakfast treat.
“Coffee, I need coffee.” She tucked an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear, then propped the cane against the table, pulled out a mug and all the essentials from the overhead cupboards and plugged in the coffee maker.
She walked gingerly to the front door, Truffle two steps behind, to check if the morning paper had been delivered. The rolled-up plastic-encased newspaper was sitting on the top step. The paperboy’s throwing skills had improved. She bent down to collect the package and, as she turned to go back inside, she noticed a large pink box tucked into the corner of the porch. Thick white ribbon and a floppy white bow secured the box. A small white envelope containing a handwritten card was attached to the side.
She plucked it from the envelope.
Please accept my apologies for yesterday, Miss Armstrong. It was obviously too soon to offer my services. Perhaps this gift will help to keep the door open for discussions in the future.
My Regards,
Todd Baker.
She tucked the paper under her arm, picked up the heavy box, and carried it into the kitchen to op
en on the table.
Truffle followed in her footsteps, his tail high and his walk jaunty in anticipation.
Wrapped in pink tissue paper, a large Eiffel Tower doorstop nestled in the box. She recognised the sticky label on the tissue, advertising a popular shop in Port Melbourne, which stocked quirky but expensive home wares.
“You have to be kidding me.” She stood the gift on the table and stepped back, her arms folded over her chest. “And an Eiffel Tower no less. I bet he’s hoping I’ll look at this each day and get homesick for Paris. This guy does not give up, does he Truffle?”
She had to admit she liked the gift. It might prove useful to prop open the front door, especially if she needed to carry the ladder inside. She gathered the necessary materials together in order to strip the wallpaper from the study walls. Working her way methodically around the room, steaming and scraping, she continued until a large bucket of sodden wallpaper scraps sat in the middle of the floor. Satisfied with her progress, she stepped down from the small stepladder to take a break. Her leg ached a little, but she could generally push through the discomfort. The more time she spent in this house, pouring love into every aspect of the renovation and bringing it back to its former glory, the more she felt as if she had come home.
The doorbell chimed. She had no doubt who she would find on her porch.
She picked up her cane and walked slowly down the hall. “Hello, Mr Baker.”
“Call me Todd, please. I see you are already using my gift. Do you like it? Does that mean I am forgiven? Can we can start again?”
Without waiting for an answer, he held out his hand to shake hers.
“Todd Baker. But please, call me Todd. I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Armstrong. May I call you Chloe?” She offered no response, but he forged ahead.
“I met your father last year when I moved into the area. I own a business in Port Melbourne, Baker Real Estate. You may have noticed our window display next to the post office? I would like to offer my services when, or if, you decide to sell your property.” He stood perfectly still, hand outstretched.
Ignoring his hand, she scanned his face. He appeared a little unsure and somewhat apologetic. He looked hopeful, patiently waiting for her hand—and her answer. The blue sky above, the squawk of seagulls swooping on the beach behind him and the sound of the waves in the background made an impression. How could she stay mad at him, or anyone, on such a beautiful day? She shook his hand, albeit a little reluctantly.
“Okay Mr Baker. Let’s start again. Hello Todd, nice to meet you. I guess if I’m calling you Todd, you may call me Chloe. Yes, I have seen your office in passing. No, I am not in the market to sell my house, but if I do I will surely give you a call. Okay. Oh, and yes, thank you, I do like your gift, and as you can see it has already proven useful.” She let go of his hand.
“I must admit I am pleased to see you have accepted my olive branch. We got off to a bad start yesterday. I couldn’t leave it at that, now we are both living and working in the same Port Melbourne neighbourhood.”
Todd smiled at her and, for an instant, she forgot how infuriating he appeared yesterday. She ran an appraising look over him. He was tall, maybe six four, with an athletic build. He certainly filled out his suit in all the right places. And yes, she was looking in all the right places. Clean-shaven, he had a strong jaw, with a small scar on his chin. Perhaps a sporting or childhood accident, she couldn’t tell. His twinkling blue eyes and the tiny laughter lines gave the impression he smiled a lot, another positive attribute. She admired a man with an up-to-date haircut. It showed he took care of details. A hint of a tan and a smattering of dark chest hair peeked from his open-necked shirt. She loved a man with soft kissable lips, and when he smiled, his perfect white teeth dazzled her. In the open air, she caught a whiff of expensive cologne. The kind that made her toes curl. Mmm you are gorgeous. A pity you know it. She couldn’t help herself. She smiled back.
Without a second thought, words fell out of her mouth. “I was just about to make a coffee, would you like one … Todd?”
He looked pleasantly surprised as he followed her through the house and into the kitchen. She waved him towards a chair.
She loaded the coffee machine and leant back against the counter to wait for the miracle of the espresso. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Strong and black. Thanks.” He sat, raised his amazing eyes and grinned.
“Yes, you strike me as a guy who likes his coffee strong and black. Says a lot about a man. You’re used to getting what you want. You don’t like failure, do you?”
“Failure is not in my vocabulary. I like to win.” His eyes flashed a challenge.
“I bet you do.” She loaded up a tray with the coffee mugs and a plate of shortbread.
He raised an eyebrow questioningly at the sight of the sweet treat.
She grinned at his reaction. “My guilty little secret. My mother got me started on Scottish shortbread, and now I make my own. What’s your guilty little secret?” She blushed, embarrassed. Where the hell did that come from?
He winked at her. “That’s classified information.”
The cheeky smile he gave her left her in no doubt that he wasn’t going to share that valuable information with a stranger. No problem, buddy.
“Let’s take this outside and get away from the paint fumes. Shall we?” She led the way towards the laundry, and out through the back door.
The rear garden caught the morning sun. Although overgrown, it lent a sense of seclusion and peace. She set the tray down on a small wooden table under the canopy of lemon trees and pulled out two chairs.
An hour later, she watched as he drove off down Beach Road. She found herself questioning what had actually occurred in the last sixty minutes. From the moment she had encountered him that first day on her front step, she had the impression he was a pain in the neck, so egotistical no one else in the world mattered except the great Todd Baker. So what had possessed her to invite him for coffee? Surprisingly, their conversation had been interesting. Maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe having someone to talk to wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt.
They had discussed living in Paris, travel experiences, and favourite holiday destinations. He had been charming and witty, which, she admitted, had been a complete surprise. He seemed interested in her plans for the renovation and promised to look in on her again later in the week. To her amazement she had actually enjoyed the lighthearted banter, and more importantly the adult company. She had spent enough time alone since returning to Melbourne. Truffle was generous with his affections, but was only good for one-way conversations. I could get used to a good-looking male friend hanging around.
Todd grinned and wondered about his good fortune. What had tipped the scales in his favour? His plan had always been to win Chloe over, one way or another. He wanted to persuade her to sell and would do whatever it took to accomplish that end. The coffee offer from her today had been an unexpected bonus.
He had to admit he had enjoyed spending time with her.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind on the drive back to the office but he wouldn’t let that information slip. This was business after all. Big business. His investors were relying on him to pull this deal off one way or another. He couldn’t afford to get romantically involved with Chloe Armstrong.
Samantha was nibbling on a salad in the small office kitchen when Todd appeared at the glass front door. Forced to juggle his laptop bag, two takeaway cups secured in a cardboard tray, and a paper carry bag, he attempted to enter. She concentrated on her plate and ignored him. He had been missing in action all morning, without even a text or a phone call, leaving her to manage the office and clients as Daniel, the other sales manager, was busy. She bit back a grin as he struggled with the handle.
“Good afternoon. I thought you were coming in earlier today. Mr Phillips came in to see you about the apartment for sale in South Melbourne. He said he’ll call back about 4 p
m. I gave Daniel two sales enquiries to follow up on your behalf, and he’ll be back in the office before the end of the day. There are several other messages on your desk. I would have relayed them but for some reason you didn’t answer your phone or your texts. Call me crazy, but isn’t that why we carry mobiles?”
Todd didn’t miss the sarcastic tone in her voice, but chose to ignore it. He dumped his packages on the table. “Oh, I see you’re eating already. I brought some lunch to share.”
“If you had called to give me a heads-up, I would’ve waited.”
He sat down at the small table opposite to Samantha, selected a coffee, and pulled the sandwiches in front of him. “More for me then.”
She lifted a coffee from the cardboard tray, removed the plastic lid and tapped her cup against his. “Thanks.”
She searched his face and raised one perfect eyebrow.
“You have that look again. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Without taking her eyes off him, she reached over and pulled an egg and lettuce triangle out of his packet.
“Nothing’s going on. I had some business to attend to this morning, and I thought I’d bring my very lovely co-worker a coffee and some lunch.” He munched his way around a ham and salad sandwich, trying not to smile.
“What’s her name, Todd?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He avoided her gaze and concentrated on eating his sandwich.
“Come on. I’ve known you for too many years not to recognise the signs. You have that ‘cat got the cream’ look you always get when you meet an attractive woman to add to your long list of hopefuls.” Her mouth twitched at the corners, recalling his last romantic entanglement, a minor league stalker.
He picked up another sandwich, and tried not to look her in the eye. “I dropped in on a prospective client, if you must know.” He adjusted the lid of the takeaway coffee cup. “Chloe Armstrong. The Californian bungalow on Beach Road. The one set back from the pavement, with the overgrown garden.”
From Paris to Forever Page 2
