Not a Marrying Man (8 page)

‘Hi there,’ he said, and flashed his business card. ‘I’m Jim Hansen, from Seachange Properties. I have an appointment to meet Mr Warwick Kincaid here at two p.m.’

Amber suppressed a groan. She’d forgotten about Warwick’s organising this meeting.

‘Hello,’ she said, using the practised smile that she’d perfected during her various jobs in the hospitality industry where you smiled no matter how lousy you felt. ‘I’m Amber Roberts, the new owner here, actually, not Mr Kincaid. I inherited it from my aunt who died recently.’

‘Ah. I didn’t realise. Sorry,’ he said.

‘I dare say Warwick didn’t enlighten you.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ the agent returned. ‘I thought he was the owner. So will your boyfriend be handling the sale for you, Ms Roberts?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely not,’ she returned somewhat brusquely. ‘And Warwick’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend who drove me up here today. He’s already gone back to Sydney.’

The agent smiled the kind of smile men often smiled
at Amber. ‘In that case this is for you, Ms Roberts,’ he said, handing her the business card. ‘Or can I call you Amber?’

‘Amber will be fine.’

‘Great. I gathered from my conversation with Mr Kincaid that you want to sell—is that right?’

‘Well, to be honest, Mr Hansen—’

‘Jim,’ he interrupted smoothly.

‘All right.
Jim,
she said, irritated slightly at the agent’s confidence. She was rather tired of confident men. ‘To be honest,’ she went on, ‘I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with my aunt’s place. I only found out last night that I’d inherited it. I’m afraid Warwick just presumed I would want to sell straight away and took it upon himself to contact you without my say-so. I’m sorry that you’ve wasted your time coming out here today.’

‘There’s absolutely no need for you to rush such an important decision,’ Jim said affably. ‘But since I’m already here, why don’t you give me a quick tour around the place? That way, I could give you an up-to-date valuation. Then you’ll know what to expect, if and when you do decide to sell.’

Amber almost said no, which was crazy. It was a sensible move to get a valuation. On top of that, if she sent him away she would be alone again. Alone and sad. Better to do something constructive and distracting.

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ she said. ‘Look, I was just about to have a cup of coffee. Care to join me?’

‘Love to.’

‘This way,’ Amber said and led him into the kitchen.

‘Nice-sized room,’ the agent said as he pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.

Ten minutes later, Amber was almost regretting
asking the man to stay. He wasn’t exactly chatting her up. But he was exhibiting the kind of super-slick charm that successful salesmen invariably possessed.

Amber was in no mood to be charmed, or flattered.

‘If you’ve finished your coffee, Jim,’ she said, standing up abruptly, ‘I’ll give you that quick tour of the house and you can tell me what you think it’s worth.’

‘Okay,’ he agreed readily, and stood up also.

‘Well, as you can see, this is the kitchen,’ she started in a businesslike fashion. ‘I guess you’d describe it as country-style. Now, if you follow me I’ll show you all the downstairs rooms first.’

The downstairs consisted of a dining room and lounge room at the true front of the house, which faced north-east, towards the beach. At the back of the house was the kitchen-cum-breakfast room, across from which was a very large room, which had once been a games room, but which Aunt Kate had had converted several years ago into her own bedroom, complete with sitting area and her own private bathroom.

Upstairs had also been renovated around the same time, Aunt Kate having decided to change her establishment from a modestly priced guest house into a more upmarket B & B. The original five-bedroom, two-bathroom layout had been changed into three large bedrooms, each with its own en suite bathroom, along with a very nice sitting room where one wall was totally devoted to bookshelves and books. Two of the bedrooms overlooked the back yard, but the largest—
plus
the sitting area—opened out onto a balcony that had a lovely view of the ocean.

Amber had always thought her aunt’s house to be very nice, but as she showed the agent around she noticed for the first time that the décor was rather dated, and
some of the furniture a little shabby. The lace curtains in the bedrooms looked old-fashioned, and, whilst the polished wooden floors were okay, the patterned rugs that covered them were not.

Perhaps she’d become used to living in Warwick’s super-modern, super-stylish apartment, with its wall-to-wall cream carpet, slick new furniture, recessed lighting and shiny surfaces. Whatever, she suddenly saw that her aunt’s place could do with some modernising. As she showed Jim around Amber began making mental notes on what she would do to the property, if she stayed on. The multicoloured walls would all be painted cream. Out would go the myriad lace curtains and in would come cream plantation shutters. The floral bedding needed replacing with something more modern, as did the overly patterned rugs. The bathrooms, fortunately, were fine, being all white. But there were far too many knick-knacks cluttering every available surface. Most of these could go to a charity shop.

Even the comfy country kitchen required some attention. The pine cupboards were okay but some granite bench tops would give the room a real lift, as would a tiled floor. There really was way too much wood.

Her head was buzzing with plans by the time the tour was over.

‘I probably will sell eventually,’ Amber told Jim as she escorted him out onto the back porch. ‘But not just yet. I don’t think I’d get the best price, the way the house is presented at the moment.’ She also wanted a project that would keep her mind occupied for the next few weeks, something to distract her from the depression that was sure to descend, now that all her secret hopes and dreams for the future with Warwick were dashed.

‘You’re quite right,’ Jim agreed. ‘You would achieve
a better price with some changes. The décor spells out old lady, whereas the buyer prepared to pay top dollar for this place would be a young professional couple with a family looking for a holiday home which they could let out as well.

‘Though to be honest, Amber,’ he went on without drawing breath, ‘there are always buyers for homes in this location, regardless of their condition and presentation. I could get you a million for this place tomorrow without your having to spend a cent. Let me warn you that changing things takes time. Time and money.’

‘True. But the real-estate market is picking up at the moment from what I’ve heard.’ She hadn’t gone to countless dinners with all those wheeler-dealer contacts of Warwick’s without learning something. ‘And any beachside property sells for more during the spring and summer months. It would be far more sensible of me to fix this place up a bit, then put it on the market in a couple of months time.’

‘Wow,’ Jim said. ‘Not only beautiful but brainy as well.’

Amber just smiled.

‘I have your card,’ she said politely. ‘I’ll contact you if and when I’m ready to sell.’

‘You mean you might not sell at all?’

‘I don’t believe in making rash decisions.’ She’d only done that once, and look where it had got her?

‘Sensible girl. Look, I hope you won’t think I’m being pushy, but would you like to go out to dinner tonight?’

Amber blinked her surprise. She’d forgotten how aggressive some men could be in their pursuit of the fairer sex. In the ten months she’d lived with Warwick, none
of his male acquaintances had ever hit on her. But that was because they wouldn’t have dared.

Now, however, she was single again, and living alone, with no one to protect her from unwanted advances.

‘I noticed when you were making me coffee earlier that there wasn’t much in the way of food in the kitchen cupboards,’ Jim went on before she could open her mouth. ‘There’s several great restaurants in Terrigal. We could do French, or Mexican, or seafood. Whatever you fancy.’

Amber knew full well that it wasn’t concern for her lack of food that had inspired that invitation, but the predatorial gleam in his eyes that she’d glimpsed every now and then. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to fend off some testosterone-laden thirty-year-old who thought he was God’s gift to women.

Which Jim Hansen obviously did.

No doubt Jim was a great success in his job. Warwick would not have rung that particular agent without having found out through one of his many business contacts who on the Central Coast had sold the most houses last year. Given Jim’s natural good looks and confident manner, he was also no doubt a great success with the opposite sex.

But he was fighting a losing battle with her. Amber wanted nothing to do with men for a long, long time.

‘Thank you for the offer, Jim,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you. But I am dining with some friends tonight who live not far from here.’ Of course it was a lie, but only a little white one. Amber had never been the sort of girl to issue brutal rejections.

He did look disappointed. And perhaps a little surprised. Clearly, he was no more used to rejection than Warwick.

Damn it, she’d been trying not to think about
him.

Jim recovered quickly. ‘I’ll ask again, you know.’

This time, Amber gave him a firm look. ‘Please don’t. You’ll be wasting your time.’

‘You already have a boyfriend, is that it? ‘

‘I did. Till recently. And I don’t want another right now.’

‘Understood,’ he replied, but with a smug little smile hovering around his lips. ‘Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.’

‘I will,’ she lied again. No way would she be calling Jim Hansen, even if she decided to sell tomorrow. She’d find a female agent who wouldn’t give her any hassles. ‘Thank you for calling,’ she finished up coolly, hoping that he would finally get the message.

She stood there and watched him stride over to his car, a shiny black sporty number with HANSEN spelt out on the black and white number plate. Not a Ferrari, but it looked expensive just the same. He gave her a wave and another smile as he climbed in.

Amber returned the wave but not the smile.

Just go, she thought irritably.

He did. Eventually. Though he took his time.

Amber sighed her relief once the black car disappeared up the street. And to think she’d
wanted
his company earlier.

The sun suddenly going behind a cloud sent a shiver running down her spine. Crossing her arms, Amber had just turned to go back inside when she heard a decidedly familiar sound. The noise a Ferrari made when throttling down was unlike any other sound.

She spun back round, her mouth falling open as Warwick swung his car into the driveway in much the same way as he’d left earlier. After accelerating into the
back yard at a ridiculous speed, he did a U-turn across the lawn and screeched to a halt in the same space Jim Hansen’s car had occupied a few seconds earlier.

This time, Amber’s immediate and only reaction to Warwick’s return was shock. Down deep, she’d been absolutely certain that he would not come back. He was out of the car in a flash, his face darkly frustrated as he marched around the front and over to her.

‘I was beginning to think I’d have to come inside and throw that idiot out,’ he ground out. ‘What in hell were you doing with Hansen that took so long? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

Amber’s mouth finally snapped shut, her shock giving way to outrage.

‘No! You
shouldn’t
ask. What I do with Jim Hansen, or any other man, is none of your business. We’re finished.
Remember?
‘

‘We’re finished when I say we’re finished, madam. And that’s certainly not today. Now, do you want to argue out here where all the neighbours can hear? Or shall we go inside where we can talk like reasonable adults?’

He didn’t wait for her to answer, cupping her right elbow with steel-like fingers and steering her firmly back inside through the open door. Once in the hallway, he kicked the door shut, then took hold of both her shoulders, forcing her to look up into his angry blue eyes.

‘I’m going to ask you one more time, Amber. What took you so bloody long with that oily-looking person?’

‘I don’t know what you’re so upset about. You’re the one who arranged for Jim to call.’

‘So it’s Jim already, is it?’

‘And why not? We don’t stand on ceremony here in Australia. We get on a first-name basis pretty quickly. I would have thought a man as smart as yourself would have noticed our easy-going Aussie culture by now.’

‘Very funny. Have you asked Hansen to sell the house?’

‘Not as yet. I’ve decided to live here for a while.’

‘Really. If that’s the case, then I wonder why our esteemed estate agent left here with that Cheshire Cat grin on his face. Still, it doesn’t take a genius to work out the reason behind his smugness. Given the amount of time you spent with him, he probably thought he was on to a sure thing.’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Amber wrenched herself out of Warwick’s almost painful grip and marched into the nearby kitchen where she was able to put the table between herself and Warwick. Not to protect herself from him, but because she wanted to hit him more than she’d wanted to hit anyone in her life.

He followed her, his body language that of a man struggling with some suppressed violence of his own.

‘Hansen asked you out, didn’t he?’ he bit out as he gripped the back of one of the wooden chairs with whitened knuckles.

Why, oh, why did she have to look guilty?

‘What’s it to you if he did?’ she threw at him in desperate defiance. ‘You don’t want me. Not really. You were going to break up with me. The only reason you’re here now creating a fuss is because your precious ego’s been bruised.’

His hands curled into furious fists as they dropped to his side. ‘I’m warning you, Amber.’

She drew herself up to her full height, her chin lifting. ‘I’m not afraid of you, Warwick Kincaid.’

‘You should be. As for my not wanting you, you’re very wrong about that. I do want you, Amber, more than ever. Now tell me that you haven’t agreed to go out with Hansen.’