The Problem with Perfect Page 17

  “I wouldn’t have picked you as an art lover. I thought it would be a bit airy-fairy for you.”

  “I like paintings. I like opera. I like ballet. I’m your typical cultured rich girl, I guess.”

  Finn looked up towards the sky. “Nice night.”

  She followed his gaze, taking in the stars spotted across the black night sky. “Beautiful.”

  “It’s peaceful here.” He turned back to her. “Should I get you back to the party?”

  “I’d better get back.” She stood up, reluctantly. She couldn’t hide out here all night. She looked at Finn. “Not your scene in there?”

  Finn shook his head. “I’m not much of a socialiser. I like being on my own.”

  “Let’s stay out here for a few minutes longer.”

  There wasn’t much light outside – just a little streaming from a nearby porchlight – but Marigold could see just enough to realise that Finn was giving her one of his rare, but devastating, smiles.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Finn

  Finn was starving. The food at the Gala was all so tiny. It was like the size of the plastic food he saw his nieces and nephews play with in their toy kitchen.

  It was so dainty that he could barely pick it up. There was some piece of beef with some sort of mustard that had been pretty good, but he’d only scored one of those. By the time he and Marigold had re-joined the event, the food was winding up.

  At the time, he’d not been fussed about missing out on something to eat – sitting outside with Marigold had been better than being in the Gala – but he’d been ravenous by the time he’d escorted Marigold back to her room.

  After that, he dashed back downstairs, desperate to see if this Will character was still here. There were still a few people lurking around. He managed to snag an eclair off a tray, and wolfed it down. Too sweet and full of air to make a dent in his hunger, but it was better than nothing. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and moved around the small groups of people talking.

  Will was there. Bingo.

  Rose was sitting down, laughing, as several people tried to get her attention. What an exhausting night all those blokes had trying to get her to notice them. Finn stood near them.

  “Hi Finn!” Rose said brightly, a wide smile appearing on her face. “How are you?”

  Several of the other guys shot him daggers looks. It didn’t bother him. He wasn’t there to try to win Rose’s hand. Not that she wasn’t beautiful, but he was here for Marigold.

  “Will, right?” He pointed a finger towards Will in a friendly, jovial way.

  Will looked confused. “Err, yeah?” he replied, hesitantly.

  “Mate, can I have a word?” This was a question but posed using all his best police training. There wasn’t a choice.

  He led Will towards the front door. “I think you’ve had your fun.”

  “What are you talking about? Who are you?” Will looked around nervously.

  “Someone close to the family. I’ve heard you think you were treated unfairly by Marigold. Have you reported it to your employer?”

  “It’s none of your business.” Will crossed his arms.

  “It kind of is. You know that Marigold just lost her husband, right? She’s grief-stricken. I don’t know what happened, but blackmailing your way here tonight was what I would call taking advantage of the situation.”

  Will looked down.

  “And another thing, mate. I wouldn’t get any ideas about Rose. It was pretty obvious from the look of it she could have her pick of any bloke here. Besides, she adores her sister and I don’t think she’d like to hear that you scammed your way here.”

  “That’s not what happened.” Will swallowed. “You’re a thug.”

  “Been called worse. You right to drive?” Finn grinned and watched Will disappear into the night. Good riddance.

  Chuckling at Will’s shocked expression, Finn returned to his guest room. It was very stylish and comfortable – and, much like Marigold’s home, set up like a hotel suite. There were fluffy towels waiting for him on his bed, and even chocolate mints on the pillows. Hotel de Doyle. Maison de Doyle. He scoffed the chocolates to try to ward off hunger, brushed his teeth and flopped into bed.

  But sleep was hard to come by. He thought a lot about Marigold. There were a few hunger pangs, but the reality was, Marigold had filled his thoughts. Despite handling Will, he had felt pretty useless of late – being unable to solve the mystery of the apartment. He’d have liked to solve it. Maybe it would help her grieve if she knew exactly what had been happening – particularly if he had proved that Julian had been sleeping around. Less of a loss, perhaps?

  His mother had taken his father’s death so hard. They all had, and it was much harder given the excellence of Finn’s father. But Julian, he wasn’t excellent. He’d been hiding something. Finn wondered if he could keep the project on the backburner, in his own time, without Marigold knowing he was still looking into it.

  The money still was a mystery. As were the trips to Sydney. That note signed with the initial still bothered him. That phone number with the cheery woman’s voicemail message that Julian had deleted from his phone. It irked him. He liked things to be finished and solved.

  He would carry on. If he found something, he could find a way to tell Marigold if it was right. If he didn’t, she’d never know.

  Chapter Forty

  Marigold

  Marigold awoke, kicked off her blankets and found the clothes she kept in the wardrobe for riding. Perhaps riding would clear her head after the restless night before. It wasn’t strange to sleep in the same room she’d spent a number of nights over the course of her life, but it was strange not to sleep there with Julian next to her.

  Dressed, she wandered towards the staircase, casting an eye on one of the guest rooms wondering if Finn was in there. She had been surprised to not only find him at the Gala but that he’d been invited to stay. She was pleased he had been. The night had been frustrating on the one hand. Her social awkwardness and discomfort was painful. She’d thought that events like the Gala would be not that different without Julian. Usually they’d spend most of the evening apart anyway, networking or catching up with people, but it was strange not to have him there. That had hurt.

  The nicest part had been sitting outside with Finn. That was the closest to normal the night had felt. Hiding in the garden with a reserved former police officer? Things had changed.

  The house was still and quiet. Moving towards the kitchen, she heard someone in the pool. She peered through the window to see a man swimming laps in the pool. The dark hair betrayed it to be Finn.

  His arm movements were even and precise, and his legs were kicking powerfully, but with great control. He took each lap carefully, showing strength and agility as he turned and pushed himself away from the edge of the pool. She’d been a strong swimmer when she was younger and had regularly represented her school in competition. She recognised Finn’s technique as being good.

  She stared for a moment, mesmerised by his technically perfect strokes, before shaking her head. Coffee. She needed a coffee.

  Picking up a cup, she moved back to the window to see if Finn was still swimming. If he’d finished, she’d offer him an espresso too. She knew that’s how he liked his coffee. She watched as he completed another lap, before he stopped and moved towards the edge of the pool, hoisting himself up and onto the concrete. He stood up, taking a stretch and shaking water from his hair.

  She felt her mouth drop open as she noticed his body. He had a muscular build but not ‘pumped up’. His bare shoulders and broadly-defined arms, which had looked good under his shirts, looked amazing bare. His stomach was taut with clearly-defined abs and pecs, and a sprinkling of chest hair.

  She exhaled, realising she’d been holding her breath.

  Finn was hot. Seriously hot.

  Her cheeks blazed as she found herself unable to look away from him. She’d always thought he was handsome, but wow, he really wa
s something.

  She then remembered Julian, and a wave of guilt and uncertainty washed over her. She had been so dazzled by Finn’s abs and that fine v-shape that lead to the front of his swimming trunks that she’d forgotten about her late husband. Julian had been very attractive. But no, not quite as sculptured as that.

  How much time did Finn spend in the gym to have a body like that? She turned on the coffee machine and started pushing various buttons, listening to the grinding of the beans. Stop it. It was totally inappropriate to be thinking about Finn’s body like that. She was a widow, after all.

  She brought the coffee cup to her lips to take a sip.

  “Marigold.”

  She jumped as she heard her name, causing her coffee cup to jitter against the saucer.

  Finn walked in through the side door and smiled. “Good morning.” He’d slung a towel over his shoulder and his hair was slicked back.

  Her eyes were drawn towards his abs again before she lifted her head to focus on his eyes.

  “Morning… errr… Finn.” She never tripped over her sentences, but she was lucky to get anything else out of her mouth as all her thoughts suddenly were occupied by a vision of Finn pushing her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist.

  Good grief.

  Stop it. She shouldn’t be thinking about sex with anyone, least of all Finn.

  She had to get out of here. She slammed down the rest of her coffee, even though it was extremely hot. She let out a cough as it burned her throat, and placed the coffee cup down on the table.

  “I’m going riding, there’s coffee if you want it,” she mumbled and walked quickly outside to the hallway.

  She took a deep breath as she reached the front door, before hurriedly racing down each step and into the safety of outside where she could dissolve such erotic thoughts. She walked towards the stables, her mind buzzing and an overwhelming sense of guilt washing over her. A few weeks ago, the idea of ever sleeping with anyone else seemed impossible, and now, here she was having wild thoughts about Finn. Finn! Of all people.

  She tried to think of the last time she and Julian had made love. She couldn’t. Maybe a week before he died. Two? Maybe even three? Goodness, could it have been four? She wasn’t sure.

  The night they went to the opera? No, he’d been too tired. Oh. That was it. The Sunday morning before he died. He’d rolled over and tried to get something started, running his hand along her thigh, nibbling at her ear. She’d insisted they needed to get ready to go out to brunch, with some friends, but he’d continued to kiss along her neck, and finally she’d relented, deciding it was quicker to let him have his way with her than argue.

  Was that it? The last time they’d had sex was her relenting for the sake of being able to get out of the door within a reasonable timeframe?

  Sex with Julian had been nice. It never wasn’t. He knew enough of what he was doing to make sure it was pleasurable, but it had never been the throwing-each-other-up-against-walls, or tearing-each-other’s-clothes-off, type of intense passion. She’d always thought that sort of intensity was melodramatic. How did people get themselves that wound up that they’d tear shirts off, ripping buttons? It was a thing for movies. Not real life.

  But then again, a few moments earlier, without any good sense nor decency to stop her, goodness knows what she could have done to Finn. Perhaps that intensity was possible, in the right circumstances. Or was it the confusion and grief talking? She never had so far, in her life, given in to such crazy lust and reckless passion.

  Was that the sort of passion Julian reserved for outside their marriage? With someone less likely to look up in a diary when she’d last slept with her husband?

  It didn’t matter now. The apartment had been packed up. Someone was coming to collect the last of the furniture and steam-clean the carpets. The lease was nearly up. She’d hand back the keys, retrieve the deposit, and never go anywhere near it again.

  She’d never know why he really had it, but maybe it had to be ok not to know.

  And perhaps it was a good thing that she might see a little less of Finn – figuratively and literally.

  He was doing strange things to her thoughts.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Finn

  It had been somewhat jarring to see Marigold in riding clothes. It was so country and wholesome, but then again, she had grown up here.

  He ran the towel over his hair. The swim had been good – he’d always liked to swim. He’d swim every day if he had access to a pool like that. Cool from the morning air hitting his still damp, chlorine-scented skin, he made his way up the sweeping staircase of the Doyle home to shower and change.

  He thought about his encounter with Marigold in the kitchen. She had seemed nervous, and had practically bolted out of the room. Had he made her uncomfortable? Or was she just in a hurry to get out to her horses?

  Either way, he’d miss her. Their assignment was over, and yes, he’d probably see her back at D-Line once she was allowed back, but he was disappointed that she’d wanted to discontinue the Julian investigation. He was still convinced of his resolution the night before to continue to look into things.

  There was too much that simply didn’t add up. The flights. The money. The phone calls Julian had deleted from his history. Aaron’s caginess. He was definitely hiding something, but what?

  Dressed and absolutely starving, he was relieved to find Peter and Odette in the kitchen with food.

  “Hello, Finn.” Odette gave him a smile. “Breakfast?”

  “Good morning, thank you, I’d love some.”

  “Nice swim?” Odette raised her eyebrows.

  “Err… yes, I hope that was ok?” He realised he’d not asked to use the pool. Should he have? Had that been taking liberties?

  “Of course.” Odette handed him a plate and waved towards the selection of pastries and fruit on the counter.

  “After breakfast, let’s have a look at this stable.” Peter had been reading from his iPad but looked up. “I’d appreciate your advice.”

  “That would be fine.” Finn helped himself to a croissant with some sort of cheese in it. Of course, the security issue that Peter had wanted help with. That’s why he was really here, wasn’t it?

  Had part of him hoped the invitation had been from Marigold? But it clearly hadn’t. She’d looked shocked the night before when he’d approached her. She hadn’t been expecting him.

  He swallowed. Had he overstepped the boundaries somewhat? Perhaps his feelings of guilt at not being able to resolve the issue were more of a feeling of personal rather than professional failure. Had he got a bit too close to the family? Dealing with Will without Marigold’s knowledge? Staying the night? Swimming in their pool?

  Perhaps it was time to return to a purely professional relationship.

  After he ate breakfast, he paused by the painting on the wall that he’d puzzled over the night before.

  He thought of Marigold’s words – to consider how the painting made him feel. He glanced around at the expensive furnishings, chandeliers and stained-glass windows that adorned the Doyle mansion.

  He felt like he didn’t belong here.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Marigold

  After her ride, Marigold walked past the staircase and paused as she saw the painting that Finn had been talking about the night before. She’d not looked at it properly in years. She paused and approached it. It was strange. She would agree with him on that. It had always made her feel frustrated as the lines weren’t even. She longed to straighten them up, but she sometimes found that with art. Symmetry was something she strived for, but deep in her heart, she knew that if it had perfect symmetry it would look like wrapping paper. It wouldn’t be art any more. The imperfections were what made it.

  She walked through to the kitchen to see if he was there, to talk about the painting again.

  “You’ve been riding!” Odette gave her a smile. “I’m so pleased.”

  “Is Finn her
e?”

  “No, he had some breakfast and has gone to have a look at the stable with your father. He’s worried about the security gate there.” Odette raised her eyebrows. “Oh, Finn had a swim before that.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s much more attractive than I remember him.” Odette brought a coffee cup to her lips. “Very dashing.”

  Marigold made a non-committal murmur as she picked up a croissant from a platter on the kitchen bench. She took a bite, feeling her cheeks redden at her earlier, rather undignified, thoughts of Finn. ‘Dashing’ didn’t begin to explain the six-pack he’d been hiding under those suits of his. She wondered if she would be able to look at him in clothes the same way, or would she try some sort of X-ray memory vision to re-imagine what he looked like getting out of the pool.

  Stop it!

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” Odette asked.

  Marigold swallowed a piece of croissant. “No.” Was her mother trying to set her up with him? She thought back to her mother’s earlier suggestion of an ‘escort’ for the party. Is that why Finn had been invited?

  “Good. He shouldn’t be tied down. Men like that shouldn’t.”

  “Men like what?”

  Her mother shrugged. “You know, attractive, charming.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment, before snapping her attention back to Marigold. “He certainly seemed to pay a lot of attention to you.”

  “Work stuff,” Marigold murmured as she took another bite of her croissant.

  Odette gave an exasperated sigh. “Marigold, I don’t understand you. You have a gorgeous man at your side all night and all you want to do is talk about work. If I had a man like Finn paying me that sort of attention, work would be the last thing on my mind.”

  “Mum!” Marigold nearly choked. “You shouldn’t be saying things like that! You’re married!”

  “Married to a man who only talks about D-Line too. You’re as bad as he is! You need to learn to leave work where it belongs.”