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“And residential?”
My mind whirled.How would Doc Larcombe’s practice compete with a new doctor in town? Was this a national chain moving into Ballydoon and Stanmore to squeeze out the local doctors? How could this business operate full time in a such a small town as Ballydoon?
And the Doc had the audacity to recommend me to a competitor?
“Yes, the owner wants to live above. He’d like the first floor converted to an apartment. I know it’s not a heritage homestead,” Bec said, “but why don’t I show you some of its features and challenges?”
I nodded, my stomach churning, as Bec moved towards a doorway at the back of the room where a wooden staircase wound up to an upper level. A leadlight window bathed the staircase in soft colours. I’d only ever seen this window from the outside.
“Spectacular,” I sighed in awe.
“Indeed, but also, fiddly. None of it is modern glass. Some of the glass is broken. Going to cost my client a fortune to reinforce and protect the window but they are keen to preserve it.”
“There is an excellent leadlight glazier north of Stanmore. He’s been very helpful and cost effective in sourcing period glass for an entry door for one of my clients.”
Bec’s mobile pinged. She raised her eyebrows at the screen.
“Oh, my client is on his way and wants to meet you. He asked if you have anywhere to be immediately after this meeting?”
“I don’t.” My heart sped up. I was about to meet the competition for Doc Larcombe.
“Great! I’ll let him know.” She quickly typed a reply, her painted nails clacking on the screen. “Now, this staircase is the access for the upstairs flat, so it needs to be secure from the practice. Two bedrooms; one a main bedroom and the other to be used as an office and for guests. We’ll need to allow for extra security for the medical centre for storage of drugs and potentially cash on the premise in your design concepts.”
“Wow, this is quite a big job.”
“Your online portfolio is impressive, and your experience with heritage residences was highly regarded.” Bec smiled, looking over my shoulder. “Speaking of the owner, he’s here now.”
Her eyes sparkled, liking who she saw.
Maybe I’ll give this client a piece of my mind about competing with other local doctors and tell him where he can shove his money.
“Hello, Firebird.”
I turned slowly. A man stood in the front doorway holding a cardboard box.
“Harrison,” I breathed, before I realised I’d called him by his full first name. “I mean, Harry. Dr Cain.”
He stepped into the room; his face neutral.
Bec’s eyes darted between us. “You know each other?”
“We’ve met before,” Harry said. “Thanks, Bec. I’ll take over from here with Stacey,” he said, without breaking his gaze with mine.
35
HARRY
Ballydoon Community Group:
Will posted 9.03 a.m.:
Stray cattle on Old Northern Road near Chooky Anderson’s place. Tree down on fence. Two steers enjoying the grass on side of the road. Take care driving past.
My heart soared. Stacey Jemima Turner, the interior designer.Anastasia,was a sight for my sore eyes.
She stared wide-eyed. “You read my messages.”
“I did.” I stared back, drinking her in from head to toe. “I missed you, too.”
