Whatever the truth of the matter, it didn’t make a great deal of sense for her to shift house if she had to shift again in six months’ time. Changing apartments was a high-cost exercise what with putting up bond money and the expense of moving her furniture, not to mention the hassle of packing and unpacking. Nevertheless, she was curious to see the apartment now. Especially since Jake was investing so much time and talk on it. She still wanted to know why.
They were well along Military Road so she started giving him directions. Within a few minutes he’d made the turns she gave and they were heading down a hill to Balmoral Beach. Amy was entranced by the view. The water was a dazzling blue this morning. A fleet of small yachts were riding at anchor, adding their interest to the picturesque bay. The curved shoreline had a welcoming stretch of clean sand, edged by manicured lawns, beautiful trees and walkways.
This beach had a quiet, exclusive air about it, unlike the broad sweep of Bondi which invited vast public crowds. Even the populated side of The Esplanade looked tidy and respectable, no litter, no grubbiness, not a tatty appearance anywhere. Amy was highly impressed by its surface charm, wishing she had time to explore properly. She made a mental note to come here another day. After all, with Steve gone, she would have plenty of free days to do whatever she pleased.
They turned off into the street beside the park and found the address with no trouble at all. The block of apartments was on the next corner, a fairly old block in red brick and only four storeys high with garages underneath. Amy guessed Apartment 8 would be on the top floor, and found herself hoping it was on the corner with the balcony running around two sides, both east and north.
“There’s Ted waiting for us,” Jake pointed out, waving to the man standing by the entrance to the block.
As they cruised past in search of a parking place, Amy caught only a glimpse of the agent, a broad, bulky figure, smartly attired in a blue business shirt, striped tie, and dark trousers. Jake slotted the car into the kerb only twenty metres away. Amy checked her watch as they alighted. Twelve-thirty. They were on time. Ted Durkin had arrived early. No fault of theirs, but both she and Jake automatically covered the distance at a fast pace.
Amy was conscious of being scrutinised as they approached. It wasn’t a sexual once-over, more a matching up to specifications. The agent looked to be in his late forties, his iron-grey hair thinning on top, making his slight frown very visible. It only cleared when Jake thrust out his hand to him, drawing attention away from her.
“Good of you to give us this opportunity, Ted,” he enthused genially.
“Not at all. You’ve put business my way in the past, Jake. Appreciate it.”
“This is my P.A., Amy Taylor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Durkin,” Amy chimed in, offering her hand.
He took it and gave her a rueful little smile. “To tell you the truth, Miss Taylor, I wasn’t expecting someone quite so young.”
Single career woman— had he been envisaging a spinsterish woman in her late thirties or forties, someone entrenched in her career with little else in her life?
One thing was suddenly clear. This had to be a bona fide deal or Ted Durkin wouldn’t be raising questions.
Without pausing to examine her eagerness to dismiss objections to her possible tenancy, Amy rushed to reassure him.
“I’m twenty-eight, Mr. Durkin, and I’ve held a job since I was sixteen. That’s twelve years of solid employment, working my way up to my current position.”
“Very responsible,” Jake slipped in emphatically.
Ted Durkin shot him a chiding look. “You didn’t mention how very attractive your P.A. is, Jake.” Another apologetic look at her. “No offence to you, Miss Taylor, but the owner of the apartment was very specific about…”
“No wild parties,” she finished for him. “That’s not my style, Mr. Durkin.”
“Amy’s been with me for two years, Ted,” Jake said. “I really can vouch for her character. An ultraclean living person.”
“Uh-huh.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “No boyfriend? I don’t mean to get personal. It’s a matter of satisfying the owner. Did Jake explain…?”
“Yes, he did.”
Regardless if she was prepared to take the apartment or not, Amy bridled against the sense of being rejected, especially after the painful blow from Steve. She found herself pouring out a persuasive argument, uncaring that it was personal business. Jake knew it anyway and she felt compelled to convince Ted Durkin she was an appropriate tenant.
“Actually I’m looking for time to myself, Mr. Durkin. I’ve been in a rather long-term relationship which has just broken up.” She grimaced, appealing to his sympathy. “No chance of a reconciliation, so I really am on my own and I don’t intend rushing into socialising. Six months here would do me very nicely, right away from where I’ve been.”
“Ah!” It was the sound of satisfaction. “Well, I’ll take you up and show you around. It’s not quite ready for occupation. Painters are in at the moment.”
Won a stay of judgement, Amy thought, ridiculously pleased. She glanced at Jake as they entered the building, wanting to share the achievement with him since he’d helped. He wasn’t looking at her but she caught a smug little smile on his face and then wanted to kick herself.
She’d ended up playing his game, showing positive enthusiasm for his plan to move her out of Bondi and to Balmoral.
I was only saving his face in front of Ted Durkin, Amy quickly excused herself. She could still say no to the apartment. There was no commitment until she signed the lease for it. In fact, if she decided to move—in her own good time—it was much more practical to find a place that didn’t have a time limit on it.
Jake Carter hadn’t won this round yet!
THEY rode a small elevator up to the top floor. It opened onto a broad hallway, lit by the multicoloured panes of glass which ran down the opposite wall, making an attractive feature for the stairwell next to it. Ted Durkin ushered them to an opened door on the left hand side. Amy’s heart gave an excited skip.
It was the apartment with the east-north balconies.
They walked into a wonderfully light, airy, open-plan living area and for Amy it was love at first sight. To live here—if only for six months—it was irresistible—an incredible bargain!
The floor was covered with marvellous tiles, the pearlescent colour of sea-shells crushed into a wavy pattern that instantly suggested a seabed of gently undulating sand. The wall facing the bay was almost all glass, offering a panoramic view and a wealth of sunshine. Other walls were painted a pale cream. The kitchen was shiny new, all blonde wood and stainless steel, fitted with a dishwasher and a microwave oven, as well as a traditional one.
In the living room, two men in paint-spotted overalls sat on foldaway chairs, eating their lunch. A spread-sheet was laid out on the floor underneath them. Tins of paint stood on it in a tidy group.
“How’s it going?” Ted asked them.
“One more coat on the skirting boards and architraves and we’re finished,” the older one answered.
These were being painted a pearly grey, picking up on some of the grains in the tiles and making a stylish contrast to the cream.
“Still wet?”
“Should be touch-dry by now. It’s safe to move around.”
“Fine.” Ted turned to Amy. “The old carpet’s been ripped