Reform Of The Playboy

Highly embarrassed, and conscious of the deep flush rising up over her pale cheeks, Harriet was also bitterly aware of the man’s lips twitching with amusement as he bent to pick up the key.

So, he’s outrageously handsome—so what? Harriet told herself firmly, quickly putting as much distance between herself and Mr Maclean as possible before leading the way down into the lower ground floor kitchen area.

But she was still feeling distinctly unsettled, totally unable to explain the slightly sick feeling in her stomach as she moved over to the far side of the room. Turning around to lean against the sink beneath the large window, she listened as the estate agent began explaining the benefits of possessing such a large, semi-underground area in a house of this size.

‘…and, of course, if you’re still thinking of making this into a separate flat,’ he was saying, ‘it’s clearly ideal for what you have in mind. Lots of light and space, and—’

‘But you can’t do that!’ Harriet was astonished to find herself saying with some vehemence, suddenly upset to think of her aunt’s house being split up into apartments.

‘Oh, really…?’ Mr Maclean drawled sardonically, turning slowly around to face the girl standing on the far side of the room.

Almost as if he was clearly viewing her for the first time, he stared at the tall, slim figure, bathed in a warm glow from the light streaming in through the window, her long red hair, tied at the back of her neck by a dark blue ribbon, seeming to burst into fiery life beneath the strong rays of the late-afternoon sun.

Still astonished at her instinctive outburst, Harriet found herself feeling even more confused as the tall man began moving slowly and determinedly across the room towards her.

‘And exactly what makes you think that I can’t convert this basement—or any other floor of this house, for that matter?’ he asked in a cool, bland voice as he came to a halt in front of her nervous figure.

Having been virtually ignored during his tour of the house, Harriet felt distinctly flustered to find herself subjected to the full force of this man’s attention. The strong, intelligent gleam in his large blue eyes, which seemed to be boring into her skull, was not only highly disturbing but was also having a strange effect on her legs, which suddenly felt weak and wobbly.

Leaning for support back against the hard white porcelain sink, she struggled to pull herself together. Why on earth was she behaving in such a stupid, infantile way? She must have met hundreds of other guys, almost as good-looking as this one. So why let him get to her? It was still her house, wasn’t it? So, as far as she was concerned, he could take a running jump, she told herself firmly, before taking a deep breath and lifting her chin aggressively towards him.

‘I’m selling a house. Not a block of flats,’ she told him, dismayed to hear her normally firm, clear voice sounding unusually shrill and defensive. ‘I’m sure my aunt would hate to think of her old home being cut up into small apartments and sold off piecemeal—like you seem to be thinking of doing.’

There was a long silence as he stared at her intently for a moment, his expression giving no hint of what was going through his mind.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Wentworth,’ he drawled sardonically, at last breaking the oppressive silence which seemed to have settled on the large room. ‘But I wasn’t aware that I’d discussed my plans with you…?’ he added with heavy sarcasm.

‘No, of course you haven’t,’ she retorted, deeply resenting being treated as though she was an impertinent child, daring to question her elders and betters. ‘But I’m not prepared to sell my aunt’s home to anyone who’s intending to cut it up and sell it off in bits,’ she added stubbornly.

‘Well, I don’t really see what you can do about it,’ he told her in a slightly amused, condescending tone of voice, which set her teeth on edge. ‘In fact—since this building was granted full planning permission for sub-division into apartments only three years ago—I fail to see how you can stop any purchaser from doing exactly as they want with the property.’

‘What…?’ Harriet stared past him at the estate agent, who’d been standing nervously across the room while this acrimonious exchange had been taking place. ‘I never knew my aunt had thought of splitting up this house. Why didn’t you tell me about the planning permission?’ she demanded angrily.

‘I didn’t know myself. Not until the other day, that is,’ Mr Evans told her with a slight shrug. ‘It was only when I was checking up on any possible boundary disputes that it came to light. Still, there’s no need to worry,’ he added, clearly in an attempt to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘It will, after all, make this house far more saleable.’

‘But…but it’s not just a house—it’s a home!’ Harriet wailed, not caring if she sounded childish. ‘I thought that there would be a family living here, enjoying the garden and…’ Her voice trailed away as she realised that she was succeeding in doing nothing but make an utter fool of herself.

‘Well, there you go.’ The estate agent shrugged, before brightly asking whether Mr Maclean would like to look over some of the rooms once again.

However, as Harriet trailed disconsolately behind the two men up to the raised ground floor, before leaving them to explore the rest of the house on their own, she only had one thought in her mind. She would never—under any circumstances—sell this house to that totally hateful man, Mr Maclean. She didn’t yet know how she could put a stop to his plans. But, come hell or high water, she was going to make damn sure that he never managed to get his hands on this house.

Unfortunately, despite cudgelling her brains, and coming up with a hundred and one highly impractical ideas over the next two weeks, Harriet had completely failed to find a solution to her problem.

Since her aunt—maybe because she’d been feeling lonely in her old age?—had gained permission to turn her home into apartments, there seemed no sensible explanation why Harriet should care what happened to the house, one way or another.

However, the fact was that she did feel very strongly about the subject—and also about that loathsome man, as well. Who in the hell did he think he was? Probably just some rotten property developer, who clearly took pleasure in destroying beautiful buildings merely for profit, she told herself, a heavy weight of depression filling her mind one night, as she slowly slipped off to sleep.

She had no idea what caused her to wake up some hours later, in the middle of the night. But, as she found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, it seemed as though her brain had been working overtime. Because, entirely without any effort on her part, Harriet suddenly realised that she’d found the answer to all her problems. She wasn’t going to sell the house. She was going to live in it herself!

Scrambling out of bed, she ran barefoot through into the small adjoining sitting room, which could have easily fitted four times into the large drawing room of her aunt’s house. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil, she immediately sat down and started working on some figures.

If she converted the ground and first floor into a maisonette for herself, it would enable her to live in the house and—just as important—give her direct access into that wonderful garden. However, she could only afford to do that if she converted the basement, second, third and fourth floors into four separate flats.

So…OK…she would being doing almost the same as that horrid man Mr Maclean had planned to do. But the difference was that in her case she was going to be personally living in the house, and looking after it. So, providing she could find enough money to convert and rent her first apartment, it should be possible for her to afford to do the other remaining floors in the same way.

After scribbling furiously for some minutes, she stared down at the figures. Yes! If she was very careful, and watched every penny of her expenditure, she could just about do it. And, of course, the scheme did have one quite outstanding bonus: it would enable her to give up her job, which she’d come to thoroughly dislike, while she took a year off from work to see to the conversion. By that time she was bound to have decided what she really wanted to do with her life. And, with any luck, her home would prove to be at least self-supporting, if not bringing in some useful funds.

Excited by her new idea, she talked the idea over with her old schoolfriend, Sophie. The other girl not only agreed that it looked as if it might be the solution to all her problems—but she also astonished Harriet by asking if she could rent the lower-ground-floor flat.

‘I’m sick and tired of the dump I’m living in at the moment,’ she explained. ‘And when we were down in the basement, having a break while clearing up the house, it did just occur to me that it would make a great pad. I mean, there seemed bags of room, and it was very light. Besides, those ceilings have to be about eleven feet high—right? And with its own front door out into the street, I reckon it will make a perfect flat!’

Encouraged by Sophie’s enthusiasm for the project, Harriet immediately telephoned the estate agent. To her surprise, Mr Evans was remarkably understanding.

‘I can see you love that house,’ he said with a heavy sigh. ‘However, if you can live there and make it pay for itself—the best of luck to you.’

Which, since he’d just lost a hefty amount of commission on the sale, was really very generous of him, she told herself. Although she subsequently found herself taking a rather more jaundiced view of the estate agent, when she discovered that he’d been guilty of foolishly—or, perhaps, merely carelessly—giving her phone number to a very angry Mr Maclean.

‘You damned girl!’ he rasped down the phone. ‘Not only have you put me to a great deal of time and expense, checking the planning permission and laying on surveyors, but I never had any intention of turning that house of yours into a block of flats.’

‘Oh, yes, you did!’ she snapped. ‘I quite distinctly heard you discussing with the estate agent your proposal to make the lower ground floor into a separate apartment.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! That was simply to provide a home for my younger brother, Jack, who works abroad most of the year. I wanted him to have somewhere—a piece of his own space, if you like—when he returns to this country on vacation,’ he told her, his voice tight with exasperation. ‘I fully intended to retain the rest of the house for myself.’

‘Well, I’m sorry if you’re disappointed—’

‘You don’t sound at all sorry!’ he ground out angrily, clearly able to sense the wide grin on her face, even if he couldn’t see it in person. ‘In fact, if I didn’t believe in non-violence, I’d cheerfully wring your damned neck!’ he added grimly. ‘I really wanted that house.’

‘Well, that’s just your tough luck, isn’t it?’ she retorted, before quickly putting down the phone and putting an end to the acrimonious conversation.

And that, if there was any justice in this world, should have been the end of any contact between them, Harriet now told herself with a heavy sigh, gazing out over the lawn and trees of the moonlit garden. Trust Sophie—who always had been accident prone—to introduce a snake like Finn Maclean into her Garden of Eden!

As she rose to her feet and walked slowly back through the large sitting room into her bedroom, Harriet realised that she now had no choice. She was just going to have to tough it out. After all, Finn was only going to be renting the upstairs apartment for six months. So, with any luck—and a firm contract—she should be able to make sure that she saw as little of him as possible.

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