Beach House Read online

  Beach House

  By

  Annie Seaton

  Beach House

  Copyright © April 2015, Annie Seaton.

  NOTE: This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Glossary of Aussie Words

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to our much loved mother who left us twelve months ago. Like Aggie, she was not with us for the last few years of her life but we knew she still loved us.

  Chapter 1

  “Friend or family?”

  “Sorry?” Rosie Pemberton stared at the usher waiting to direct her to the left or the right side of the small chapel in the aged care facility. His eyes were round and sad, and the tones of his mournful voice blended in with the soft music piping through the small room.

  I guess there’s a certain look you get working in the funeral industry.

  “Friend or family,” he repeated gently.

  “Oh...oh, friend...I suppose.” She smiled up at him and her voice was quiet as she fought back the solid ache in her throat. This was going to be a celebration of Aggie’s life; she’d shed all of her tears last week. Her foster mother had slipped away holding her hand as the morning sun cleared the horizon. One gentle sigh as soft as the lull of the surf on the beach below and Aggie was gone.

  A life of joy and giving finished in one soft breath as her spirit left her. Rosie’s tears threatened again and she drew in a deep breath of her own, reaffirming her life. She had loved Aggie as though she had been her birth mother. The usher handed her an order of service and pointed to the left of the small funeral chapel before she could change her mind. The chapel was set in the grounds of the aged care facility overlooking Tamarama Beach and Aggie had been able to sit at the window and look out at her beloved ocean, and across the bay to the house on the hill where she had spent most of her life.

  Technically, Rosie was a friend and had no blood relationship to Aunt Agatha. No matter that Aggie had taken her in when Rosie was eight years old. No matter that she had loved her like a mother; she wasn’t real family. For twelve years, Aggie had looked after her; housed her, fed her, loved her, listened to her teenage woes and sent her off to the local schools where she’d found her confidence, her best friends,and had become a normal teenager. Growing up on the southern beaches of Sydney, she’d been truly blessed. The day the government agency had placed her with Aggie had been the best day in Rosie’s life.

  She could still hear Aggie’s voice. “Of course you’re family, sweet pea. My family.”

  But no, I’m not. She had no claim to family. They had been two lonely souls and they had fitted very well together. Nothing formal. No adoption. Just foster care.

  It wouldn’t be a big funeral. As she walked to the front pew on the friends’ side, Rosie nodded at the familiar faces of the staff from the high care section of the nursing home where Aggie had spent her final months. Since Aggie’s stroke and her admission into the aged care facility just after Rosie’s twenty-first birthday, Rosie had come to know the staff very well. When Aggie had started to make breaks for the beach at all hours of the day and night, saying she wanted to go for a swim, she’d been admitted to the dementia ward—the lock up ward, the girls had joked.

  You had to joke or your heart would break. Over the past three years, their roles had reversed and Rosie had cared for her, making sure that Aggie was settled and happy. As happy as she could be anyway as the dementia took a cruel hold of the once vibrant woman who’d taken such good care of a lonely little girl.

  Rosie held her fitted red skirt straight as she slid along the polished timber pew. God knows where she’d be now if Aggie hadn’t taken her in. The sweet old soul had helped her forget about a father who died in prison and a mother who’d left her when she was three years old. Her birth mother—Rosie could never think of her as Mum—had died from a drug overdose before Rosie’s seventh birthday. After a few months in three foster homes where the carers had been more interested in the money from the government than sorting out the emotions of a confused little girl, Aggie came along.

  So yes. Rosie lifted her chin and bit her lip to stop it trembling.

  I may not be family but she was my best friend in the whole world and I will miss her so much.

  She turned as a flurry of noise and movement came from the entry, stifling a grin as her two house mates, and colleagues, made their usual colourful, dramatic entrance.

  And in the friendship stakes this pair followed a close second to Aggie. Sally and Sonia strode down the narrow aisle and slid into the pew beside her. Sally wore an emerald green suit with a string of pearls gracing her elegant neck, and Sonia was clad in a loose flowing dress striped with every colour of the rainbow. Rosie rolled her eyes. And her feet are bare. Toe rings graced each of Sonia’s ten toes.

  Sally folded her hands on her lap and sat straight, like one of her yoga positions. She exuded calm as much as her younger sister, Sonia—sorry, Ocean Lily was the name of choice this month—created chaos wherever she went.

  Now Ocean Lily leaned across her twin sister and hissed at Rosie. “Psst. Rosie.”

  “Ssh, the service is about to start.” As the music faded away, Rosie folded her hands in her lap too, attempting to absorb some of Sally’s calm. She tried to focus on the man tapping the microphone mounted on the lectern at the front of the chapel. She settled her gaze above his head, avoiding the white coffin that was covered in purple flowers. Aggie’s favorites; she would have loved them. That damn ache lodged in her throat again.

  “I have to tell you.” Sonia—Ocean Lily— reached over and grabbed Rosie’s hands.

  “Tell me what?”

  “You will never—never ever in one million years”—Lily was as prone to exaggeration as she was to name changing—“guess who is in the foyer out there.”

  “Keep your voice down.” Rosie frowned at her flamboyant friend.

  “Rosie. It’s him.”

  “Who?”

  “Taj Brown.”

  “Taj Brown?” Rosie smiled. “I’m okay, so there’s no need to try and cheer me up with a joke, Sonia.”

  “I’m not Sonia any more...I’m Ocean Lily.” Her friend’s plump painted lips settled into a thin line for a moment before she leaned right across the front of her sister and squeezed Rosie’s hand. “It is him. I heard the usher guy welcome him.”

  “My Taj Brown? No, not mine.”She shook her head. “You know what I mean. No way. Why would he be here?” Rosie’s heart picked up a beat and she fought the urge to turn around again.

  Stop it. Show some respect to Aggie.

  “Maybe he’s a rellie of Aggie’s. Brown? They share the same last name.”

  Rosie lowered her voice to a whisper. Holy hell. Taj Brown? “Can’t be. She had none. No family, I mean.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that. It has to be that. Why else would he be here. Look.”

  Rosie’s eyes followed the direction of Lily’s finger
and her heart lodged in her throat. “Oh my God.” She grabbed Lily’s hand and pulled it down to her lap. “Don’t be so bloody obvious.”

  Sure enough, Taj Brown, world champion surfer, was making his way to the front pew on the family side. Dressed in an immaculate grey suit, his usual sun-tangled locks were pulled back neatly with a leather tie.

  No way. Her heart jumped into her throat. Her romantic hero, the gorgeous surfer on her posters, the hero she had dreamed about for years was in the same room as her.

  But blast and damnation, what a horrid occasion to meet him. Not that she’d be meeting him, she’d be too nervous to go anywhere near him.

  Her mouth dried. His suit pants were snug over muscular thighs and his suit jacket was a perfect fit over his broad shoulders. Of all the places to see Taj Brown, the heartthrob of her teenage years; absolutely and totally unexpected. As she covertly eyed him, another small group of older people followed him and streamed into the front three rows.

  On the family side. How many are there?

  “God, look at him...he’s gorgeous. Even better looking than on TV.” Lily’s voice was breathless. “Or on any of your posters.”

  And yes, those posters still covered Rosie’s bedroom wall, even though she was almost twenty-four and way too old for hero worship. She’d never got around to taking them down. The landscapes brought a bit of sunshine—ocean and sky—into her dark room. Had nothing to do with the toned and buff surfer on the surfboard in the middle of each poster.

  No way. They just provided a nice scene on her walls.

  Sally nudged them both. “Stop gawking and yakking, and show some respect, you pair. You can find out why they are all here after the service.”

  Rosie turned her gaze to the front, away from the broad shoulders and sun-bleached hair of the man who had filled her lustful fantasies since she was sixteen years old.

  Oh my God. Aggie, what didn’t you tell me?

  Family?

  And what did that mean for the house on the hill...and her future?

  Chapter 2

  After the brief service, Theodore Alfred James—known to the world as Taj—Brown, stood apart from his assorted aunts, uncles and cousins as they congregated around the large table in the centre of the room adjacent to the small chapel.

  The last thing he wanted was a plate loaded with gooey confections that they were hoeing into, just like he didn’t want to speak to any of his family. Not that he knew most of them. Amazing how the death of a wealthy relative brought the vultures circling around. He assumed these people were family because they’d traipsed down the aisle behind him and sat on the family side of the chapel with him. The only two he recognized were Uncle Jack and Aunt Esther and when he’d shot back a huge grin he’d received the usual frown of disapproval in return. The life of a surfer didn’t quite cut it in a business-suited family who worshipped the dollar. The clink of tea cups around him was very civilised and he attempted to keep his emotions just as civilised and in check. He didn’t give a toss what they thought of him.

  Irony was he’d probably earned more money on the surfing circuit over the past ten years than they had in a life time in their boring offices in the city. But they didn’t have a clue about him or his life. Aggie had been the only one who’d ever understood his passion for the ocean after his parents had been killed in the car accident. Hell, she’d given him his first boogie board when he was just a little grommet. If he’d had his way, he would have lived with her in the house on the hill but he’d been marched off to a boarding school on the north shore by his guardian.

  The music swelled to a crescendo as the service ended and he dragged his thoughts back to the present. The three women who had sat on the other side of the chapel during the service stood together beside the window that overlooked the ocean, and he wondered who they were. The large group who’d sat behind them had disappeared as soon as the music stopped—the pink shirts embroidered with the name of the facility gave them away as staff, as did their hasty exit as soon as the curtains had closed over the coffin after the last words of the officiating minister. The woman in the fire-engine red suit had legs that went forever, a serious looking woman in a green suit and pearls stood beside her, and the third one wore a dress that looked like a colourful tent. Maybe some of Great Aunt Aggie’s strays; he assumed she’d stayed in touch with some of the children she’d fostered over the years.

  Taj stared across the room. The woman in the red suit was drop dead gorgeous. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a glossy fall that reached almost to her waist. Her pale skin was like porcelain and her almond-shaped eyes were currently focused on the stormy ocean outside. Like him, she looked like she wished she was somewhere else. His eyes lingered on the curve of her back as she reached for a cup resting on the window sill and an inappropriate interest stirred in his groin.

  Christ, man. You’re at a funeral. Show a bit of class.

  He bit back a grin as he recalled a piece of advice that one of his buddies had passed his way when he’d hit town last week.

  “There’s a great escort service in an old house at the top of the hill at Bondi Beach.”

  Taj had shaken his head. “If I ever have to resort to that, I’ll give the game away, buddy.”

  “The ‘Sisters’ something, it’s called. Just in case you change your mind.”

  “No fear of that.” Taj had laughed and gone to the bar for the next shout. The guy on the tour obviously had his cities mixed up. After a while, they all seemed the same. He knew that the house on the hill above North Bondi belonged to his Great Aunt Agatha and he couldn’t imagine that she’d become a madam in her twilight years.

  Hell, it must be past time for some female company if he was blessed with a hard on at a funeral service. He forced his gaze past the beautiful woman and watched the break build on the point. The southerly buster that had roared in during the service was whipping up the swell. He’d much rather be out there, free as a bird with salt air filling his lungs rather than here with the cold artificial smell of air conditioning and the cloying aroma of the purple flowers wafting from the adjacent chapel.

  As if that’s going to happen with my bloody knee. Taj’s mood worsened and he glanced down at his Rolex, finally giving in to the impatience that tugged at him as he waited.

  Great Aunt Agatha’s lawyer, Mr. Pepper, had asked him to stay after the service. The elderly solicitor wanted a brief meeting this afternoon but the damn man had insisted on having a cup of tea first. So the cousins were hovering around, waiting for the kill; they obviously knew something was happening. He wasn’t sure who else had been invited to the meeting.

  Probably all hoped they’d inherit Aggie’s house; the beautiful old mansion that sat on the hill at the northern edge of Bondi Beach. Just above the surf on the rocky point he was staring at. It was the last house on Ramsgate Avenue and was perched precariously on an acre of land above the rocks at North Bondi.

  Prime piece of real estate. Worth millions.Taj watched as the cousins gathered together, whispering and throwing the occasional glance his way and then, strangely, over to the women near the window.

  Good luck to them. He didn’t want—or need—anything from his family. There were some good memories of staying there with Aggie for a few summers before he’d dropped out of school and hit the world surfing circuit at sixteen; that would do him. He should have kept in touch with her—she’d been a kind old soul— but his career had taken off and he was out of the country more than he was in it. Last time he’d been at her house, just after his thirteenth birthday, she’d had a new foster child, a pretty little girl with black hair called Rosie. God, there’d been a lot of water under the bridge since then.

  Or under my board. All over the world. Taj grinned ruefully and stretched his leg, wincing as the ever-present pain tugged at his knee. With it came a little tug of guilt that he’d not visited Aggie once since his early teens. He hadn’t even known about her stroke or the dementia they’d mentioned in
the brief eulogy.

  “Ahem.” Mr. Pepper cleared his throat beside him and pulled Taj’s thoughts back to the present. “Theodore? The home has kindly allowed us to use the board room to have our discussion.It won’t take long. Follow me...please.”

  TAJ BROWN. The one and the same Taj Brown in the surfing posters on her bedroom walls in the house on the hill. But the Taj Brown in the posters had kind blue eyes that complimented his rakish grin. Nothing like this cold man who sat across the table from her. She’d looked up and caught him checking her out but not a flicker of emotion had warmed his clinical expression.

  Those posters are coming down tonight. Sad how all the teenage dreams turned out to be wrong.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Pemberton. Theodore.” The old solicitor looked from one to the other as they sat on one side of the big square table across from the old solicitor. “I presume you are each acquainted with the other?”

  Tension radiated off Theodore as he held her gaze, and Rosie fought the heat that she knew would stain her fair skin brick-red as it inched up her neck. For all her poring over the surfing magazines and documentaries, she’d never known his real name was Theodore.

  She’d lived in a teenage fantasy world.

  So what do I say? Do I admit I know who he is? God, the whole world knows who he is.

  Before she could answer, Mr. Pepper filled the awkward silence. “No? I’m sorry, how remiss of me to make assumptions. Theodore, this is Ms. Rosie Pemberton. Ms. Pemberton, this is Mr. Brown. Theodore is—or rather—he was Agatha’s great nephew.”

  Rosie saw the instant his jaw dropped and recognition flared in the baby blues, filling them with warmth. And bringing back the sexy crinkles beside them as his lips turned up into a smile.

  Okay, so the posters can stay.

  “Rosie? Little Rosie who lived with Aunt Aggie?”

  “That’s me.” To her relief her voice was calm and she’d fought that blasted heat away before she looked like a beetroot. She held out her hand and he took it in his with a gentle squeeze. “But I don’t think we’ve met before?” She straightened her spine and her hand stayed steady in his.Hell, she even impressed herself with her cool, calm voice. Who would ever think she’d get to touch her idol in real life?