Читать книгу The Christmas Project - Maxine Morrey - Страница 10
ОглавлениеMichael gave me an even look, assessing. We were sat in his kitchen. It was light, modern, spacious and absolutely crammed full of stuff, just like the rest of the place. It didn’t look like he’d put anything away for years.
‘So, explain again what it is that you do, as it’s obviously not “faffing” or “poking about”.’ The even look remained. I knew he was testing me, seeing if I’d crack again. And although I was desperate to tell him exactly what I thought of him – again – I refrained. Not because of anything I felt for him but because of something I’d heard in Janey’s voice on the phone. Getting this arrogant man’s home, and life, better organised clearly meant a lot to her. That was the only reason I was still here.
‘I run an organisation consultancy. I help people to declutter and organise their living spaces which in turn makes their home a nicer, more inspiring and serene place to be. And that in turn, is good for everyone who lives there. Being surrounded by clutter can be stressful for the mind, not just because it’s hard to find things, but because it doesn’t instil the peace and calm we crave as human beings in the sanctuary of our home. When a person’s house is in order, it generally has positive benefits to other aspects of their life.’
Michael took a sip of the coffee he’d made. ‘Right.’
The word ‘sceptical’ sprang to mind.
‘But as I said, I can’t do this alone, I need – ’
‘Me to get on board. Blah Blah. I know. I get it. I just don’t really buy it.’
I shifted in my seat.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve done plenty in my life that I didn’t really buy into either and I got by. Just ask my ex-wife. So we’ll get it done. You do your thing, I’ll make the effort and then it’s done.’
‘Great,’ I said, feeling pretty unconvinced myself now, which was the complete opposite to how I normally felt at this stage in the process. Not a great sign.
I pushed my coffee mug to the side and pulled out a folder from my bag, clearing a little space on the breakfast bar to lay it on. Michael took the mugs off the counter, rinsed them and then came and stood behind me, peering over my shoulder at the forms I had just begun filling in. As he did so, I got a subtle waft of aftershave. It was light and citrusy and, oddly, not what I would have expected from him.
‘What’s this then? Do you give out grades for first impressions?’
I shoved my stool backwards, causing him to move, as I then dismounted. Tilting my head back to meet the intense green gaze, I answered him.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well that I don’t Mr O’Farrell.’
‘Oh. I guess, in the interest of fairness then, I should take that Yelp review down that I did when I nipped up to change my clothes?’
I turned quickly. ‘What did you say on it?’
He shrugged. ‘Just that I thought it was a novel approach for a business owner who comes into peoples’ houses to call her client an arsehole within minutes of meeting him.’
My mouth dropped open and I felt my face drain of colour.
‘That was entirely unfair of you! I apologised immediately! I know that’s no excuse, but you were late, rude and disrespectful of what I’ve been hired to do!’ A stray tendril of hair had come loose from my bun and I pushed it back from my face distractedly. ‘This is my livelihood! How could you – ’
He snagged his phone from the shelf and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans as he threw me an amused look.
‘Calm down. I didn’t do anything of the sort.’
I felt the colour return to my cheeks.
‘Oh. Right. Well, good. Thank you. And just so you know I’ve never, ever done that before and have no intention of doing it again.’
He shook his head. ‘Forget it. Believe me, if I Yelped everyone who thought I was an arsehole I’d be on the site all day.’
I didn’t say a word but his mouth did that quirk thing again.
‘It’s all right, you can say it.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You can say you aren’t in the least bit surprised.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of saying that.’
‘Nothing to stop you thinking it though, eh?’
‘Shall we make a start?’ I said, uncomfortable at being quite so transparent.
His lips gave a little tug to the side. ‘Absolutely. Tell me what you need me to do.’
‘So, is there anything you’re specifically hoping for with this process?’ I asked, glancing at my notes.
When he didn’t answer, I looked up to find him studying me.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just seems an odd question, bearing in mind you already know the only reason you’re even here is because my sister cajoled you and my family forced me. If I wasn’t looking for the process to happen in the first place, I can’t see how I could be hoping for anything from it.’
I took a deep breath. ‘It’s fair to say that my clients are normally a little more pleased to see me than you are.’
‘I can see that,’ he said, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his ankles.
‘But that doesn’t mean, now that you’re committed to the process, that you won’t gain anything from it just because you came to it from a more unconventional angle.’
A grin flickered on his face, as fleeting as a guttering candle. ‘Unconventional. That’s one way of putting it.’
‘So, having heard what I do, is there anything you can think of that you would specifically want to gain from all this?’
He straightened from the doorway and looked at me. I tilted my head back to meet his eyes. Now I’d taken my sodden shoes off, I had to look up even further.
‘I’m not exactly sure what you want me to say Kate, but if you’re hoping for some sort of emotional blather about me wanting to find myself amongst all the clutter, then I’m sadly going to have to disappoint you. The only thing I’m looking for with this process is to turn my house into a place that’s fit for a family Christmas. At the moment, with all this stuff everywhere, it’s not. I’m just wanting a tidy house, Kate. Not therapy.’
‘Fair enough.’ I scribbled a note and made to move on.
‘It would seem your clientele are generally a lot deeper than I am.’
‘Not at all. Everyone’s different. I just want to make sure that I do the best job I can for each client, and that means finding out what it is they really want.’
‘Don’t they all just want less crap kicking around? Isn’t that the whole point of your business?’
‘Yes and no. That’s usually what it starts off as them thinking they want, but quite often there’s a deeper issue that they don’t even realise is driving them until part way through the process.’
He gave a quick raise of his eyebrows. ‘Right. Well, as you heard, the only thing driving me is a sister half my size.’
I felt the smile slide onto my face and for a moment he returned it.
‘So, let’s just accept that I’m shallow and move on. Where do you want to see first?’
He leant on the newel post and I watched the corded muscles on his forearm flex as his hand rested on the bannister.
Was that true? Was he really that shallow, or was he, in fact, one of my most complicated clients? Usually about this time, I had a pretty good idea of who my client was, but with Michael O’Farrell, I still didn’t have a clue.
‘Shall we do bottom to top?’
He gave me a quick nod and led the way down the stairs to the basement level of the four-storey Georgian. Here the space had been given over to a large open-plan living area that had bi-folding doors leading out onto a garden. There was a small counter/kitchen area for preparing snacks and cups of tea, to save having to traipse up and down the stairs when time was being spent in here. A flat-screen TV collected dust against the wall and a couple of couches and beanbags sat unused underneath some appliance boxes and other discarded items. Looking out onto the garden, it could be a great space for entertaining, or just relaxing, but right now it was uninviting and cold. From my time studying the outside, and now here, there already seemed to be a theme emerging.
Next I followed my client back up the stairs to the ground floor where he stopped outside a room opposite the kitchen we’d sat in earlier. As I caught up to him, he opened the door. Inside was an architect’s easel, a work station with a large flat-screen computer on it and a bookcase stuffed with books, papers and all sorts of other random items. Under another pile of papers a small two-seater sofa lounged against the wall. Michael walked over and flicked on the lamp over the easel. There was no window dressing of any kind and streetlight shadows from the trees outside danced on the stripped wooden floor. At least, what you could see of it.
‘My office.’
‘You work from home?’
‘I do.’
I glanced around. ‘And do you always know where everything is in here?’
He followed my gaze and I saw something cross his face. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was being sarcastic so I clarified my question.
‘It’s just that sometimes, especially in work areas, what looks like a mess to an outsider is actually a very specific way of working for the person whose space it is. People find their own way of working and obviously I don’t want to do anything to upset your working methods.’
He picked up a mechanical pencil from the desk and fiddled with it.
‘As much as it pains me to tell you this, I can’t actually find a bloody thing most of the time.’
‘OK. We can fix that and find a much better system for you, which will make for a more pleasant and efficient working environment.’
‘Just because it looks a tip doesn’t mean I’m not “efficient” at my job. People might think I’m an arsehole but they still know I’m a damn good architect.’
I tried not to look surprised at his defensiveness. Time to employ some professional soothing. ‘I never meant to suggest that you weren’t. I’m sorry if it came across that way.’
He fiddled with the pencil a little more, then nodded, seemingly accepting my apology. ‘But you are saying my office isn’t pleasant?’
‘I’m just saying that we can make it more pleasant.’
He gave a little shake of his head, that almost-smile flashing briefly. ‘Very tactful.’
I looked up from my notes. ‘So, what’s next?’
Staying on the same level, he pointed to a door behind which was apparently a downstairs loo, before moving on to show me the living and dining rooms. Both were gorgeous spaces, not that it was easy to see that at the moment. But they could be.
‘You play the piano?’ I asked, seeing an upright groaning under another pile of magazines and general ‘stuff’.
He shrugged. ‘Used to. Haven’t played for ages.’
‘Why not?’
He gave the shrug again and then set off for the next floor. Here there were four spare bedrooms, two with small en suites, and one main bathroom. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a mini home gym which, unlike many I’d seen in my time, was clearly being put to good use. I made a note to suggest moving this equipment down to the basement level. There was plenty of space down there and it could always be screened off with a room divider. That would free up the bedroom, which, from what Janey had told me about the size of their family, could be useful. Plus it might be more inspiring for my client to work out looking onto the garden rather than staring at a blank wall as he clearly was at the moment. I snuck a glance at him. Admittedly, from what I could see under the slightly misshapen clothes, he didn’t seem to be lacking in motivation to work out.
As we moved around, it seemed that most of the rooms had generally turned into a dumping ground for random items, boxes for appliances, motorbike parts and goodness knows what else.
‘The master bedroom is on the top floor but you’ve pretty much got the idea as to what it’s like from these.’ He waved a hand at the rooms we’d already seen.
‘It would still be very helpful for me to see it, if possible. So that I have all the information as to what we are dealing with. It’s especially helpful in this case as we’re on quite a short deadline.’
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 that 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.
