“The trouble with good looking men is that they know it.” Madelaine waved her wine glass a little as Fiona popped every second strawberry into her mouth. They hulled a large punnet. “You’ll get raging indigestion doing that.”
“No kidding.” Fiona patted her large belly.
“And, they usually get the women they’re after.” Madelaine took a large swig.
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Madd, I mean, if he’s locked eyes on you and you think he’s…like, you know—yummo, and he knows it, you’re dead in the water.”
“The only thing men like that know is one night stands.”
“True,” Fiona agreed, popping more strawberries.
“And the other cluey thing they do is tell you they’re only interested in one thing.”
“They do?” Fiona asked. “They don’t,” she said disbelieving.
“Yup. They say things like, ‘Now, Maddy, are you sure you want to do this?’ like they know it’s only a one night stand and you’re supposed to understand the rules.”
“Uh, and you don’t?”
“Hell, no. All you understand after they've got you into a state of swooning, is that if you don’t get it, you’ll die. Oh, they’re clever, all right.”
“You said ‘swooning’. You should lay off the booze.” Fiona looked at the half mast bottle of champagne. “Some more strawberries?” she offered.
“And you’re probably wondering how I’m such an expert here.”
“No.” Fiona removed Maddy’s glass from her hand. “I’m not.”
“Well, it’s happened to me, my girl,” Madelaine enlarged. “Don’t you worry, I know what I’m talking about.”
Fiona looked at her friend. “In just over the three weeks Troy-bloody-P-bloody-Charles has been here at your house, the place had been transformed.” She set down the strawberry bowl and wagged a forefinger. “He’s planted a small garden. Not flowers or anything, I know, but native trees and shrubs, he’s protected the young saplings from possums and wallabies. He’s weeded, fenced, landscaped, hammered-n-nailed and generally tidied the place.” Fiona waved her hand towards the ceiling. “He’s fixed the downpipe, cut a skylight in one of the bedrooms, changed God only knows how many leaky tap washers and even laid some concrete.” She huffed her hair out of her eyes. “What’s not to like?”
Madelaine knew it. The place looked a million dollars. Cleaned up, tidied up. Better than it did before. Somehow sharper, more loved. More energized, like him.
Man, how she needed a helping hand like that.
He’d checked over Madd’s recipes, the meals, the quantities, the orders. He’d checked forward bookings to be more properly prepared. He could even put together a reasonable dinner for the two of them on the odd occasion that she’d let him get away with it.
And so he should, he’s a chef. And he’d acted as the host, bright, cheerful and accommodating. He was also an experienced carpenter, used to fixing things around him.
And Maddy hated it. Or hated loving it. Or loved to hate it.
Maddy loved it.
She just wouldn’t admit it.
Maddy knew she’d got it bad.
***
“Time’s getting away, Troy.”
“Can’t do much about it from here, Dad.” Troy tucked the mobile under his chin and opened the car window. “Thought I’d be well back by now.”
“You thought you could single handedly turn it around in a day or two.”
“It doesn’t need all that much. Just the injection of cash and a few tips to get things cranking again before the new season.”
“Where are you? The signal’s not great and your voice is cutting in and out.”
Troy was sitting in one of Madelaine’s four wheel drives. “I’m on the hill above the driveway at Madd’s place. I just delivered the last of a meal order to Island Prestige Touring. I only just remembered to call.”
“And you’ve got those few tips underway?” Liam asked.
“Some. Maybe.”
“So what’s keeping you?”
Madelaine Hart. Troy shifted in his seat. He didn’t want to tell his father he was enjoying himself. He didn’t want to say that the sights he most enjoyed were not only the hills and the ocean and the mainland. He didn’t want to talk to his dad about Madelaine Hart and that maybe—maybe he wouldn’t need anybody else working on an unorthodox plan. “She’s a tough nut to crack.”
“Is she now? Keep chipping away. I’ll see you next week.”
“Too soon.”
“Troy, you need to keep your eye on the prize. You haven’t got much time. Get the place organised and get your arse back over here. You’ve got wife-hunting to do. Goodbye.” His dad hung up.
Troy slumped over the steering wheel, his phone dangling in one hand. Well, bucko, that all went your way.
His father wasn’t letting him drag his heels any longer over finding a wife before the deadline. Which was fair enough in the big picture. Liam wanted the best for his son, and wanted his birthright realised.
Madelaine Hart…
And Troy’s birthday was coming up fast. Then there was the added pressure of needing a marriage licence a month prior to the day, so really that only left three months to find a girl to marry.
And not just any girl because why would he bother getting married to someone he didn’t love only to risk all that he would inherit? Oh sure, pre-nuptials. Yeah, they work—they went down a treat with any self-respecting future wife.
Madelaine Hart would never stand for that.
He shook his head. Maddie. Impossible. He just couldn’t see it happening.
He drove back to the house. An image of his hands moving through Madelaine Hart’s deep auburn hair startled him.
He’d wanted to touch that head of hair and her beautiful face from the first day he saw her; it was burning a hole in him. Not to mention all the other bits of her he wanted to touch, to linger over, to kiss and taste, savour…
He took the steep driveway carefully—as he had done ever since his first day on the job—squinting against the bright sunlight. He parked by the garage and walked back up to the kitchens, the early afternoon sun warm on his face.
Madelaine Hart would make his days forever sunny.
The day after he’d been ‘dismissed’ in his room, he’d found the kitchens by taking a short hike further up the hill. The understated building was nestled in the surrounding scrub. He’d let himself inside.
If the view from his room had left him bereft of words, the view from higher up was nothing short of spectacular. He’d gazed at the sweeping panorama over hills and gullies, and land that sharply dropped away to ocean. The wide expanse of view led out to sea and across the strait to mainland Australia.
He couldn’t believe anyone actually did any work when they were in this place. He’d stood for long moments, hands in pockets and had surveyed all at his feet.
And the commercial kitchen itself was something to behold, even if you weren’t a cook or a foodie.
The sturdy, stainless steel benches were spotlessly clean, the cool-room, though sparsely filled—clearly not a busy time at present—was spotless, too.
He’d checked the stove and ovens. Cleverly designed, a bank of three inverter ovens and the cook-tops stood idle. The usual pots, pans, utensils and baskets adorned the area, and when he turned to the prep bench, the magnificent view stopped him in his tracks again.
He knew this building alone had set Madelaine back a couple of hundred thousand, money her father had left her but, until now, the economic downturn on the world stage hadn’t started to bite. By the time Liam had flagged a need for some financial assistance, Madelaine’s business had already begun to falter.
Clearly Liam thought a lot of Madelaine. It surprised Troy that his father hadn’t spoken much of her before, or not that he’d remembered anyway. Maybe he hadn’t taken any notice. He hadn’t dwelled on that. There’d been other things to concentrate on.
Now, as he got closer to the kitchens, he could hear a droning hum as he stepped through the main doors.
Madelaine was bent over the bench chopping a large pile of vegetables. She had earphones in and was jiggling on the spot to some melody he could barely hear. She wore backside-hugging track pants, gym shoes, a slim cut hoodie top and that lustrous hair was pinned precariously atop her gorgeous head.
Her boobs bobbed and shook with each set of moves and he thought he’d never seen anything so wonderful in all his life.
She jigged and tapped, hummed, moved her head from side to side, every so often she mimed a few lyrics as if she was on stage, her long handled wooden spoon an air guitar, or drumsticks, or her microphone.
Then she’d swap her ‘microphone’ for a knife, a rapier-sharp blade and carrots, celery and capsicums would succumb to its staccato chop-chop.
He already knew she loved to create her dishes from scratch, used only the finest of appliances to whiz, slice and dice when she was time-poor. He knew that her time in the kitchens was her escape, and that whatever she created here was what held her catering business ahead of the others in her industry.
There was no one else like Madelaine Hart on Australis Island. Or anywhere else, he thought.
Madelaine Hart, the girl I’m going to marry.
He stood in the doorway, his mouth not quite closed and heard the words again inside his head… Madelaine Hart, the girl I’m going to marry.
He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even make a noise to let her know he was standing there. She was the most perfect woman he had ever seen.
She turned on a loud note, belting out some screechingly bad tune he had no hope of recognizing and spied him standing there.
“Shee-it,” she yelled, and her knife clattered to the floor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing creeping up on me like that?” She yanked out the earphones and threw them on to the bench.
Troy held his hands out. “I thought you’d have seen me.”
I’m going to marry Madelaine Hart. All he had to do was convince Madelaine Hart of it. And quickly.
***
Liam Charles thought for a moment. Speaking to his son had given him all the clues he needed. He smiled, gave a little fist punch then reached under his desk and removed a loose square of carpet. He keyed in a series of numbers on the heavy metal door at his feet, popped the latch, reached into the hole and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
Petny’s will. He read, then re-read the clause relating to his eldest son.
It only mentioned a marriage. It didn’t mention whether or not there had to be an heir in the arrangement. Just a marriage.
He wondered if he could really pull it off. He wondered if Troy would be willing…and Madelaine, of course.
He’d have to talk to Carol about it.