Chapter 45
Lucy
Dirk wants to see me. He’s angry, though he holds it in check. Jamison must have recognized me. That interview ...
I am too hot, then too cold. It could be about anything.
I ditch my cleaning clothes, pull on a fresh blouse and slim skirt.
My best navy heels always give me confidence. I fasten my “big girl” pearls around my neck, with matching earrings, and carefully dab perfume behind my ears.
There’s no time to do my hair, so I brush it and push at it with my fingers until it’s acceptably neat, if not chic, apply fresh lipstick and check my appearance.
I’m defensive, but I’ve actually done nothing wrong.
Or have I? I have to make a living. I’m doing Donna’s sister a favor. Dirk doesn’t have to understand.
Dirk is sombre when I open the door. He’s behaving like a school principal, as if I’m an errant child. I invite him into my living room, my head held high.
“Jamison tells me you’re Mrs West, Lucy,” he says.
“Not exactly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There are a lot of Mrs Wests. It’s a business name.”
“Don’t play games with me. When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what, Dirk?” I say. “Please take a seat.”
He sits directly opposite, facing me, arms folded. The inquisition...
“That you’re Mrs West.”
“I’m not usually ... I just stepped in to help out. My friend’s sister runs the service. They were desperate.”
“How often have you been in my place without my knowledge?”
“Just a few times.”
“‘Just a few times.’”
“Well, for the rest of this week. And I unpacked your boxes when you first arrived. It’s what I do. With Donna. All over the city.”
“And when were you going to tell me that you’ve been in my apartment, moving my personal items?” His tone is flat, accusatory. I’d hate to have been his opponent on the soccer field. He won’t give an inch. Well, two can play that game.
“It’s just been for a week or two.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” He’s more hurt than angry. This is not going well.
“I didn’t ...”
“I thought we were friends, Lucy. I thought I could trust you.”
“You can, Dirk. Nothing has changed.” But he shakes his head. His eyes are closed.
“Dirk. I couldn’t let Donna down, after all she’s ...
“But why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Mrs West is a business. We’re meant to be invisible. I would have thought you’d understand about confidentiality.”
“But this is fundamental, Lucy. A matter of trust.”
“There wasn’t time.” I snap.
“How long does it take to send a text message? You could have done it while you were in my apartment.”
“But what if you’d said ‘no’? It would have been a conflict of interest for me. Anyway, what’s so wrong with me cleaning up after you?”
“You’ve been in my space, without telling me. It’s about trust.”
“Really, Dirk?” I stand, hands on my hips.
“But of course. How could I expect you to understand? I simply needed to work. My work is casual. I have to take what’s on offer.
Am I not allowed to make a living? Can you not even understand that some people don’t have oodles of cash on hand? I suppose as a retired doctor...”
I bite on my words as he stands. My pulse pounds. But really. Bart’s betrayal. Dirk’s principles. And now I’m going to really blow it. I just know it. I am far too furious to keep it all in any longer.
“And why exactly is it that you even need a Mrs West, Dr Dirk O’Connell, a smart man like you?
Why don’t you learn to bake your own apple pies?
It’s not that hard. I put that first one together in five minutes flat, a personal record, by the way, not that such feats are considered interesting enough to mention in normal conversation. And vacuuming is not rocket science.”
When he refuses to comment, I continue.
“Dirk, I need this work. You know I want to buy this place. You know my Ex stole my other future and gave it to someone else, someone younger, more beautiful and less difficult, at least for now. When she starts speaking up, no doubt he’ll replace her.” I stop to catch my breath.
This is not about Bart. Dirk is completely different.
He’s not vain. Maddeningly, he’s not even angry.
He’s dismayed. Hurt. I want to go to him, to place my palms on his arms and comfort him, offer him a kiss.
Not an apology, though, because I’ve done nothing wrong. He’s the one who’s being unreasonable.
We stand and stare at one another. My heartbeat settles. His stare softens. I wait for his own apology, but he just stares at me, as if I’ve let him down. Well, I haven’t. In fact I’ve been doing a great job except for that day when I put the clean towels back in there slightly late.
“It’s a job, Dirk. You might not understand – a well-paid doctor like you.”
“How dare you tell me I don’t understand about money.”
“Well, it’s true. There’s nothing personal about cleaning ... It’s just a job.”
“You’ve touched all of my things. My correspondence. My underwear. This is a fundamental matter of trust, Lucy.”
“So you want me to apologize? Is that it?”
“Walt and Jill and Dee told me I couldn’t trust you, but I ignored them. I was falling in love with you, so help me, Lucy Beston.”
“I don’t see how this changes things.”
“I expect transparency in a relationship.”
He hasn’t raised his voice, but he is angry. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. With his grandchildren Dirk is infinitely patient, but now he presses his point.
“Did you rent your apartment before or after you’d moved my stuff into my place?
” His voice is precise, chilling. He is condemning me, not interested in my defence.
“And in Jill’s shop? Was that a set up? Did you stalk me?
Did you chase me all along? Did you bump into me on purpose, to make me spill that coffee on the dress?
If so, you’re a piece of work, Lucy Beston. ”
“No, Dirk. It wasn’t like that.”
His phone rings, and he takes it.
“Jamison?” He holds up his hand to me. “I have to take this, Lucy.”
He turns and lets himself out of my apartment, shoulders squared. If this was a fight, I don’t know who won.
My own shoulders slump. I haul them up again, but my mouth turns down.
I try to go about life as normal. I worked today and there’s another open house tomorrow. I have to eat. Forget romance. Forget Dirk the doubter.
My phone rings as I’m draining the pasta for dinner. When I see it’s Phoebe, I drop the spoon on the floor as I lurch towards the bright phone screen and answer.
“Phoebe?”
“Mom, hi.”
“Hi, darling.”
“Can I come stay with you?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“I got an internship just up the road from you.”
“Congratulations. This is wonderful news.”
“It’s just for a couple of months.”
“Perfect. When do you start? You can bring your things whenever you like. Need me to come with the car?”
We chat logistics as if there was never an issue between us. Was it all in my head, or does rent-free accommodation or avoiding an hour-long commute appeal? Either way, I don’t care. It’s my Phoebe. Of course I’ll make her welcome.
It’s only when she’s hung up that I realize I might not even be living here if my offer is unsuccessful.
I don’t know where I’ll be. Back at Donna’s while I lick my wounds?
I hate this uncertainty. I must buy this apartment, no matter what.
Phoebe’s request is the clincher. I simply can’t afford to ruin this chance to reconcile with my only daughter.
I finally get some food into my bowl and grab a spoon and fork when the phone rings again. This time it’s Hilary. Thank goodness. Maybe my offer for the apartment was high enough.
“Hilary, tell me, tell me! Can I buy it?”
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she says. “The seller’s agent says the seller doesn’t want to accept your offer. They say they already have a better offer, and there’s another open house tomorrow, so they’re not ready to accept. They want to see ...”
“But ... then I’ll raise my offer. By ...” I pluck a number out of the air. It’s just numbers; numbers that need to impress.
“Be careful, Lucy. I have to tell you. You need to be ready with the good faith bond. Ten per cent. And if you can’t come up with all the money in good time, you may be sued.”
“Yes, yes. But do make the larger offer.”
“I will, Lucy. I have to wait until business hours tomorrow.”
Hope fizzes in my veins, and then despair takes over. I don’t ever want to fight with Dirk. But I can’t back down. Even Hilary said it. I need all the money I can earn.
I pace the apartment. Can’t sleep. I go down to the garden and stand in the cold moonlight.
Am I as bad as Dirk says? Should I have told him I unpacked his place?
I didn’t know it was actually his until he brought up my groceries and I saw he lived above me.
My fingers itch to grab my phone and call him back and explain.
But what’s the point? Dirk the Doc O’Connell is not the man I thought he was. Lucky escape, huh?
So why do I feel so empty?