Читать книгу Naughty Nights in the Millionaire's Mansion - Robyn Grady - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

H OW do I get myself out of this mess?

The following afternoon, Vanessa sat on the top tier of the Opera House steps. Squawking seagulls wheeled overhead while chattering tourists and other visitors swirled all around, many gazing up to marvel at the giant shells.

The construction of the Opera House had taken seventeen years to build. The end result was extraordinary in aesthetic, acoustic as well as patriotic terms. Whenever Vanessa needed to find strength and inspiration, she came here to appreciate what could be accomplished if one only tried.

Now she looked out over the water, busy with Sydney’s commuter ferries, past the bridge’s magnificent glinting steel arch and into the haze of her unknown future.

From the age of ten—the year she’d realised her parents really weren’t coming back to collect her from Aunt McKenzie’s—her heart had been set on finding homes for others. That was what made her happy. What kept her connected. Without her store—her purpose—she’d feel…

She gazed at the seagulls.

Adrift.

Her cellphone vibrated in her trouser suit pocket. The darkening line of the horizon smudged as she put the phone to her ear. ‘Great and Small. Vanessa speaking.’

‘Oh, I’m tho glad to have caught you.’

Vanessa flipped through her mental PDA. An elderly woman, enthusiastic, with a slight lisp didn’t ring a bell. Another creditor after a payment?

She suppressed a worn-down sigh. ‘Yes, this is she. How can I help?’

‘My son, Mitchell, gave me your number. He said you were the lady I needed to see.’ Her voice lowered. ‘He altho mentioned you do house calls.’

Vanessa straightened from her slouch. Mitchell Stuart, aka Mr Goldfish?

At one stage, when she and Mitch Stuart had spoken about sirens, she’d felt increasingly drawn to him. He’d looked at her with those startling blue eyes and her nerve-endings had reached out and tingled. Then his expression had dropped from simmering to a degree below tepid and she’d known why.

She’d shared personal information regarding her financial situation with a veritable stranger. She’d come across as needy…perhaps even soliciting. Her upbringing had been humble and she’d been raised to value tenacity and dignity; she should’ve known better.

God, she should never have returned to get the smaller tank. Worse, she shouldn’t have allowed him to kiss her as she’d never been kissed before. Though it was clear they’d both enjoyed the interaction, that wasn’t enough. She’d read him right when he’d first walked into her shop.

Water meets its own level. Guys like him—guys with money and family and the world at their feet—didn’t end up with girls like her. But she couldn’t very well hang up on his mother.

She quietly released that pent-up breath. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Stuart?’

‘Cockapoos.’

‘Also known as spoodles,’ she confirmed. Cocker spaniels mixed with poodles.

‘In the past I’ve always purchased toy poodles.’

Vanessa remembered. The little yappy ones. Was Mrs Stuart in the market for a puppy? ‘I don’t have any cockapoos in store at the moment.’

‘My son regards your expertise highly. He said you’d be able to help. I’m after four as soon as possible. I’m willing to pay for the best.’

Vanessa’s toes curled as she squeezed the phone tight. The bank representative she’d spoken with late this afternoon had turned her application for a loan down flat. His exact words: it’s best to face reality, cut your losses and find a paying job. But pedigree cockapoos sold for a great deal. If she tracked down and sold four, the extra funds could keep the wolf from the door, perhaps long enough to find a way to keep Great and Small alive and in its current location.

If there was any way, she wanted to stay where she was. The shop was set up exactly how she’d always envisaged. It was far more than a business.

It was her home.

‘Miss Craig? Are you there?’

Vanessa pushed to her feet. ‘How soon do you want them?’

‘The sooner the better.’

She was already jogging down the steps, phone still pressed to her ear. ‘I’ll make some enquiries and call you back.’

‘I’d prefer if you’d drop by.’

To pass on a few details? She didn’t see the point. But Mrs Stuart did indeed sound pampered and Vanessa wasn’t in a position to argue.

The customer was always right, particularly one with a few thousand to spend. She should be grateful Mitch Stuart was man enough to let bygones be bygones. He’d forgiven—and most likely forgotten—their embarrassing moment and had put his mother’s needs before any hard feelings. She, in turn, would be professional and do her best to track down those dogs.

Thirty minutes and three phone calls later, Vanessa turned her Honda CRV into the address Mrs Stuart had provided. A mansion greeted her, its stately sandstone walls surrounded by immaculate mint-green lawns. A Union Jack and Southern Cross flag, perched atop a mast that touched the sky, flapped in the cool early evening breeze.

She’d thought Mitch’s stylish contemporary abode was something special, but this place might have belonged to royalty. She remembered her own single bedroom granny flat and mismatched furniture and sighed. His world and hers were not only miles apart—they were light years.

After parking on the paved circular drive, she swallowed her jangle of nerves, ascended the stone steps and rang the bell that droned a sombre tune behind the imposing ten-foot-high oak door. A uniformed maid, with a severe overbite that reminded Vanessa of Mr Cheese, answered the door. Before either of them could speak, Mrs Stuart scurried across the polished timber floor and into view.

‘Come in, come in.’ Mrs Stuart waved Vanessa in, then called over her butter-yellow blouse shoulder, ‘Cynthia! The dog lady’s here.’

Vanessa cringed. Had Mitch suggested she call her that?

Mrs Stuart addressed the maid. ‘Thank you, Wendle. I’ll take care of our guest.’

Wendle left them and Mrs Stuart linked her arm through Vanessa’s, guiding her down a wide hall trimmed in ornate dark timber, into an elab orately furnished living room—decorative high ceiling, polished brass and crystal fittings, baroque couches and window seats pulled from the pages of Celebrity House and Garden.

On the far couch, a woman around Vanessa’s age lifted her reddened nose from a lace handkerchief. She was finely boned and, although unwashed, her hair looked blonde like her mother’s. However, rather than hazel, her eyes were ocean-blue like her brother’s, and rimmed with red.

Cynthia found the strength to mutter, ‘Nice to meet you.’

Mrs Stuart clasped her bejewelled hands under her chin. Diamonds and rubies flashed in the dying sunlight slanting in through a tall arched window. ‘Our Cynthia has had a bad time of it. Day before yesterday she was engaged. Today, sadly, she is not.’

Vanessa cocked a brow. These people mightn’t mind laying open their private lives in the parlour but, after yesterday’s blabbermouth experience with Mitch Stuart, she’d learned her lesson. She wouldn’t divulge the fact that she’d once lived through a similar ordeal.

She’d once dated a good-looking man of some means. He’d been charming, but something beyond mysterious about him had sent up a red flag. When, after two months, she’d suggested they have a break, he’d vowed he couldn’t give her up, then he’d popped the question. She’d been flattered but unconvinced. Good thing she hadn’t made a fool of herself and accepted, because the following day she’d received a call: apparently he was already engaged to someone more befitting his station. The ruffled female caller with the superior tone had said Vanessa was his ‘fluff on the side’.

At least animals didn’t omit the truth or flat out lie. What you saw was what you got.

‘I’m sorry about your news,’ Vanessa said sincerely. Then, squaring her shoulders, she moved forward with business. ‘You were interested in acquiring four cockapoos?’

Mrs Stuart sat beside her daughter and patted her hand. ‘Cynthia looked into purchasing one before …well, before this terrible affair. I thought going ahead and finding her a little friend would help. Then I got to thinking. My darling Sheba passed away six months ago.’

The calculation wasn’t difficult. ‘That’s only two puppies.’

‘Two each makes four,’ Mrs Stuart corrected. ‘It’s nice for them to have company. Cynthia and an older sister live in the cottage on the adjoining lot, so it’d be a real little family.’

Vanessa’s heart warmed. She would’ve loved to have had a brother or sister growing up… Christmases, birthdays, boisterous family Sunday dinners. Maybe one day—if she was lucky.

‘I’ve made a couple of phone calls,’ she said, happy to proceed. Dogs were great company at any time, particularly when someone needed a friend who didn’t judge and always listened. And more than instinct said any puppy sold to these women would certainly be cared for. ‘A litter sired by a world champion should be available this week. Is that too soon?’

Mrs Stuart squeezed her daughter’s free hand. ‘I should think the sooner the better.’ The older woman’s gaze drifted to the left and her face lit up. ‘Mitch, darling. Your friend’s arrived.’

Vanessa’s blood pressure dropped and the room tilted forty-five degrees.

Good Lord, she hadn’t known he’d be here.

She wheeled around to see Mitch Stuart sauntering into the room. His languid yet purposeful gait was that of a man effortlessly in charge. His smile was just as sexy, even if the slant of his lips was a little contrite. Vanessa’s stomach muscles tugged. She wanted to run—from this house or straight into those strong arms? She wasn’t certain which.

Warning herself not to, Vanessa nonetheless breathed in the subtle male scent as he stopped beside her. He was taller than she remembered, his shoulders in that crisp white Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled below the elbows, seemed far broader. His eyes were so blue and filled with light, she imagined she saw herself in their reflection.

He spoke to his mother but kept his eyes on their guest. ‘Miss Craig and I are acquaintances, Mother.’

‘Then your acquaintance is helping us no end,’ Mrs Stuart replied. ‘Vanessa thinks we can have our puppies by the end of the week.’

His chest inflated as that smile grew and simmered in his eyes. ‘That’s great news.’

Vanessa wondered…

He’d ripped up her business card, had kissed her passionately, then as good as admitted he didn’t want to get involved, which was far nobler than stringing her along. Was this meeting about salving his conscience as much as helping his mother and sister? If that were the case, she would be wise to accept his peace offering graciously. Aunt McKenzie had often warned against false pride.

She’d be grateful but, foremost, businesslike.

Vanessa allowed a crisp smile. ‘Thanks for the referral.’

‘Least I could do.’

Had he stepped closer or was it that seductive rich tone pulling at her again?

Determined to ignore the rapid heartbeat thudding in her ears, Vanessa tucked in her chin. She needed to move this along. They’d already established that, whatever it was bubbling between herself and Mitch Stuart, it was going nowhere fast.

She faced Mrs Stuart. ‘Would you mind if I had a look at the dogs’ accommodation?’

She’d like to pass on any positive information to the breeders. Plus her enquiry would get her out of the room and away from the temptation of Mitch Stuart’s hypnotic presence. She was human, after all.

Preoccupied, Cynthia sniffed, dropped the handkerchief to her lap and shuddered. Her mother clucked comfortingly and looked to her son. ‘Mitch, can you show Vanessa Sheba’s housing for me?’

Vanessa felt her eyes widen. She hadn’t meant for Mitch to take her on a tour. She should’ve kept quiet.

Of course, he could always decline.

But his smile was dazzling. ‘My pleasure. Follow me.’ He tipped his head towards the ornate arch through which he’d entered the room.

Vanessa found her calm centre and braced herself. She could handle this. She was a mature, intelligent woman with a goal. She could spend a few moments alone with Mitch Man-god Stuart. She was hardly in danger of him kissing her again, particularly here, in his mother’s home. They’d established he didn’t want to get involved—they weren’t ‘compatible’.

It was her imagination, then, that something almost predatory gleaming in his eyes whispered otherwise.

He matched his stride with hers and they passed a sitting room, what looked like a study, then a massive library, boasting book spines to the ceiling. The very walls seemed to breathe an extended family history of privilege.

He swung a left. Given the increasingly delicious aroma, she guessed they were approaching the kitchen.

He surprised her with his question. ‘How did your bank meeting go today?’

She took a moment to find a casual tone. ‘No need to try to make conversation, Mr Stuart.’

‘No good, huh?’

She pressed her lips together and looked straight ahead.

‘I’d like to help.’

She sent him a questioning look. ‘By sending more business my way?’

Did he have a swag of friends after companions? Not that that would be a long-term solution.

‘I was thinking more along the lines of a loan.’

Vanessa stopped dead and measured the earnest expression in his eyes. Well, that was out of the blue. Just what was behind that offer? Surely he wasn’t in the habit of gifting money to women he barely knew. Just what did he expect in exchange?

She set off walking again and they entered a huge kitchen. ‘Thanks, but I don’t take money from strangers.’

‘Acquaintance, remember? And I run an investment and lending organisation. Helping with finance is what I do.’

She digested the information and slid him a jaded smile. ‘You’ve suddenly decided to throw me a line?’ Odd that he’d neglected to mention his profession last night, and he’d certainly had the ideal opportunity.

‘We’d known each other five minutes. I’ve had time to think it over.’

‘Think over being charitable or kissing me and wishing you hadn’t?’