Annie West - Rags To Riches - His Wish, Her Command

How could he get a word in? Dan had said more than enough for both of them.

Oh, Dan.

Ella hadn’t been expecting that outburst about his dad. Dan was wonderful with adults he knew, but he sometimes found it difficult to approach men. Especially strangers he had never met before.

She sat and watched the unlikely pair for a few seconds in silence. The tall business executive in the designer clothing, wearing shoes that cost more than her week’s wages, was giving his full attention to a little boy who was revelling in the simple fact that he had a man to talk to for once.

A man who did not have other children to deal with and play with.

A man Dan could talk to and keep all to himself. Even it was only for a short while.

And her heart broke for her fatherless child who would never know the love his father had felt for him. One day she might find someone who loved both her and Dan, but in the meantime she could only hope that Dan did not become too attached to Seb in the short time that he was going to be with them.

Perhaps having Seb in the house for a few days was not such a good idea after all?

SEB turned over in bed, pulled an overstuffed pillow over his head and decided that there was no way he could go back to sleep.

His body clock was still set on Sydney time, and it was too dark and quiet in his old room for his brain to calm itself long enough for sleep. His mind was still racing with the exhilaration of the events of the last two days and he had tossed and turned most of the night. Twice he had reached out to the bedside table and typed a couple of notes on his personal organiser.

He was totally exhilarated at the prospect of completing the deal with PSN Media—but more than a little frustrated that he had come all the way out here to see Nicole only to find her still on holiday. Both of which had conspired to rob him of sleep.

Seb tossed aside his pillow.

Back in Sydney Nicole was famous for being the least sporty person he had known, which was quite an achievement in that city. And now she was trekking in Nepal? She certainly had changed in the last three years—it would have been nice to catch up. But unless Nicole managed to get back to France in the next thirty-six hours, he was going to leave without seeing her. And he was sorry for that.

But now it was time to make a move.

Untangling himself out of the mess of twisted bedcovers, Seb tested the temperature of the cool floor tiles on his bare feet and shuffled across the room in his T-shirt and shorts to open the window. It would not take him long to repack his hand luggage.

It had made sense for him to stay here overnight but he could work a lot more effectively back in Montpellier with Matt and a hard wire connection to the Internet rather than a wireless telephone connection.

Warm sunlight slanted in, startlingly bright and welcoming, then blinding him with the brilliance of a summer sunrise as he pushed open the shutters.

In an instant his old boyhood bedroom was transformed in that unique quality of light in the Languedoc that reflected back from the tall ivory-painted walls.

The honey-coloured armoire, which had seemed so bizarre and antiquated the previous evening, now looked perfect set against the pastel colour scheme that had been chosen for the textiles in the room.

He ran his forefinger along the faded floral stencils of leaves and pale pink flowers and wondered what gentle hand had worked the design with such care and detail.

One thing was for sure.

This furniture and this decor had certainly not been here eighteen years ago. Back then this house had been clean, comfortable, and a home. Now he felt as though he had just spent the night in some theatre set for a typical French country house.

All the pictures were perfectly parallel to the floor and every square centimetre of exposed wood had been sanded and waxed to create one uniform sheen. Imperfections were clearly not allowed.

But it was beautiful. Stylish and what you would expect to find in this part of France.

For a hotel room.

Pushing harder on the shutters, he leant forward onto the stone window sill and looked out across the garden at the back of the house. Some things had not changed.

And his senses reeled at the sensory overload.

The early morning sun shimmered hot above the terracotta roof tiles, distorting the cobalt blue of the sky with ripples and waves of colour. Any cloud had already been burnt away to leave a pristine expanse of unbroken clear sky.

He breathed in the air, fragrant and clean. Somewhere in the distance dogs were barking and he could just about detect the rumble of traffic on the nearby road he had driven down the previous evening, but apart from that there was only birdsong.

And the sound of a woman’s voice singing somewhere in the garden below.

It was such a sweet sound that at first he thought it must be a radio station or recording, but as he listened the song was broken up by snatches of humming and a gentle sniff followed by a strange sequence of made-up words and tunes.

The sound was so intriguing, bizarre and interesting that he could not help but smile just hearing it. It was somehow—joyous. As though the owner wanted to express out loud her love of life and living and music.

And that spirit and energy was so contagious there should be a health warning!

The vague headache that had been nagging him for days seemed to lift away as he listened and he could feel his shoulders unclench.

Suddenly he didn’t want to stand inside and look out at the warmth and the sunshine. He wanted to experience it for himself. He wanted to immerse himself in this place he used to know so well for a few more moments before he headed back to the city and the luxury of a five-star hotel conference room.

Getting dressed could wait. His normal urge to turn on his laptop and log onto his international Wi-Fi connection. Could wait. Well, for now anyway. He would be back on the road in an hour.

It took only a few minutes for Seb to skip down the stone stairs, draw open the wide front door and stroll out barefoot onto the golden sandstone paving that curved around the side wall of the house to the part of the patio that was bathed in sunlight.

Seb’s brain tried to assimilate the intensity of the colours he was looking at. And failed.

Lavender bushes lined the paths and exploded in long swathes in huge clipped hedges, mixed with what looked like pale blue bellflowers and pink peonies in full bloom. Rambling roses covered the stone wall above glossy dark green leaves.

Dominating the garden was the old pollarded plane tree that had been planted when the house was built. Large flat leaves provided perfect dappled shade over the patio area outside the kitchen door all summer.

Birdsong filled the air. Mixed with the lapping of water on stones from the nearby river. Otherwise there was only the hum of bees on the flowers.

It was so quiet it felt as though he were the only human being for miles.

Perhaps he had imagined that musical voice and was still half dreaming after all?

The warm breeze was fragrant with the scent of flowers and herbs. And something else—a scent that was unique to this special garden. Rich and sweet and spicy. Like cinnamon apples, only sweeter.

One sniff of that scent and he was taken back to his life in this house. Dozens of white rose blossoms cascaded out of the urns and trailed in profusion up into a white-painted trellis on the wall of the house where the rose branches were intertwined with sweet white jasmine to create a heady aroma.

Musk rose and jasmine. It was wonderful. Magical. His mother would have loved it.