Perfect Scents. Virginia Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ want a kitchen double the size of the average living room, with a tiny laundry and bathroom opening into the same space. He would need to reconfigure. “I could make this room look pretty special, but it’s not worth too much bother.”

      “Isn’t it listed?”

      “That’s why I got it at a bargain price. Every other buyer wanted to knock it down.” His mouth hitched with dissatisfaction. “I only have permission to get rid of the later-built outhouses. I want to do a quick reno and then get on with my life.”

      “The brickwork is something special,” she said, completely ignoring his words again and getting right back onto her own track. “My gran’s house was like this. When she sold it and went to live with my father, the man who bought the place added on a modern extension.”

      Exasperated, he raked one hand though his hair. “I suppose that’s what will happen here. I’m not a builder. I’m a chippy, and I do interiors. I can’t afford to waste money on extensions. I need to get in quick, make a profit, and get out.”

      She sighed. “My mind sees this place all spruced up and beautiful again.”

      Lifting one palm, he rubbed a thumb over the ends of his fingers. “Money. When I can afford altruism will be the time for me to think that way.”

      Her cheeks turned red and she nodded. He didn’t like bringing up her situation, but he had only stepped onto the first rung of success, unlike her father who had built a taller ladder and hauled his family to the pinnacle. One day Kell might do that.

      “Your turn,” Trent said, returning a little sprucer than when he had left. “It’s a shame we don’t have any clean plates.”

      “They’re in that cupboard above the sink.” Vix shot him a frown. “Don’t try your helpless act with me. I’m married to Jay who can set a table as well as I do.”

      “That’s because he’s been domesticated. I’m still training Trent,” Kell said on his way to the bathroom where he yet again picked up Trent’s towel and washed.

      By the time he returned, the card table in the center of the kitchen had been spread with a red tablecloth and dotted with white plates. Bread, ham, cheese, pickles, and a salad to eat, and he was a new man. Vix left the food in the fridge and took the basket back, likely for her father to refill.

      Kell liked knowing that one of the richest men in the state was putty in his gentle daughter’s hands.

      * * * *

      The afternoon flew by while Calli concentrated, referring again and again to her diagrams. She wanted sudden views in the garden and hidden nooks. She wanted beds of color, patches of sunlight, and swathes of green. On paper, her plan seemed feasible. While she ducked through the old haphazardly planted undergrowth, the job looked bigger than she could manage. However, she had to manage. She had made a mess of her personal life and her business life, and she was tired of being used.

      She whacked at the stake marking one of the curved edges for the front garden, using her righteous energy productively. For too long she had been no more than her parents’ daughter, and she had to find another self. If she wanted to change herself and her life, she had to do so now. Before she finished this job, she would be a whole new Calli. She gave an extra whack to the next stake.

      During the afternoon, she finished shaping the new front garden. Re-plotting the complicated back garden would take her more than a week, in her estimation. She stripped off her gloves as she returned to the cottage and the cat, who greeted her with a raised head and a blink.

      Calli put fresh food out for the animal, a bare mouthful, which seemed to be the amount Hobo could manage. She watched the cat eat for a moment and then she changed into slim black pants with a loose top patterned in black and white. With her short toffee-colored hair brushed back, she doubted anyone would look at her long enough to recognize her. She had omitted the lashes she had always worn and only added gloss to her lips. Her slight nod to vanity was her black-and-white striped heels, which made her as tall as the average man. Satisfied she looked neat and clean, she took herself and her phone to the local pub for a bar special.

      The place employed a cook and not a chef, and the cook couldn’t cook. In between web searching for plants on her phone, she picked at the watery vegetables from the serve-yourself bain-marie. After cutting off the fat, she ate the greasy roast lamb, wishing she wasn’t hungry enough to do so, and she left after taking the last mouthful. She could drink good coffee at home, since the cottage was now her home.

      Dark had descended when she arrived back. Lights glimmered through the forest surrounding the house next door. She now knew more than one person lived there, since the white SUV had left during the day. Later, she had seen two white-wrapped men, one blonde woman, and a Ferrari.

      Perhaps because walking into a dark house alone at night spooked her, her mind began to hover over her speculations about the neighbors again. As the SUV hadn’t been there during the day, the tattooed gangster wasn’t either of the white-clad men. The only car to arrive had been the Ferrari. Women rarely drove Ferraris, therefore one of the men would have brought the blonde, or she lived in the house next door, too.

      Why would the Ferrari macho stereotype, usually a youngish male who wanted admiration from other men or, of course, beautiful blondes, live in a dilapidated property hidden by trees? Why would he wear white coveralls? For cleaning? Unlikely. Or not? Momentarily letting her mind wander over cleaning, aka, body disposal, she hesitated in the doorway—but she couldn’t let her imagination loose when she only had herself to spook.

      Deliberately relaxing her shoulders, she switched on the main light. A body disposer wouldn’t be interested in her. She hardly had a body at all, and she certainly didn’t have any mob connections. Aside from that, she had nothing to snitch to the police about, other than Grayson, of course. Her worst problem was the smelly cat.

      “Hi, puss,” she said to Hobo, who stretched, and then soft-footed off the couch, aiming a reproachful glare at Calli. “What have I done? I’ve been out. Whatever has happened, you can’t blame me.”

      Hobo did a figure eight around Calli’s ankles and then paraded to the fridge where her food dish sat empty.

      “Very impressive. I suppose you expect me to fill the bowl again. Well…okay. But don’t take a single bite unless you agree to have a bath.” Calli spooned food into the bowl and set the dish in front of the cat, who ate like a taster in a cooking competition, taking tiny bites and pausing. “I hope you realize you have compromised yourself by accepting a bribe.”

      She decided the cat had nodded in agreement. Grabbing her bottle of shampoo and one of the towels from the bathroom, she left the kitchen sink to fill with warm water while she made a pad that covered the drainer. “How to bathe a cat,” she said in a companionable voice. “In one easy lesson. Finished dinner?”

      Hobo lifted a paw and began cleaning between her toes with her teeth.

      “Don’t worry about that.” Calli picked up the cat, tested the water’s temperature with her elbow, which anyone knew to do, and with trembling hands put the cat in the water, which reached just past her knees. “Could you sit? No. Is it okay if I scoop water over you?”

      The cat gave her an unreadable glance, but other than a slight shudder, she accepted having water scooped over her. Calli soaped her up, rinsed her off, cleaned her eyes, and then as gently as she could, she patted the bundle of bones dry. Without her matted fur covering, the cat was frighteningly delicate. СКАЧАТЬ