through Rick’s flat and reached his kitchen, it was her turn to be surprised. His flat was amazingly neat. Neat wasn’t really the word for it. It was spartan. ‘Your—your flat is virtually empty!’ she cried in dismay.
‘Welcome to masculine perfection,’ he said with a laugh.
She rolled her eyes.
‘Well,’ he went on defensively, ‘these are only temporary digs. This isn’t my home, you know. Not that I really have a home anymore.’ He paused and frowned. ‘I’m never settled in one place for long. I couldn’t get a furnished apartment close to the hospital for just a few weeks and I didn’t want to waste money getting a whole lot of unnecessary furniture.’ Setting the casserole dish down on a kitchen bench, he turned to her. ‘So, Ms Delancy, what exactly did you want to know about male habitats?’
Maddy chewed her soft lower lip. She’d been afraid Rick would make fun of her scheme and it seemed her fears were warranted. Still, she was committed to this appointment with Byron and Cynthia now, and so she had to press on. ‘Well, you said yourself the other night that there was no sign of a man in my flat, so I want to plant evidence of a man’s existence about the place. I guess if you can’t—or won’t—help me I can make it up myself—a football sweater draped over a chair, joggers under the sofa, shaving gear in the bathroom.’
‘Bathroom?’ His forehead wrinkled in surprise. ‘Do you need to go into that much detail?’
‘Definitely. I’m sure Cynthia is the type to investigate the bathroom cabinet while she visits—just so she can check out every intimate detail. If she had time she would probably snoop around the bedroom too.’
‘What might she hope to find there?’
To her annoyance, Maddy felt her cheeks burn. ‘I was actually thinking of pyjamas.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘You don’t happen to have a spare pair, do you?’
‘To leave poking out from under your pillow?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Sorry,’ Rick grinned. ‘I never use them. Can’t help you there at all.’
‘Oh…’ Maddy made a show of examining her nails while she tried to banish thoughts of Rick between the sheets and without pyjamas.
‘I’m starting to get the picture.’ He looked around his bare kitchen. ‘Would you like some coffee? Or perhaps a beer?’
‘Coffee would be lovely.’
He switched on his electric kettle before grabbing a teaspoon to lever the lid off a tin of instant coffee. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing fancy here.’
‘Instant’s fine,’ she told him. With something of a start, she realised that anything was fine when Rick was being friendly and cooperative like this. Just watching him fill mugs with steaming water filled her with warm, bubbling happiness.
Rick held a mug in each hand and indicated the lounge room with his shoulder. ‘Take a seat in there and I’ll see if I can come up with any helpful hints.’
There was still only the one dilapidated director’s chair in the room and Rick sat cross-legged on the rather unattractive carpet.
Feeling like a rather hesitant Goldilocks, Maddy tried the chair. ‘I’ll sit on the carpet, too,’ she offered. ‘I feel a bit elevated up here.’
It was only after she’d lowered herself to the floor that Maddy remembered she was wearing a very short skirt. She manoeuvred herself into the most demure position possible with her knees tightly together and her legs tucked to one side. With one hand, she tugged at her tartan skirt to hold it in place, while with the other she accepted the coffee. ‘So, have you any bright ideas?’
For several long seconds Rick seemed to be having trouble coming up with an answer. ‘Er, um golf clubs.’
‘Golf clubs? You want me to park some golf clubs in a corner somewhere?’
‘They’d impress Byron, wouldn’t they?’
‘Probably, if they were really good quality, but I don’t know where I’d get them from.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘You play golf?’
Rick shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never had time to pick up the skills. As far as I’m concerned golf is a good walk interrupted. But I have a couple of friends who are mad keen golfers. I’m sure one of them will help out.’
‘That would be great. Thanks. Any other suggestions?’
Rick smiled and his grey eyes twinkled. ‘Well, there’s one obvious give-away.’
‘Yes?’
‘The toilet seat has to be up.’
Maddy laughed. ‘Of course! Goodness, I should have thought of that after living with two brothers for seventeen years.’
‘Some masculine magazines scattered—if you can bear to clutter that stunning flat of yours.’
Maddy took a sip of her coffee. It was very strong. ‘Yes, magazines are a good idea. What sort do you think would be best?’
Rick leaned back against the ugly yellow wall, raised one knee and rested his elbow on it. ‘It could be anything from a mag about game fishing to an almanac of British vintage motorcycles. I guess it rather depends on this lover of yours.’ His level gaze held hers. ‘So tell me, Maddy, what is your idea of the ultimate lover?’
Maddy felt herself blushing again. When she’d headed for Rick’s flat, she’d never intended to end up discussing her ideas about men. ‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘He’s perfect of course. The kind of guy any girl would swoon over.’
Rick’s eyes held hers for an uncomfortably long time. ‘Go on,’ he said at last. ‘Describe him.’
‘Well—um—he’s athletic, likes to keep fit,’ she began self-consciously.
Rick nodded, his grey eyes barely concealing amusement. She decided to put him in his place. He was wearing the same faded tracksuit he’d worn when she’d brought him the irises. She ran a deliberate eye over his clothes. ‘Of course, he dresses well.’
Rick’s eyes still held hers, his expression challenging.
‘He earns a decent salary,’ she continued. ‘He isn’t afraid to do some of the cooking. And he’s fun to be with—as well as thoughtful and romantic.’
‘Not a problem,’ Rick drawled with a confident grin. ‘Sounds like your average Australian bloke.’ He drained his coffee and then his eyes narrowed. ‘Just so I’m clear on this, can you define the female’s view—correction, your view—of “romantic”?’
Maddy clutched her mug to her chest. Surely this discussion was becoming more in-depth than was necessary? Once upon a time, she would have had no trouble answering that question, but now she was less sure. When Byron had produced surprise tickets to the ballet, she’d thought it was a romantic gesture
