All They Need Page 3

  His father’s gaze was sharp as he eyed Flynn from across the table. “How has it affected the margins?”

  They launched into a business discussion as his mother handed around slices of banana bread. His father was asking after the latest news from the sales department when his mother straightened in her chair.

  “I just remembered—weren’t you and Hayley going away for the weekend?”

  Flynn shrugged easily. “There’s no rush.”

  “But you’re looking through Summerlea, aren’t you? I’m sure you told me you had an appointment with the real estate agent,” she said.

  “It’s fine. I’ll reschedule.”

  “What time is the appointment?” his father asked, looking at his watch.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I don’t want you missing out because of my stupidity,” his father said.

  Flynn frowned. “I’m not missing out, and you’re not stupid, Dad.”

  “What time is your appointment?” his mother asked.

  Flynn sighed. “Midday. But it’s really not a big deal. I was only taking a look at the old place out of curiosity.”

  “Rubbish. You wouldn’t be going down there if you weren’t serious,” she said.

  Flynn opened his mouth to protest but his mother fixed him with a knowing look. He lifted a shoulder.

  “I’ll admit I was excited when I first heard the estate was on the market. But the agent said the house needs a ton of work, which probably means it’s a money pit.”

  “If there is one thing we have plenty of, it’s money,” his father said dryly. He pointed toward the door. “Go.”

  Flynn gave him an amused look. “I take it that’s an order?”

  “It is. Don’t make me give it twice.”

  Flynn pushed his chair back. “A guy could get a complex over this sort of rejection.”

  “Call me and let me know if the garden is as magnificent as always,” his mother said. “And before you ask, that’s an order, too.”

  “A joint dictatorship. Lovely.”

  He kissed them both goodbye and ducked his head into the kitchen to say goodbye to Rosina before heading for the door. He phoned Hayley the moment he was in the car, aware she’d be wanting an update.

  “Flynn. Is everything okay?” she asked immediately.

  “All good. Dad was upset about something.”

  “Thank God we hadn’t left already.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Speaking of which, I called the real estate agent and pushed our viewing back an hour.”

  Flynn smiled as he negotiated a left-hand turn. “Have I told you lately that I don’t know what I’d do with out you?”

  “Hold that thought.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Can’t tell. It’s a secret.”

  “Oh, well, in that case…”

  “When do you think you’ll be home?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Then I’ll see you soon.”

  She was waiting on the doorstep for him, her long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, which she’d paired with a snowy white turtleneck and the tailored brown leather jacket he’d bought for her birthday, and she looked effortlessly elegant, as always. His overnight bag rested on the step beside her, as well as her own Louis Vuitton duffel.

  “You packed for me,” he said as he got out of his car.

  “Didn’t want to waste time,” she said with a smile and a shrug.

  He ducked his head to kiss her. “Thanks.”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled into his face, her brown eyes steady. He kissed her again, comforted as always by her no-nonsense calm. They’d known each other since they were children and had always been friends. Only in the past year had their relationship become something more, much to their respective parents’ delight.

  “So. Are we going to go buy a house or not?” Hayley asked.

  “Why does everyone keep talking as though it’s a done deal?”

  “If you could see your face when you talk about Summerlea, you’d understand.”

  Flynn gave her a skeptical look.

  “I know you hate the idea of having a bad poker face, Flynn, but it’s true.”

  “I haven’t seen Summerlea for at least ten years. The house is probably falling down. I’m going with no expectations at all.”

  “Please. As if you care about the house. It’s all about the garden, admit it.”

  He shrugged a little sheepishly. Summerlea was all about the garden for him, but that didn’t change the facts of the situation.

  “It’s not practical. It’s too far out of town, too far from Mom and Dad,” he said, voicing the objection he hadn’t been able to raise with his parents earlier.

  “You have been in love with this place since you were a kid. I’ve listened to you rave about how it’s Edna Walling’s last great garden design so many times I’ve lost count. Getting your hands on that garden would be a dream come true for you. If you want it, we’ll work it out. It’s that simple.”

  He bent and grabbed both the bags. “We’ll see.”

  Like his father, he had learned not to plan too far ahead these days.

  As for dreams… Flynn had traded them in for responsibility a long time ago.

  MEL WAS WEEDING the border of the rose garden in the backyard when she heard the sound of a car engine. She glanced over her shoulder, trowel in hand.

  A vintage sports car cruised slowly up her driveway, its glossy black paint and chrome highlights glinting in the afternoon sun. The car disappeared around the bend in the drive and she stood, tugging off her gardening gloves.

  She walked over to greet her guests, arriving at the parking bay as the driver’s door opened. Flynn Randall stepped out, his back to her. He seemed taller and his shoulders broader than she remembered—or maybe it was simply that he was wearing faded jeans and a sweater instead of a tuxedo or a suit. Men always seemed sleeker and neater in suits.

  “Mr. Randall. Welcome,” she said in her cheeriest tone.

  He turned to face her and she blinked in surprise as she gazed into his bright blue eyes. Again, she hadn’t remembered them being quite so…startling was the only word she could come up with. Although maybe piercing was more appropriate. Especially in contrast to his almost-black hair. She’d always been aware that he was attractive but now that she was standing only a few feet away from him for the first time in over a year, she was hit with the realization that he was a very, very handsome man. He was studying her as intently and it occurred to her that he probably didn’t remember her—they’d met only a handful of times and their exchanges had mostly consisted of polite small talk about nothing special. Hardly memorable stuff. She offered him her hand.

  “Sorry. I’m Mel Porter. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to be married to Owen Hunter. We met a few times…?.”

  His hand, warm and large, slid into hers. “I remember you. How are things?” he asked, a smile curving his mouth.

  She was a little thrown by how sincere his greeting was, as though he was genuinely glad to see her.

  “I’m well, thanks. How about you?”

  “Good, thanks. And it’s Flynn, by the way.”

  He was still smiling and suddenly it hit her that he’d been at the Hollands’ midsummer party the night she’d fallen into the fountain. She glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact.

  Owen had pointed out to her in no uncertain terms exactly how see-through her dress had become after her dunking. Flynn was probably remembering her hot pink panties and whatever else she’d had on display, as well as the raft of jokes that had circulated in the weeks after the party.

  The passenger-side door opened and a slim, auburn-haired woman exited the car. Mel recognized her immediately. It was hard not to, since Hayley Stanhope had been one of the women her ex-husband had constantly encouraged Mel to befriend in the hope that it would further his po
litical ambitions. The Stanhopes had been in banking for generations and no one had more pull in the upper crust of Melbourne society—except, perhaps, the Randalls.

  “Sorry. My mother called as we turned into the driveway,” the other woman said apologetically. She smiled at Mel, her brown eyes warm as she offered her hand. “I’m Hayley Stanhope.”

  “Mel Porter. Pleased to meet you.”

  The other woman’s gaze flicked up and down Mel’s body in a lightning-quick assessment. Mel knew what the other woman was seeing—no labels, no jewelry worth mentioning, uncontrollable hair, faded cargos, a raggedy long-sleeved T-shirt. The old self-consciousness stole over her.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here,” she said, tugging on the hem of her T-shirt.

  “I’m sure we will,” Hayley replied.

  “I’ve put you in Red Coat Cottage,” Mel said, gesturing toward the cottage peeking through the screening shrubs she’d planted. “I’ll give you a quick tour then leave you to settle in. I live in the main house, so if you need anything, knock on the back door or give me a buzz on the phone.”

  She was talking too fast and her palms were damp with sweat. She took a deep, calming breath as Flynn opened the trunk and pulled out two overnight bags, one an exclusive Louis Vuitton duffel, the other a well-worn leather number that looked as though it had seen an adventure or two.

  She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d had wealthy guests before. So why was she feeling so edgy all of a sudden?

  She took refuge in action, leading the way toward the cottage, unlocking the door and stepping to one side to allow Flynn and Hayley to precede her.

  Flynn was too busy examining the big terra-cotta pot of roses positioned to the left of the door to pick up on her unspoken cue.

  “Red Coat roses.” His gaze met hers, bright with interest. “You named the cottage after the rose, right?”

  Mel stared at him, surprised he even knew the name of a David Austin rose, let alone that he could recognize one by appearance.

  “That’s right. All the cottages are named after David Austin roses,” she said slowly. “Windrush, Pegasus, Tea Clipper.”

  “Clever idea,” he said.

  Hayley looked amused. “Trust Flynn to find something green to fixate on the moment he arrives.”

  Mel smiled politely. Clearly, this was a private joke between the two of them. “The bedroom is the first door on the left.” She stepped a little closer to the wall as Flynn brushed past her, followed by his girlfriend. They both disappeared into the bedroom.

  Mel waited in the hallway. Ten seconds later, Flynn returned.

  “Lead on, MacDuff.”

  She gathered by the other woman’s absence that Hayley would not be joining them. She led Flynn into the living room, explained how to adjust the flue on the chimney should they wish to use the fireplace, then showed him the kitchen and bathroom.

  “All pretty self-explanatory. The instructions for the appliances are in the top drawer in the kitchen if you need them,” she said as they returned to the porch.

  “Nice spec. Did you renovate this place yourself or was it done when you bought it?”

  “I did it. It was a little tired and worn around the edges when I took possession.”

  “You’ve done a great job.” His warm gaze traveled over her face, and for some inexplicable reason she could feel heat stealing into her cheeks.

  “Thanks. That’s a pretty big compliment coming from a Randall.”

  She hated the nervous note in her voice, hated the on-edge, eager-to-impress feeling in her chest. She didn’t need to impress this man. He might have more money and more social pull than God, but he wasn’t her friend, and he definitely wasn’t her husband.

  She needed nothing from him. He was her guest. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Flynn’s gaze ran over the front of the cottage. “I’m simply stating the obvious. You have good taste.”

  She was so surprised she let out a crack of incredulous laughter. “Can I have that in writing? My ex in-laws would be stunned.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them—way too much information, and way too revealing of the bitterness she was still trying to move past. All of which was made worse by the fact that he actually knew Owen. Hell, he probably knew Owen’s parents, too.

  She took a step away and jammed her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants. “I’ll leave you to it. No doubt you have heaps of things you want to do and see.”

  She flashed him a tight smile before turning, putting her head down and walking briskly toward the main house. She didn’t slow her pace until she was around the bend and out of view of the cottage. Then she let her breath out on a sigh.

  Stupid, but for some reason Flynn Randall and his girlfriend had really rattled her cage. She didn’t quite understand why. Maybe it was simply that they reminded her of a time when she’d been miserable and full of self-doubt and constantly aware of all her shortcomings. Or maybe she was like Pavlov’s dog, forever programmed to respond with quivering servility when in the company of her social betters.

  Now that’s a depressing thought.

  She shrugged off her disquiet. They were staying one night, and then they’d be gone. Depending on their movements, she probably wouldn’t even see them again until they checked out.

  Right now, that felt like a very good thing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FLYNN WATCHED MEL stride away, her long, muscular legs eating up the ground.

  She wasn’t conventionally beautiful—her facial features were too unbalanced and she was built on too grand a scale for that—but she was incredibly appealing. He’d forgotten that about her.

  He wasn’t sure what it was that he found so compelling. Her gray eyes were clear and direct but otherwise perfectly ordinary, her nose was a little on the large side, her mouth slightly too wide. And yet the whole time he’d been talking to her he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

  She, however, had seemed nervous. Not at all the way he remembered her.

  Hayley joined him on the porch, sliding an arm around his waist.

  “I like it here already. The air smells cleaner.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “That’s because it is,” he said dryly.

  She followed his gaze up the driveway. “She was married to Owen Hunter, wasn’t she?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I can remember seeing her around. She’s pretty hard to miss. She always used to remind me of Xena, Warrior Princess. Or Wonder Woman.”

  “She’s tall, but she’s not that tall.”

  “She’s taller than me. Were you there the night she fell into the Hollands’ fountain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it as bad as they say?”

  “In what way?”

  “In every way. I heard her dress was transparent, and that her husband marched her off and then spent the next month apologizing for her to anyone who is anyone.”

  Flynn frowned. “She was trying to help. It’s not like she leaped into the fountain for kicks.”

  Hayley held up a hand. “Whoa there. I didn’t mean to step on any toes. I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

  Her gaze was searching, questioning, and he realized he’d spoken a little too heatedly.

  “We’re not. I hardly know her. But that fountain thing was blown way out of proportion. Gabrielle Holland needs to get a life.”

  “That’s true. She dined out on that story for a very long time.” She sounded amused, but she’d always been far more tolerant of the social piranhas amongst their circle than he had.

  He checked his watch. “We should get going.”

  “Let me grab my bag.”

  She was back in a minute with her sunglasses and handbag. He backed his vintage Aston Martin out and cruised up the driveway. They were nearing the main house when Mel appeared around the corner, lugging a tall ladder. She leaned it against the back of the hous
e beneath one of the sash windows before looking over her shoulder toward them. She gave a small acknowledging smile then turned to her task.

  He hit the brakes and wound down the window.

  “Hey. It’s been a few years since I’ve been down on the peninsula and old Gertie here doesn’t have GPS.” He patted the Aston Martin’s dash. “Do I turn left or right onto the Nepean Highway if I want to go to Summerlea estate?”

  Mel approached the car, bending so she could see in the window. “You take a left. Then it’s the first street on your left, and the estate is at the end of the road.”

  Her T-shirt sagged as she leaned down. It took more willpower than he cared to admit to stop himself from taking a good long look at what he suspected was a pretty spectacular view.

  He was only human, after all, and she was built on very generous lines. “Great, thanks.”

  “I guess it’s true then, huh? It’s up for sale? I heard a rumor but I didn’t believe it.”

  “The owners have gone into a retirement home, according to the estate agent.”

  “Really? That’s so sad. They both loved that place so much. It must be hell to have to give it over to someone else.”

  “You know them?”

  “Oh, no. Not personally.” She tucked a long, dark curl behind her ear. “I used to go to Summerlea when it was part of the Open Garden tour, and Brian and Grace were always there, talking to everyone. It’s been years since they last let the public in, but I can still remember how beautiful the gardens were. I’ve never seen flame azaleas like theirs anywhere else. And the roses… Mind-blowing.”

  She had a far-off look in her eyes. Then she seemed to recall herself. “Sorry. I’m holding you up.” She straightened and stepped back from the car, waving a hand to indicate he should go.

  “Thanks for the directions.”

  She gave an awkward little shrug. He drove out into the street.

  “If you’re feeling guilty about looking, don’t,” Hayley said after a few seconds. “I looked. Couldn’t help myself. She has amazing breasts.” She sounded wistful.