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‘No, but you’re still a little wired.’
She watched helplessly as he found the teapot and cups and saucers, and plugged in the electric kettle. ‘Make yourself at home,’ she said sardonically.
‘Thank you, I will,’ he replied, leaning his shoulder against the cabinets beside her head and folding his arms across his chest, drawing the superbly tailored black dinner jacket tight over his broad shoulders.
‘I was being sarcastic.’
‘Loses its effectiveness somehow, doesn’t it, when you have to point that out?’ he mused. ‘Would you like to slip into something more comfortable while the kettle boils?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ She gaped at him.
‘That wasn’t a euphemism for an indecent proposal, Harriet,’ he said, amusement flashing like lightning in the blue eyes. ‘That just doesn’t look like the kind of dress you can relax and put your feet up in.’
‘Since I’m not going to do either until you leave, it hardly matters what I’m wearing,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m quite comfortable enough to drink a cup of tea!’
‘So, when do you move out?’ he asked, accepting the snub graciously.
Harriet grabbed at the blessed distraction and the chance to hammer home a point. ‘As soon as I can find somewhere else to live. I had hoped that would be this week, but now that it seems my lunchtimes are going to be taken up with your daughter I suppose I’ll have to leave my property-hunting to the evenings.’
‘I don’t see why. Nicola could be a great help. She likes seeing where other people live and she has excellent taste for one so young. She can give you a second opinion.’
Harriet could think of nothing worse than consulting someone else about her fantasy pad. ‘I’m not looking for the kind of place that would appeal to a teenager. I want something sophisticated and…and…’ she waved a hand expressively as she sought for the right word ‘…swinging.’
‘Swinging?’
Her hand fluttered back to her side and she glared at his suspiciously straight face, conscious that her archaic slang had probably betrayed her abysmal ignorance of the life she was intent on pursuing. ‘Somewhere I can meet lots of independent young people who like to party and enjoy the good things in life.’
‘I see. You mean reckless, fun-loving people such as yourself.’ He tilted his dark head, faint threads of grey gleaming in the thick black pelt as they caught the light, reminding her that he could probably run rings around her in terms of experience. But he wouldn’t have any experience in being feckless and irresponsible, she reassured herself, so they were on equal ground there. With his father’s ugly example to avoid, it was no wonder that he worshipped at the altar of self-discipline and conformity. ‘And do you have any idea where you’re going to find this haven of yuppiedom?’
‘As a matter of fact I do. I’m going to live right in the middle of the action. I’m going to move into an apartment in one of those new, luxury, inner-city residential conversions…one with security and covered parking and a gym and a spa—maybe even a serviced apartment—’
‘You set your sights high.’ He interrupted her gleeful fantasising. ‘Those places are extremely expensive to rent.’
Trust him to try to pin her down to earth w
ith stuffy practicalities. ‘Oh, I’m not going to rent. I’m going to buy,’ she said airily.
He looked around the slightly shabby kitchen. ‘That will take everything you get from this place, and probably more,’ he estimated shrewdly.
She laughed in the face of his caution. ‘So what? I have more. Plenty more, in fact. Thank goodness my father was very well insured.’
She didn’t care if she sounded callous and mercenary. She intended to blow every cent of her inheritance: an apartment, a car, clothes, trips…her goal was the instant gratification of every whim! What point was there in scrimping and saving for years, as her parents had done, if you might not be alive to enjoy the fruits of your labours? In the last year of his life her father had had enough money to take the world trip he had always dreamed of, but his dreams had died with his wife. Harriet was going to live hers before fate could snatch them away.
‘There can be ongoing costs involved with those apartments—service fees and the slightly higher cost of living,’ Marcus was instructing her. ‘You’ll need to take those into account and weigh them up against the projected capital appreciation of your investment—’
‘I’m not making an investment,’ Harriet interrupted. ‘I just want somewhere fun to live for a while. Who knows? I might feel like selling it again in another few months and doing something else.’
‘Like what?’ he demanded with forbidding harshness.
‘I don’t know. Whatever I feel like at the time,’ she said impatiently. ‘Life isn’t a financial strategy, you know. It doesn’t have to be planned out to the minutest detail in advance.’
‘No, but it’s wise to make some sort of provision for contingencies. Long-term goals can provide you with a sense of purpose and direction. If you don’t have them you run the risk of not recognising valuable opportunities when they present themselves, or uselessly frittering away what opportunities you do have—’
‘Like the kettle is uselessly frittering away behind you,’ Harriet observed tartly. ‘I guess people obsessed with petty details rarely notice what’s happening in the big picture…’
He gave her a hard look as he switched off the kettle and warmed the teapot, before measuring in the leaves and adding the boiling water, his movements typically precise and yet oddly ceremonial in their graceful ease of manner.
‘You must drink a lot of tea,’ she murmured.
