Set Me Free (12 page)

In some ways, he
was looking forward to the next meeting. To her credit, Charlotte did a bloody
good job of sabotaging the first. But with the designs now complete, he knew he
had a compelling argument. They’d be mad to want to hold on to that tinderbox.

Charlotte
side-stepped a determined mother with a stroller, bringing to Craig’s mind the
memory of her on the dance floor at Barb’s. For the first thirty seconds she'd smoked
the floor he’d been transfixed. And then as he watched those hypnotising hips
swivel towards her partner, he felt an inappropriate stirring deep within that
made him look away and close his gaping mouth. For the rest of the dance, he
stared into his drink, but his peripheral vision betrayed him and he caught
glimpses of her flying through the air to the great delight of the crowd. At
the end of the dance, he glanced up in time to see her partner plant a
possessive kiss on her beautiful mouth. It made him growl within, and want very
much to charge across the room and tear them apart.

But when she came
back to the table, he was still rooted to the spot. As Cassette had started
provoking her, he felt an urgent need to explain himself. The chances that she'd
forgive him and overlook his indiscretion were extremely limited, but he wanted
her to know he wasn’t an arsehole.

His apology, for
what it was worth, hadn’t been a complete failure. She softened towards him,
and before they parted he could have sworn she was thinking of kissing him. The
self-control he’d exercised at that moment had been exceptional, but as much as
he wanted her, making things messier was not going to help anyone.

Nana Gwen dragged
his attention back to the table. ‘I think I’d like to have a look around now
love,’ she said, gathering her handbag.

‘Sure, Nana, I’ll
pay first.'

When he turned
back from the counter, Nana Gwen was gone.

Charlotte
wandered aimlessly through the market, looking at the stalls. Diane and Emily were
indulging in a tense moment of bonding beneath the hands of a Chinese masseuse.
Bemused by the irony, Charlotte was passing the time browsing through the mix
of vintage fashion, vinyl records, general junk and gaudy tourist trade that
made up the Northside Wharves street market.

Pondering the
fragile relationship between her mother and her sister, she crashed into a
little old lady and very nearly knocked her off her feet.

‘Oh my goodness! 
I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

The little old
lady looked dazed and confused. ‘I think I’m lost dear,’ she said dusting
herself off as though she'd actually fallen. Although her demeanour was frail,
her cream silk dress, the kind Charlotte would reserve for weddings and the
like, not the local bazaar, spoke of money and luxury. The perfume cloud making
Charlotte giddy was definitely not Yardley. Her white hair, cut in a short bob,
was coiffed to perfection and her make-up seamless. The pearls around her neck
sat comfortably, as though they were at peace and not twisted and twirled by
someone uncomfortable having something that expensive around their neck.

Charlotte was
taken aback by the honest answer. ‘Um, can I help you?  Are you here with
someone?’

‘My grandson, dear.
He was just here a moment ago and now I’ve gone and lost him.’

Clearly the
missing grandson was an adult. No responsible parent would leave their child
under this woman’s supervision.

‘Can you call
him?’

‘Oh no, dear. What
if he came back while I was looking for a phone booth? I don’t go for those
fancy mobile phones you know.'

My God. How did
people survive in the modern world without a phone?  How did you ever meet up with
anyone, or let them know you were running late? Or find them if you lost them?

Think,
Charlotte
.

‘Okay,’ she said,
taking the old lady by the arm to steer her away from the pressing flow of
people. ‘These markets can get quite busy and confusing. Shall we walk for a
bit and see if we can find him?’

‘Thank you, dear. I
do get nervous in these busy crowds. All these people pushing and shoving.’

‘Mmm, I know,’
agreed Charlotte, thinking of the woman with the stroller who’d almost
barrelled her over five minutes ago. ‘Now, where did you last see your
grandson?’

‘Up there I think,
dear. Although I could be walking in the wrong direction. I’m not sure.’

‘Well, we could
just stay here and wait for him to find you. Perhaps this way we won’t miss
him.’

‘That’s a good
idea. But let’s sit down shall we?  My weary old legs need a rest.’

‘There’s a bit of
a ledge over there. Would that be okay?’

‘Perfect.'

Charlotte escorted
her over to the ledge by an overstated water feature, dodging the crowd as they
went. Once they were comfortable, the little old lady asked her what her name
was.

‘What a lovely
classic name,’ she commented.

‘My mother named
her children after the Bronte sisters. I have a sister Emily and a brother
Andrew. She didn’t have three girls, so she did her best with what she had to
work with.’

‘And are you a fan
of your namesake?’

‘Of course. How
could you not be?’

‘Indeed. And what
about you, dear, do you have any children?' She was a curious little old lady,
but Charlotte found it quite pleasant to chat with her. It was a nice way to
pass the time, and it didn’t involve spending money on more foolish wardrobe
choices.

‘No, not even a
husband.’

‘Won’t your
boyfriend ask you to marry him?’

Charlotte smiled. ‘No
boyfriend either.’

‘Really?  A pretty
young thing like you?  My grandson is single and a strapping young man. Perhaps
the two of you might hit it off.’

‘Perhaps.' Charlotte
amused her, curious to have a look at this ‘strapping young man’ when he
appeared. The description made her think of a country bumpkin. ‘You haven’t
told me your name,’ she added.

‘It’s Gwen.’

‘That’s a lovely
name.’

Gwen chuckled,
making Charlotte warm to her even more. ‘People don’t often say that to old
people, love.'

‘I suppose. It’s
still a lovely name.’

Gwen took her hand
and squeezed it. ‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you dear but here comes my grandson. Thank
you for sitting with me.’

Charlotte followed
her gaze to find Craig Carmichael barrelling through the crowd towards them, a
suspicious but determined look on his face. It had been a couple of weeks since
she’d last laid eyes on him and she’d forgotten the effect he had on her.

Charlotte
swallowed. He was gorgeous even when he was scowling. Today he was wearing an
early 90s band t-shirt that looked well-loved and authentic. His jeans were
dark denim, snug and flattering, causing her to flush slightly and avert her
eyes as he got closer.

‘Nana, I’ve been
looking for you everywhere,’ he sternly told his grandmother, his hands forming
fists by his side. His eyes flicked over Charlotte.

‘I got a little
bit confused, dear. And this nice young lady has been looking after me.’

Craig opened his
mouth to speak and closed it again. He looked at Charlotte, back to his
grandmother and then back to Charlotte. Frowning, he seemed to be trying to
make sense of the situation. Charlotte was desperately trying to recover some
composure of her own. After several heartbeats, Craig found some words.

‘Hello, Charlotte.
How are you?’

‘I’m well, thank
you,’ she replied, matching his formality. Her throat was dry. She wasn’t able
to say much more.

‘Oh, do you two
know each other?’ asked Nana Gwen, with an air of innocence that suddenly
seemed forced. Charlotte threw her a puzzled look. She looked back at Craig and
could have sworn he just finished an eye roll. What did
that
mean?

Whatever it meant,
Craig wasn’t jumping to explain their association to his grandmother.

How would Charlotte
explain it?  Survivors of a one night stand?

‘We’re business
associates,’ she opted for, filling in the stretching silence.  

Nana Gwen beamed,
somewhat exaggeratedly. ‘Is that right, dear?’

Craig jumped in. ‘We
need to get going, Nana.' There was something cold in his voice that unsettled
Charlotte. He was in a hurry to get away from her. Why was that?  When he
walked her home the other night, she thought they’d established a form of truce.
His urgency was dreadfully suspicious.

Charlotte gave him
a loaded look.

He sighed heavily,
his hands loosening at his sides. ‘I’m sorry about what’s happened with your
sister and her husband.' There was a hint of guilt in his tone. Had he known
about the affair?  Was that it?  Was that why he was so edgy?

‘Me too,’ she
said, averting her eyes.  

As she scrambled
to collect her thoughts, she could feel both Craig and his grandmother watching
her.

‘I should probably
let you know we’ve made some progress with the development,’ said Craig. ‘I’ve
submitted the plans to council for approval. You should be able to find them
online.’

The look she threw
him this time was loaded with shock. She wished it wasn’t. She didn’t want him
to think she was spooked. Nor speechless. Although she was both.

Thankfully, he was
gracious enough not to smirk. ‘I’ll be organising another community forum to
discuss them soon. Probably some time next week. I’ll let you know.’

Charlotte nodded.

Craig turned his
attention to his grandmother. ‘We should get going, Nana,’ he said. ‘Thank you
for sitting with her, Charlotte.'

‘My pleasure,’ she
murmured, looking away again. It had been; for a time.

‘Goodbye, dear,’
said Gwen. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’

Charlotte doubted
that very much, but the smile she gave Gwen was sincere regardless.

Charlotte
gazed up in awe at the clean Art Deco lines of the building she’d been
obsessing about all week. A fixation that nagged her even as her sister’s life
fell apart, and her own world threatened to come crashing down around her.

She still hadn’t
had an opportunity to search for the development plans online. Now would have
been the perfect time, with Emily and Diane out of the apartment collecting
Emily’s clothes, art supplies and other personal belongings from her former
home. But instead of pouring over the plans, she found herself here, pouring
over the architectural marvel before her.  

She snapped a few
close up photos of the features and wrestled with her sketchbook. Her black and
white striped maxi dress was not proving functional as she ineffectually tried
to hold the book between her knees, put her camera away and search her handbag
for a pencil.

The building
loomed large before her, and she need to step back to take it all in. She
crossed the street and rested her backside against a sleek BMW parked by the
kerb. Drawing like this, in real life rather than from a photo, was terribly
old school of her, but there was nothing like recreating the lines on paper
from sight. She could capture the personality of the building and recreate it
with the charming nuances that could only be seen in person. There were things
photographs would never show, no matter how high the resolution.

The car beneath
her suddenly blip-blipped to life, making her jump and drop her book. She put a
steadying hand against her heart, only to feel it race even faster when she saw
who was holding the electronic keys. Craig smiled sheepishly, looking
devastatingly handsome for the second day in a row. Yet another checked
press-stud shirt fit snugly across his well-toned chest, and his jeans, once
again, were far too flattering. Charlotte was suddenly struggling to take in
enough oxygen.

‘Sorry,’ he
offered. ‘You seemed pretty far away, and I was actually trying
not
to
startle you.’

‘What are you
doing here?’ she blustered.

‘I live here,’ he
said, indicating the building behind him.

‘Really?’

Craig nodded,
grinning at her.

Charlotte salvaged
her sketchbook from the road. His demeanour was hard to take. Yesterday he’d
been cool and aloof, seemingly pissed off to find her with his nana. Why was he
being so friendly and appeasing now?  Suspiciously, when no one else was around,
he was making a habit of behaving as if they were friends.

It kept her on her
toes, and she didn’t like that.     

‘Is this your car?’
she asked, forcing herself to be polite. ‘Oh, I suppose that’s obvious isn’t
it, with the keys and all. Sorry.' She quickly checked to make sure she hadn’t
inadvertently scratched it.

After throwing
some folders on the passenger seat, Craig circumvented the bonnet to lean
against the car, next to her.

‘Were you drawing
that building?’ he asked, gesturing across the road and glancing at her
sketchbook.

He was far too
close. He smelled like he’d just gotten out of the shower. She didn’t want to
be thinking of him in the shower.

‘Yes,’ Charlotte
replied, clutching her book to her chest.

Craig smiled
warmly. It did nothing to settle her nerves. ‘I’m not surprised it caught your
eye. If your dining suite is anything to go by, I’d guess you have a bit of a
thing for Art Deco.’

The familiarity
implied by his recollection of her furniture had Charlotte flushing.

‘I am curious
though, how did you ever find it?’ he asked. ‘This isn’t your side of town.’

She pondered
telling him exactly what had brought her over to this side of town and decided
against it in case he took it as an indication she’d accepted defeat. The last
thing she wanted was for him to think she thought his development stood a
chance.  

‘I have a client
out this way,’ she lied, looking away from him. She wasn’t a good liar. Only
drunk people believed her lies.

An uncomfortable
moment of silence ensued. She wasn’t about to excuse herself, she had some
drawing to do. And Craig just stood there, looking at her. Perhaps she was in
his way.

As she stepped
further away from the car, he asked, ‘Would you like to see inside it?’

‘Inside what?  The
car?’

‘No, the building.'

He must be thinking
she was simple. ‘What do you mean?' She was still wary, but now also curious.  

‘I have a set of
keys to that building. It’s a little bit rustic inside, but not too shambolic. I
think you would be pretty amazed.’

Indeed. Charlotte battled
to restrain her excitement. She was screaming within.
Oh my God!
  See
inside it? How could she possibly refuse?  Would it be like it was in her dream
last night?  She knew she should tell him to sod off and walk away, but she
couldn’t leave now. He had keys. He was going to show her inside! 

She tried to
muster her mistrust. He must have ulterior motives; why else would he offer
something he must know she couldn’t refuse?  Perhaps he wanted to press her on
what she was up to with her (as yet unwritten) submission to council. Or did he
want to pry her for information about Emily and Geoff on Cassette’s behalf? 

He was watching
her as her mind raced.

‘Okay,’ she
eventually replied, beaming like a giddy school girl. Whatever he wanted, it
didn’t matter.

Craig faltered and
then excused himself to disappear into the apartment building behind her. It
was a 1960s refurbishment, done tastefully, not gaudy or cheap; a crime she’d seen
committed against other buildings of its vintage. She wondered what the
apartments were like inside. She wondered what his apartment was like inside. Then,
she remembered where he was going to take her, and refocused on that.

Before she knew
it, she was skipping across the street beside him and standing on the threshold
of the disintegrating apartment block while he jiggled the key in the door. He
forced it open and stood aside to let her in. Charlotte slipped passed him,
resisting the magnetic pull, and found herself in a dream not entirely
dissimilar to the one she’d had last night. The front door opened into a hall,
and a set of stairs rose up to the second floor on the left. She could see the
doors to three of the first floor apartments were open, the fourth was
concealed behind the stairs. A thick layer of dust coated everything and some
breathing apparatus wouldn’t go astray.

‘What is this
wood?  Is it rosewood?’ she asked, tracing a line through the dust with her
finger as she crossed the hall to the first apartment on the left.

‘Spot on,’ replied
Craig, following her.

Charlotte paused
at the door. Unbelievably, it was partially furnished and the furniture was
well preserved, though grimy, and straight from the 1930s. It was wonderful. She
gasped, glanced at Craig and then made her way over to the quaint little
kitchen, dropping her sketch book on the circular teak dining table as she went.
She stood at the sink and peered out the window above it into the weeds beyond,
fingering the brittle lace curtains. Turning to look at Craig, she whispered, ‘This
is unbelievable.’

‘I thought you’d
like it,’ he said.

‘I feel like I am
on a movie set. Or I’ve gone back in time. How long has it been vacant?’

‘About forty
years, I think. The whole building was owned by one extended family and each
apartment occupied by a different subset of the larger family. This one was the
patriarch’s. His wife died in the early forties, not long after their sons
started returning from the war. Each one of them settled in one of the other
apartments and raised their families there until there was some kind of scandal
and one by one the children and their families left. Eventually, the old man
died, and the kids never bothered to sort out the estate. Until about five
years ago, when Morgan Carmichael purchased it.’

‘It must have been
some scandal to stay away from this.’

‘I don’t know the whole
story, but I’d have to agree. Even if your taste was more modern, this piece of
real estate is a gold mine.'

Charlotte floated
into the apartment across the hall, taking in the ornate ceilings as she went. There
was an old 1950s record player and a stack of old jazz records. She ran her
finger across the top. ‘If only we could plug this in.’

She waltzed
herself across the room like an early Disney princess and peered out the French
doors to the garden on the other side of the block. A small animal, possibly a
rodent or a lizard, scampered into the undergrowth, making her screech in a
most un-princess like manner.

Craig was at her
side in an instant, making her body hum. ‘What is it?’

‘Just something in
the garden. Sorry, my reaction was a bit melodramatic.’

He smiled at her
before stepping back and restoring some distance between them. ‘So was mine, I
suppose. I was expecting something larger. I am still waiting to find a squatter
in here. It surprises me that I haven’t yet. Nor has there been any graffiti.’

‘Just not that
kind of neighbourhood, hey?'

Craig eyed her a
moment, assessing. ‘That kind of thing happens in every neighbourhood. No, I
think it’s something about this building. I think people are afraid of it. You’re
the only person I’ve ever known to take an interest in it.’

Charlotte recalled
Emily’s reaction and wondered if there was anything more than good luck that
had kept this gem so well preserved.

‘What are you
going to do with it?'

‘I plan to
refurbish it, when the time comes. I have a few other projects in progress
ahead of this one.' They averted each other’s eyes. ‘And I’m not having any
luck finding the right architect. I’ve had a few take a look at it and submit
proposals, but none of them have done the building justice. I won’t settle for
less.’

Charlotte studied
him. ‘It’s almost like you’re its custodian.’

He studied her in
return. ‘The thought had occurred to me. But I feel like a wanker suggesting
it.’

Charlotte laughed freely.
Damn it, he was irresistible.

‘What about the
furniture, shouldn’t you remove it and store it somewhere else?  Auction it
off?’

‘Yes, I should. But
for some reason I keep putting it off. I quite like having my own personal
museum across the road. And while it may sound silly, I don’t think the
building would be the same without it. I feel like if I took it out, the whole
thing might crumble or something. When I take it out, I want it to be because I
am replacing it.’

Recalling Emily’s
fears that the building was on the verge of collapse, she asked, ‘Is it safe to
be in here?’

‘I wouldn’t bring
you in here if it wasn’t.'

The suggestion
behind the words, that he wouldn’t let any harm come to her, had her blood
heating. She glanced at her watch. How quickly the time passed in his company. How
content she felt, surrounded by antiques with a deep dark secret and in the
company of a man who took it upon himself to protect it. She watched him as he
methodically checked the windows and external doors to make sure they were
secure. He must have been going somewhere when he stumbled upon her, but she
couldn’t bring herself to let him get on his way.

‘Can I go
upstairs?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

He followed close
behind her, eye-level with her butt, making her self-conscious. She was so
distracted, she didn’t feel the step start to give until it was too late and
her foot was already through it.

‘Holy shit!’ she
cried, as she felt the shattering wood pierce and peel off some of her shin. Craig
grabbed her immediately and stopped her from going through past her knee. He
seized her around the waist and hauled her back against the solid wall of his
chest, offering her no sense of stability whatsoever.
Holy shit
, she
thought as the heat of him triggered a series of acrobatic tumbles in the
deepest pit of her stomach.  

‘Oh crap,
Charlotte, I’m so sorry,’ he said as he gently lifted her from the waist so her
leg slid slowly back through the gaping hole in the step. She could see she was
bleeding, but his hands firmly encircling her waist, just above the spot that
was turning cartwheels, numbed the pain of the lacerations.

He eased her onto
his lap as he sat down to examine her leg. Flustered, she tried to get up but
he pulled her back down forcibly.

‘Just let me have
a look,’ he commanded.

She obeyed, but
fidgeted uncomfortably until he put his arm around her, clamping his right hand
on her hip to steady her.
That
made her still, on the outside at least. His
other hand was under the calf of the injured leg, turning it this way and that.
The feel of him beneath her, his chest behind her, his arms around her and his
hands gently touching her, brought back memories that taunted and ached. She
certainly didn’t feel like a Disney princess now. The churning inside her was
not so chaste.