Читать книгу Within Reach - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING FOUND Angie wrestling with the ancient lock on the door to her studio. She pulled the key out, then slid it back in and jiggled it around. After a few tense seconds she felt the latch give and rolled her eyes.

Typical. Like everything else in the Stradbroke building, the mechanism worked just enough to make it difficult to make a case to the landlord to replace it. She locked the door behind her and dropped her bag on the small table and chairs she kept for client meetings, then crossed to the window to let in some fresh air. Next, she pulled on the well-worn leather apron she wore to protect her clothes and hunkered down in front of her safe to open it. Inside were the flat strips of gold, silver and other metals that she used to create the alloys for her pieces, as well as a box containing dozens of small boxes, each of which boasted a selection of diamonds and other gems. She preferred to work with white, champagne and pink diamonds, but she had a small collection of rubies and emeralds and sapphires, as well. This morning she ignored the stones and pulled the gold and silver from the safe. Both the rings for the Merton commission—her first priority this week—were to be made from 18-karat white gold. She checked the design brief she’d created in consultation with Judy and John and did some math to calculate how much she’d need of both palladium and gold to accommodate their ring sizes—an L and S respectively—then turned toward the scales to measure.

Perhaps inevitably, her thoughts turned to Michael and the kids as she worked.

She’d really pissed him off last night with her unsolicited advice.

It was so hard to know what to do. Michael may have been married to Billie for six years, and Angie may have seen him once a week on average during that time, but their friendship had always been grounded in their mutual connection with Billie. Not that Angie didn’t like him in his own right—she did, a lot—but in her mind he was Billie’s husband first and foremost, and then Michael. Just as she suspected she was Billie’s friend first to him, and then herself.

Although maybe that assessment wasn’t strictly true anymore. It had been an intense ten months, after all.

The phone rang, cutting through her thoughts. She leaned to grab the handset.

“Angela speaking.”

“Angie, it’s Michael.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off again. I rang to apologize for last night.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do. I was an ass, and I’m sorry.”

One of the things she’d always liked about Michael was that he didn’t beat around the bush. He was a man of few words, but those he did speak were always worth hearing.

“Apology accepted. Even if it is unnecessary.”

“I thought about what you said, and I spoke to my partners today. They’re keen for me to come back whenever I’m ready.”

“Hey, that’s great. Are you going to take them up on it?”

“I don’t know. I need to sort out child care. But you were right. Sitting around here on my own all day isn’t helping anything.”

She pictured the darkened kitchen and living room and his shaggy hair and too-thin frame.

“It’s hard to get into things again. But life goes on whether we want it to or not. Wrong as it seems.” She hated how trite she sounded.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you thought about going back part-time to start with? Maybe three days a week, or something like that? That way both you and the kids would have a chance to get used to you not being around as much.”

“Part-time. I hadn’t thought of that. But there’s no reason why I couldn’t do it, even if it meant I worked from home on the other days.”

“Let’s face it, you’re probably going to do that anyway,” she said drily.

“True. And that would mean I’d only have to find day care for Charlie three days. And work out something for Eva after school.”

She moved to the window, stepping into a shaft of sunlight and letting it warm her skin.

“What about a nanny? I have no idea how much they are, but my friend Gail uses one. She says it’s a godsend.”

“Yeah? I guess it would be worth investigating. I keep hearing that the day-care places around here have waiting lists as long as my arm.”

“I’ll ask where she got hers and text you.”

“Thanks, Angie. I appreciate it.”

There was a humble sincerity to his tone that made her throat tight.

“How would you feel about me coming over on Sunday and taking Eva shopping for her friend’s present?”

It felt like a pitifully small gesture, all things considered, but at least it was practical.

“I would feel eternally grateful. I have no idea what to buy a six-year-old.”

“Neither do I, to be honest, but we can wing it. What say I swing by to pick her up at two on Sunday?”

“She’ll be ready. Thanks, Angie.”

“It helps me, too, you know,” she said quietly. “Being with the kids. Helping you out.”

He was silent for a moment. “Okay.” There was a wealth of understanding in the single word.

“I’ll see you Sunday.”

“You will.”

She ended the call and stepped out of the sunshine.

Michael was going back to the firm. A good decision, she was sure of it. Her work had saved her during the early, hard months. She was sure it would help him find himself again now.

At least, she hoped so.

* * *

THE REMAINDER OF THE WEEK sped by in a blur. Angie worked late every night, keen to make inroads on the commissions that had been waiting while she was in New York. She allowed herself the small luxury of sleeping in on Sunday before catching up with a friend for lunch. It was just after two when she stopped in front of Billie’s house.

She rang the doorbell, then had a horrible moment where she was suddenly convinced that she’d left her phone behind in the café. She fumbled in her handbag. Her fingers closed around her phone’s smooth contours as the front door opened.

“Hey. Right on time,” Michael said.

She glanced up, a lighthearted retort on her lips. The first thing she registered was his new, crisp haircut and the fact that he was clean-shaven. Then her gaze took in his broad chest in a sweat-dampened tank top and the skin-tight black running leggings moulded to his muscular legs. The words died on her lips and she blinked, momentarily stunned by the change in him.

“You’ve cut your hair,” she said stupidly.

“Yeah. Decided it was time to stop doing my Robinson Crusoe impersonation.”

He gestured for her to enter and she brushed past him. He smelled of fresh air and spicy masculine deodorant. He preceded her up the hall and her gaze traveled across his shoulders before dropping to his muscular backside. Billie had often waxed poetic about Michael’s body, but Angie had always made a point of not noticing—she didn’t want to know that kind of stuff. Now, as he stopped at the kitchen counter, she was forcibly reminded of the fact that he was a very attractive man.

For a moment she didn’t quite know where to look.

“Is, um, Eva ready to go? I thought I’d take her to Chadstone,” she said, naming Melbourne’s biggest shopping center. Her gaze skittered uneasily around the room. It was only then that she noticed the other changes—the kitchen was clean, not a single dirty bowl or plate in sight, and the dining table had been polished to a shine. True, a small stack of neatly folded washing sat at one end, but it looked like a temporary measure this time rather than a permanent fixture. The living room had been cleared of stray books and magazines and abandoned clothes, the cushions on the couch plumped.

Most important, the blinds had been raised, inviting the weak winter sunshine into the house.

She forgot all about her uncomfortable awareness as her gaze met Michael’s.

“Look at you go,” she said quietly.

He shrugged, but she could tell he was pleased she’d noticed the difference. “Getting there.”

It wasn’t only his hair that was different, she realized. His eyes were different, too. Brighter, clearer, more focused. As though he’d ceased looking inward and was ready to engage with the world again.

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get this show on the road,” Eva announced as she marched into the room.

She was dressed in a pair of yellow cowboy boots, a bright blue skirt and a poppy-red sweater. Her blond hair had been pulled into two lopsided pigtails and fastened with yellow-and-white polka dot ribbons, and a grass-green handbag hung from her shoulder.

Her mother’s daughter, from top to toe.

“You look like a summer’s day,” Angie said, opening her arms for a hug.

Eva walked into her embrace, resting her head beneath Angie’s breasts.

“I feel like a summer’s day. We’re going shopping.”

Michael smiled ruefully. “Words to make any man quake in his shoes.” He picked up his wallet. “How much money do you need?”

“I have my own money, thank you very much.” Eva pulled an elephant-shaped wallet from her handbag and displayed the two five-dollar bills resting within.

“Not bad, money bags. How about I give Auntie Angie a little extra in case you ladies find something nice that catches your eye?”

Angie shook her head as he offered her two crisp fifties. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re doing enough already.”

Before she could protest again, he closed the distance between them and tucked the bills into her coat pocket. She caught another whiff of his deodorant and a faint hint of clean, male sweat.

She cleared her throat. “Well. We should probably get going, little lady. Don’t want to miss out on all the bargains.”

Eva kissed her father goodbye and Angie told him they would be back by five and hustled out the door. She didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable until she was sliding into the driver’s seat.

Which was dumb. Michael was still Michael, even if he did have an attractive body and a handsome face. Just because she’d suddenly tuned into that fact for a few seconds didn’t change anything.

“Weirdo,” she muttered under her breath.

“Sorry?” Eva said, her face puzzled.

“Nothing, sweetheart.”

And it was nothing. A stupid, odd little moment of awareness that meant nothing to anybody. Shaking it off, she started the car and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

MICHAEL SHOWERED AFTER Angie and Eva had left, taking advantage of the fact that Charlie was enjoying a rare afternoon nap. His legs ached from the run he’d taken after lunch while his neighbor, Mrs. Linton, watched the kids, but for the first time in a long time his body felt loose and easy.

He soaped himself down and allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of warm water and well-used muscles. His thoughts drifted to the afternoon. The odds were good that Charlie would be awake any second now. Maybe they could go to the park. Charlie could run around to his heart’s content and afterward Michael might take a look at the plans Dane had sent over last night.

Michael was still feeling his way toward the whole going-back-to-work thing. He’d spoken to a nanny agency and they were lining up interviews for him for next week and Mrs. Linton had offered to help in the interim, but a part of him was holding back for some reason, not quite ready to commit to the complete resumption of his life. It was one thing to get a haircut and clean the house. It was another thing entirely to draw a line under the past few months and let the world in again.

Dane had clearly taken his imminent return as a given, however—Michael had checked his email last night and found a sizable file waiting for him, complete with brief and draft plans for a luxury beach house the firm had been commissioned to design. One of many projects, apparently, that his fellow partners were happy to hand over the moment Michael returned.

After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt and hooded sweatshirt, he took Charlie to the local park where they swung and climbed and played peekaboo endlessly. There were a couple of other parents hanging around with their kids, one of whom he recognized as a member of Billie’s mothers’ group. He chatted to her politely for a few minutes before Charlie once again demanded his attention. He walked away feeling woefully rusty at the whole small-talk thing.

Later, he was folding the last of the washing when he heard the door open and the sound of Eva’s footsteps pounding along the hall.

“We got the bestest present ever,” she announced as she burst into the kitchen. She held what looked like a set of butterfly wings.

“Wow. They look pretty cool,” he said as Angie followed Eva.

“We had trouble deciding between fairy and butterfly wings. So we got both.” Angie brandished her own shopping bag. “Eva’s going to decide which ones she thinks Imogen would prefer.” Angie’s deep blue eyes were shining with laughter. They both knew that Eva’s choice would be more about which pair of wings she didn’t want.

“Sounds like your mission was achieved.”

“We had a great time. Auntie Angie took me to get my nails done, and we had coffee and bisgotty.”

“Biscotti,” Angie said easily. “Which is a fancy-pants way of saying biscuit in Italian.”

“Biscotti. Bis-cotti,” Eva repeated to herself.

Michael didn’t even try to hide his smile this time, and neither did Angie. He met her gaze again.

“Stay for dinner?”

“Sure. If you’ve got enough to go around.”

“It’s nothing fancy, just pasta. And there’s always enough pasta.”

“No,” Eva groaned. “We always have spaghetti.”

“I think you might be exaggerating a little there, sweetheart.”

“We had it last night, and Wednesday night, and Monday night.”

Michael frowned, ready to correct her. Then he realized she was right. “Those were all different pastas.” He sounded lame, even to himself. The truth was, he was a competent cook, but not a very imaginative one.

“Have you made anything yet?” Angie asked.

“No. I was about to start on the sauce. Which will be different from the other sauces we had during the week,” he said for Eva’s benefit.

She gave him a skeptical look, as well she might. There was only so much a man could do with tomatoes, onion and ground meat.

“If you want to take a break from the kitchen for the night, I could make us Mexican. I picked up a few groceries while we were out so I’ve got a taco kit and the makings for a salad in the car,” Angie said.

“Yes!” Eva jumped up and down on the spot, hands in the air.

“Mexican it is, then,” Angie said.

The dinner prep passed quickly, punctuated with lots of laughter. The Mexican feast elicited loud approving noises from his children—a hint, in case he’d missed the earlier message, that he needed to add a little more variety to their weekly menu.

Charlie was rubbing his eyes by the time they had finished eating and Michael took a chance and settled him in his bed. Miraculously, Charlie’s eyes shut after only ten minutes of story.

When Michael returned to the kitchen, Angie was seated at the counter, her chin propped on her left hand as she sketched rapidly in a notebook.

“Guess who’s already asleep?”

She glanced up, her blue eyes unfocused for a few seconds as she dragged herself back from whatever creative space she’d been in.

“Really? He’s down already?”

“The magic of the park.”

“Wow. They should put that in a can. It would sell like hotcakes.”

“You want a coffee?”

“Sure.”

He glanced to the living area and saw that Eva had crashed out on the couch, too. Unusual for her, but maybe the shopping had worn her out. He pulled mugs from the cupboard and grabbed the French press. He turned to check if Angie wanted some chocolates with their coffee and saw that she was once again absorbed in her notebook, this time writing small, neat notes to herself in the margin.

She was so self-contained, one of the calmest people he knew. In fact, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d seen her really agitated or distressed. She approached everything with an interested, open-minded curiosity and an unfailing, quiet sense of humor. She was good company, good to spend time with.

All of which made her apparently perpetual single status baffling to him. It wasn’t as though she was hard on the eyes. She might not be conventionally beautiful, but her long, oval face and deep blue eyes were very appealing. She had a sleek, subtly curved body that was more athletic than va-voom, but there was no denying that she was an attractive woman. Very attractive.

He knew through Billie that Angie’s love life was hardly a barren desert—there were men, not too many, but enough—yet none of them seemed to stick. He also knew via his indiscreet wife that there had been one man years ago who Angie had been crazy about. Was she still holding a candle for him? Or was it simply a matter of her not being interested?

Behind him, the kettle clicked to announce it had boiled. He started to make the coffees as the doorbell rang through the house.

He frowned. It was nearly eight-thirty, and the days of people dropping in unannounced had gone with Billie.

“I’ll finish this. You get the door,” Angie said.

“Thanks.”

He made his way up the hall and opened the door to find the woman he’d run into in the park earlier on his doorstep, a piece of paper in hand.

“Michael. Hi. Remember me? Gerry.” She gave a self-conscious laugh.

“Of course,” he said, even though he’d forgotten her name the moment she’d reintroduced herself this afternoon. He simply didn’t have room for that sort of thing in his head right now.

“Sorry to show up on your doorstep like this, but I was thinking about Charlie this afternoon and I realized that you’ve probably been out of the loop a bit since we all used to contact Billie for things… Anyway, I thought you might be interested in this.”

Gerry thrust the piece of paper at him and he saw that it was a flyer advertising a sing-and-dance event at the local indoor play center.

“A bunch of us are going to make a day of it, take a picnic, that sort of thing.” Gerry smoothed a hand over her deep red hair.

“Thanks. I’ll see if we can make it. Charlie thinks he’s a rock star, so it’s all about singing and dancing for him.”

She laughed a little too loudly. “Oh, he’s adorable. And so is Eva. Such lovely kids.”

There wasn’t much he could say to that and not sound like a monstrous egotist, so he simply smiled politely. Gerry started talking about the next mothers’ group get-together and insisted on passing over another list with everyone’s phone numbers, indicating her own.

“Anything you need, babysitting, whatever, you call me,” she said. “I’d be happy to help out any way I can. I know how tough it is doing it all alone.”

They had been talking on the doorstep so long he suspected he probably should have invited her inside, but just when he was prodding himself to do so she palmed her car keys and took a step away.

“I’ll see you around, Michael.”

“Sure. And thanks for this, Gerry. I appreciate it.”

She waved a hand to indicate it wasn’t a big deal and then took off up the driveway, her high heels loud against the concrete. He shut the door and returned to the kitchen. Two mugs sat steaming on the counter. Angie had a small, wry smile on her face.

“One of Billie’s mothers’ group friends with a playdate thingy,” he explained, brandishing the flyer before using a magnet to fix it to the fridge. “I ran into her in the park today.”

“Was that what that was about?” Angie asked, eyebrows arched knowingly.

He stared at her blankly. “What else would it be?”

She gave a small laugh. “Michael, she was hitting on you.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Um, yeah, she was. Totally hitting on you. Who drops by with a playdate reminder at eight-thirty on a Sunday night?”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

She didn’t say anything, but her expression did.

“She’s married, Angie. She has kids.”

“She has kids, yes, but not all the women in that group were married, you know. Ever heard of single parenthood and divorce?”

He shrugged, sick of the subject. “Fine. Maybe she was hitting on me. If you say so.”

He grabbed his mug and took a mouthful of strong, hot coffee. Angie had made it exactly the way he liked it.

“She won’t be the last, you know.”

“I don’t care.”

She eyed him sympathetically, hands wrapped around her mug, elbows propped on the counter.

“You might eventually.”

He set his cup down so firmly it made a loud crack against the marble surface. “No, I won’t.”

Why was Angie pushing this? She, of all people, should understand that Billie couldn’t be replaced.

Afraid he’d say something he’d regret, he went to put his daughter to bed.