Mr. Imperfect(7)

She stuck to the facts, her tone brisk. But in her heart, dread grew  like a tumor. "It has a huge mortgage so it's no use as security, but  I've had an offer to buy. It's low-Bob Harvey knows I'm desperate for  money-but I'd net twenty thousand dollars."

"You don't want to sell."

She told him about the house she'd wanted to build there. "Wide decks  overhung with grape leaves in summer. A big pond to encourage water  fowl, a vegetable garden and chickens-"

"Don't forget the white picket fence."

"Too much work to paint," she said wistfully, then registered the irony. "Sounds like your worst nightmare?"

"Actually, it makes an attractive picture. One I'd like to hang in my  inner-city penthouse." His tone softened. "Choose your dream, Kez. I'm  sorry, but right now you can only afford one."

For a split second she was eighteen again and panicky until she  remembered that her hardest choice had been made then. And she'd  survived. She gestured toward Christian's phone. "May I?"

He made no move to hand it over. "You still let duty drive you." There was a critical note in his voice that stung.

"Better than still evading responsibility."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Under duress, you bastard! The words trembled on the tip of Kezia's  tongue. "Yes," she said at last. "You're here now." Coward, she said to  herself, wanting to say it to him. "My point is," she continued, "I have  to consider other people's interests as well as my own."

"But none of them are taking your risk." Christian's tone was equally  rational. "And you could be throwing good money after bad. If your  heart's not in it, let the bank have it."

"If the hotel closes, it may never reopen. I can't-won't-let that happen to Waterview."

Without another word he handed her the phone and she punched in the  number of the estate agent. "George? Kezia. You can tell Bob the land's  his if he'll agree to an immediate settlement-".

Christian repossessed the phone. "And is prepared to pay a fair price.  You're supposed to be representing the interests of the vendor, George,  so why the hell are you letting Bob Harvey dance on an old lady's grave?  Yes, I'm back … well I look forward to seeing you again, too. In fact you  don't have long to wait because in thirty minutes Kezia and I will be  in your office. Make sure Bob's there." He rang off and saw the  irritation on Kezia's face. "I know, I know. You're perfectly capable of  handling this. But you're grieving and you shouldn't have to deal with  ass-holes like Bob Harvey."

Once again, he'd disarmed her.



"ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY thousand dollars and not a cent more, damn  you-not you, Kezia. You, you robber's dog!" Bob Harvey ripped off his  tie, worn in deference to the occasion, hitched up his trousers, pushed  south by his belly, and glared at Christian, who inclined his head  graciously at the compliment.

Dissatisfied with this response, the grizzled farmer turned on the  estate agent. "Oh, yes, you can smirk with the commission you're  getting. Well, use it to buy a vote when you stand for racecourse  chairman next week because you won't be getting mine!"                       
       
           



       

Having wiped the grin off somebody's face, Bob signed the contract, then  patted Kezia's knee. "Don't worry, love, I won't let this affect our  relationship."

Judging by the broken veins fanning out from the old farmer's bulbous  red nose, Christian suspected that relationship to be one of publican  and best customer.

Kezia's words confirmed it. "Next one's on the house, Bob."

"One!" Bob heaved to his feet. "The pub will be buying beer until I'm  bloody carried out, after today's chicanery." His disgusted gaze swept  over Christian's casual attire. "Someone needs to tell you how to dress  for business, boy." He crossed his arms, causing the buttons of his  white shirt to strain across his expansive belly.

"Bob!" Kezia's rebuke had a wobble of amusement in it.

Christian kept a straight face only by not looking at Kezia. He could  tell Bob what the jeans had cost him and be called a bloody fool. He  could mention that Sartorial magazine had voted him Australasia's  best-dressed man for the past five years and be called a bloody pansy.  Or he could enjoy the moment. He chose the last course, figuring his  pleasures would be few and far between in the coming days.

Emboldened by Christian's silence, Bob grunted and picked up the  contract. "Let's get over to the pub before bloody Kelly remembers to  swipe the change out of my pockets. Once a thief, always a thief, eh,  Kelly?"

Christian remembered a desperate boy who would rather steal money for  food than admit to paternal neglect, and his jaw hardened. He'd  amputated sentiment from his life when he'd left Waterview, yet all day  he'd been plagued by phantom pains. "As I recall, I labored four  weekends paying back that two dollars. But then, you always did know how  to exploit a situation, didn't you, Bob? Nothing's changed there,  either."

"I offered a fair price." The old man blustered. "And Kezia was happy  with it-" as she tried to interrupt Bob simply raised his voice "-until  you showed up playing the hotshot with your fancy car and fancy  attitude. Well, you're home now, boy, and we know you for what you  really are."

"Now, guys," said George nervously. The man still ducked and dived his  way through trouble, Christian noted, just as he had when they'd played  rugby together in high school.

Ignoring him, Christian gave Bob a contemptuous once-over. "And that is?"

"The same loser your father was."

"Give me that contract!" Kezia stormed toward Bob with a look in her eye  that made Christian wonder whether he should step in and save the old  blowhard's life.

Bob obviously read the same message because he took a couple of steps  back and held out the document. Christian neatly intercepted it. "You're  forgetting which cause you're martyring yourself for," he reminded her,  amused and touched. It had been a long time since anyone considered him  in need of a champion.

"Damn it, Kelly, if you imply I'm a martyr once more I'll-"

"Let the bully have me?" He resisted her efforts to seize the contract  by holding it aloft. "It's okay, Kez, he didn't hurt my feelings. I  don't have many so they're a hard target."

"I don't care, he crossed the line." She was on tiptoe now, straining  breast-to-chest with him, one arm upstretched, and Christian had a  sudden urge to kiss her and put all that passion to better use. It  scared the hell out of him.

"Forget your principles for once," he said more sharply than he intended  to. "We need his money and we need it now." Out of the corner of his  eye he saw George wince.

Kezia drew herself up to her full height. "Now, Christian!"

"What the hell's going on?" demanded Bob, mystified. "Why does she want the contract?"

"To rip it up, you fool!" Anxiously, George gestured to Christian to hand it to him.

Christian obliged, passing it over Kezia's head. She spun around, her  dark hair flying, but it was too late. George had wrenched open the door  and sped down the road with it.

"So," said Bob after a moment's stunned silence, "how about that drink?"



KEZIA DIDN'T SPEAK TO CHRISTIAN for several hours, which suited him  perfectly. He'd mainlined into her concerns when he'd only meant to  dabble, and that annoyed him. What he needed was space, to reestablish  his autonomy.

So he shut himself in his room with his laptop and mobile and connected  to the real world, taking dinner on a tray and ignoring the whispers of  children outside his door.                       
       
           



       

It was approaching twilight when he sought a change of scene and  discovered the upstairs deck overlooking a quarter-acre yard with a  large vegetable garden and a couple of flower beds. Beyond that was  pasture, traversed by the highway heading to the city. The sight taunted  Christian, but not enough to seek the bar and run the gauntlet of old  acquaintances.

Instead he found a pack of cards and took them outside where he sat at a  wicker table and played Patience. He figured he needed the practice.  He'd only played one game-and lost-when he heard Kezia at the open  French doors behind him. "I won't bite if you don't," he said, shuffling  the deck and dealing two hands.

"I haven't come to play with you," she began and he raised his head to  enjoy the discomposure that always followed her unintentional double  entendres. Since he knew from experience that she was a passionate  lover, he could only assume it had been a while. Ungenerous of him to be  glad.