Patiently Abby looked at the woman at the other side of the desk and wondered if two women could be any more different.
Julie was the poster-woman for success. Tall, skinny, hair in a perfect bob. And it didn’t end there. The suit, form-fitting, but not too sexy. Abby considered that anyone would be insane to mess with Julie.
“How many people did you offer this job to, before you got to me?” Abby had just flown back from Croatia where she’d overseen the renovation of an abandoned hotel—still dressed in jeans and an old faded T-shirt. Her hair too wild to be tamed by the piece of rope she’d used to tie it together. And, especially compared to the perfect Julie, fat. Abby could well imagine how Julie would see her. A woman for one, a carpenter, builder, project manager at that.
“Seven,” Julie answered truthfully.
“I’m not surprised.” The prospectus of the job was on the desk in between them. The house looked lovely from the outside but needed a lot of work. An architect had already done some groundwork, but the details needed filling in.
“There’s budget,” Julie said, turning to the last page. “For materials and manpower.” The biggest problem would be finding craftsmen specialised in that era, like Abby.
“I was very impressed with your portfolio.” The job Julie offered was small compared to the most recent of Abby’s projects. Only a house and a few outbuildings. Nothing like the hotel she’d done, or even the estate in France before that. Julie wasn’t sure what had even made her consider coming back here and taking this meeting.
There was something about the house. Abby wasn’t insecure about her work. Her personal life, however, left a lot to be desired.
“If I take the job, when can I meet with the owner, to go over a few details?”
She wanted to know.
For the first time since Abby entered the office, Julie looked uncomfortable.
“You won’t. The guidelines of the architect should be enough. The rest you’ll figure out with the assigned interior designer when the structural work is finished.”
“It’s their house. You would think they’d want to have a say in it.”
“The owner, for many reasons, wishes to remain anonymous. Besides, he’s currently overseas to work on a big project himself. He won’t be back until the summer, earliest.” It was the end of November. The hotel she’d just finished was getting ready for their first holiday season.
“There is living accommodation on the estate, outdated but functional.” Julie had picked herself right up, “and for financial questions, we’ll appoint a contact within the company.” It was a posh lawyers’ office. It made Abby wonder who her boss was. Why was all this secrecy necessary?
“Seven, you say? Guess that list is getting really short.”
“I think you’re the last one on it. If this is about the money…”
“It’s not about the money.” Abby picked up the prospectus again and quickly looked through it. It was remote. She’d live on-site and do a lot of the work herself. Why was she even considering this? A few years ago she’d severed all ties with any form of home base. She had a storage locker somewhere, containing the things she didn’t want to part with, but there was no home base. Not since she’d divorced and started to work on larger projects.
“I’ll take the job.” It was out of Abby’s mouth before she was aware of it. The house had a strange pull on her. If it was dark or light energy, she couldn’t establish. Time would have to tell. She wouldn’t sign any contract that wouldn’t allow her an escape if she wanted to.
Julie sighed in relief. Abby had been her last hope. It had taken some research and quite some effort to get in touch, and after doing that very prestigious project, Julie had doubted if the older woman would be in for a mere family home. She had not gotten where she was, however, if she’d accepted no for an answer. Being on top in the business world meant you had to drive hard bargains and just get things done.
Sunday morning, by the first light, Abby drove her van onto the estate. She knew for safety reasons it would be wiser to bring someone, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her first meeting with the house Abby wanted to do on her own, unspoiled by any other energy. She’d spent quite some time chatting to Julie, and one thing had been apparent. Julie didn’t understand a wink of her clients wish for the house to be restored. Who wanted to live in some old, noisy, windy building when there were suitable apartments available everywhere. It was something Abby couldn’t explain to her, and she wasn’t even going to try.
All the information she got about the client was that this house was in their portfolio and he wanted it restored, after which he’d decide on its fate. It was hard for Abby to work on a property if she didn’t know for who it was. On the other hand, it meant that she more or less had carte blanche. That was cool in a way too.
Upon turning onto the driveway, through the open gates, she could see the gardeners had been by to make the estate ready for winter. Trees and bushes had been cut back. The driveway had been uncovered from years of neglect. It didn’t take long before Abby got a first peek at the house. It pretty much resembled the picture she’d seen in the prospectus.
Resisting the urge to go straight for the main house, she parked in front of the garage, entered through a side door, and took the stairs to the apartment above. The décor was several decades out of date, but everything appeared spotless, clean, and ready for her to move in. It would need a few repairs which Abby considered she could do before the work on the main house would start for real. Since she’d be there for nearly a year, it would be worth the effort. The project was due by the end of September. If the plans from the architect were anything to go by, that should be doable, provided she managed everything tight enough.
Upon dropping her bags on the double bed in the room off the lounge, sunlight peeked in on her. Whatever the main house had to offer, the energy in this small building was excellent.
Through a window, Abby looked at the main house. It seemed to push her away and pull her in at the same time.
Giving up the fight, she walked back to the small lounge room/kitchen, took the keyring from the counter and made her way downstairs.
Through the utility room, she entered the house. She took the door on her right and stood in the middle of the kitchen. As she carefully looked around the room, a strange sensation washed over her. She couldn’t place what she was feeling. Here, like in her apartment, everything was spotless. A team of cleaners had been by to make Abby’s job a lot easier. She’d been scared she would have to clear away thirty years of dirt before being able to get to work. Perhaps it had been one of the previous candidates for the job that had demanded it. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
The bright blue agar seemed to smile at her. It was in sharp contrast with the ugly radiator. There were so many more fitting solutions for that these days. More becoming, and less standing out. It didn’t take away that the kitchen nearly overwhelmed Abby. Slightly nauseous, she sat down on the shallow window seat. And as sudden as her unease had appeared, it vanished too. “At least this job is not going to be boring.” She said to the room, building at large. She was alone, but the energy seemed to creep out of every surface, welcoming her, pushing her away. “I’m here for you.” She whispered. “I’m not going to chase you away.” And like that the room settled. Not in trust, but anticipation. This house had stood here for two hundred years; it wasn’t going to trust a stranger on first glance.
Abby was well aware of her assignment. Preserve as many original features as possible, while making it a perfectly functioning modern home with a personality. There it was again. Whose personality?
Closing her eyes, she let the energy of the house fill her up. This was always the scary part. Was it willing to talk to her? If not, she might as well give up immediately. Doing a project on mere knowledge of an era and its materials was like dragging through the mud. She wanted to know what the house wanted to be for its master. Even if she had no clue who that master was.
The vibrations were weak. As if whispered from a faraway place. But they were there. Abby sighed in relief and got up. For her first walkthrough, she didn’t look at the work to be done yet. She merely introduced herself to the house and made herself familiar with its spaces. There were some fine period features. And some horrible modern adjustments. What struck her, though, was that through the entire house, there was not one piece of furniture. No curtains, no pillows, no chairs, nothing. Every room she entered was as bare as the room she just left. In her memory, she searched anything was said about it in the brochure or by Julie.
Her wandering through lasted longer than Abby had planned. Relieved, she came back to the kitchen. Her blank canvas, with a few the guidelines of an architect. And she thought the hotel she’d just finished had been a monster task.
With a groan, she welcomed his kiss. “Mrs Abigail MacAllister,” Antoine whispered to her lips.
Abigail pulled back an inch and rewarded him with a wide smile. “I’m so happy.”
Slowly he pushed her towards the bed, as his hand pulled up the skirt of her long dress. “Abigail,” he said hoarsely, feeling her respond to what he did. Her hands had started unbuttoning his shirt. “Yes, Antoine.”
“You’re too damn beautiful. I’m glad you didn’t ask your maid to help you out of this dress.” It was a complicated thing, with ribbons and bows. And yet he enjoyed himself tremendously as he unpacked her like she was the most precious gift ever. He liked how not shy she was. There was a definite upside to marrying a widow. She wasn’t shy or coy. Finally, he stroked her naked skin. She sighed happily when his hand cupped her breast.
“Please.” She begged, throwing her head back. Antoine kissed her neck and trailed down to her breast. Together they fell to the bed. Although Abigail had tried to undress her new husband, she’d not been able to undo more than his buttons. He leaned over her. Her hands moved under his shirt and pushed it out of the way. “I want to touch you.” She stated.
Her lips kissed his chest, his nipples as his hand found that spot between her legs that was desperate for his attention. She spread her legs a bit further, giving him access.
“Do you like this, Abigail?” He asked teasingly.
Her hand had found the waistband of his trousers. “Yes, milord.”
He took her hand away from him and pressed her down on the bed. “You’re indecent.” He established, seeing her writhe underneath him.
She laughed happily. “That’s what you love about me.”
He bent down and kissed her breast, letting go of her hands and cupping them both. He’d been with girls before, never with a woman like Abigail. One who was more than happy to have him touch her. Who was so at ease with her body.
Again he fingered her. Her knees bent up, her hands manhandling his black curls.
A moan escaped her when his thumb pushed to her clit. She wanted more.
Through the closeness of their bodies, Abigail managed to lower one hand and stroked the considerable bulge in his pants, making him groan out loud.
“Abigail.” He warned her. They had waited for this a long time. He didn’t want to waste his orgasm when her body was so warm and generous under him.
“Do it, Antoine.” She urged him. The need was getting high.
“Abigail, it’s been a long time for you, you’re still so tight.” He could barely move two fingers inside her wetness. From experience, he knew he was bigger than that, and as much as he wanted to fuck her, he didn’t want to hurt her.
“It’s fine.” Decidedly she shoved his pants down, freeing up his generous sized lid. She’d not seen it before and was somewhat shocked by its size. Her late husband had most certainly not been this well endowed. Stroking it, she imagined how it would feel, filling her up—stretching her to the verge of painful.
The notion made her throw her hips forward, harder onto his fingers.
Antoine gave in. Her hand was doing magical things to him. He was rock hard and ready for action.
Abigail grabbed his shoulders as he reached between them and put his rod at her entrance. “Nice and easy.” He coached her. Her mouth opened half in a scream when he pushed the tip inside of her. The stretch was excellent.
“Sweet Lord.” Abigail took a deep breath and tried to relax. It did hurt, but only a little. A hot edge that spread amazing warmth through her lower body.
Antoine paused as he watched what he did ripple through her. His hand was on her cheek. He wanted to look into her eyes.
Gently he slid a bit further.
“Oh. Full.” Abigail muttered.
Comfortingly Antoine smiled down at her. “Not nearly Abigail. Don’t worry. You can take me.”
She nodded, her hands tight around his arms, stuck between pulling him closer and pushing him away. “Do it. I’m good.” She said when she noticed he held back. It might be their first time; it wasn’t her first time. She wasn’t alien to what would happen, and she found that all this nice and easy wasn’t enough.
Antoine moved back and had wanted to slide back in gently. Abigail never gave him a chance. Upon his forward movement, she mirrored his gesture and pushed herself over him hard.
A scream escaped her, followed by a sound that was nearly a purr.
“Abigail,” Antoine said worriedly. But when he looked at her face, he knew he needn’t worry. Slowly he started his in and out movement. Her responses soon encouraged him to go harder and faster. She met him with equal force.
He had been looking forward to this so much that he was scared he’d come before her. And for their first time, that just wasn’t good enough.
Abigail had put the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from waking up the entire household. It looked incredibly sexy. Her eyes widened when Antoine straightened out a bit and put his hand to her little ruby, inviting her to push back, to show him how she wanted it.
Her hand dropped down on its own accord and covered his. That was certainly new to her.
Her entire body convulsed when Abigail came. She trashed her head side to side in the pillow and allowed it to wash through her. Upon her muscles contracting, Antoine found that he could no longer hold back either. Later he’d do a better job. He silently promised them both. Right now Antoine had to come though.
Abigail felt his juices pumping inside of her, filling her with heat.
Almost disappointed, she sighed. She’d liked to feel more of it.
“Ssssh.” Antoine fell beside her on the bed. “Don’t worry. Not nearly done with you yet.”
Abby woke up with her hand down her pyjama bottoms. She’d had dreams like this before, usually waking up before the peak. This time had been different. She felt the wetness and blushed. The feeling that this was indecent was too deeply ingrained in her to ignore. In her sleep, though. There wasn’t anything she could have done.
Although Abby was used to vivid dreams, this one had felt very real. In the master bedroom of the big house. It had been her, but it hadn’t. There had been candles. She’d worn a dress in a style that had gone out of fashion at least a hundred years ago. The room had been richly furnished and decorated. And Antoine. Gosh, he had felt as if she could reach out and touch him now. She was alone, though, in the apartment over the garage. She hoped this was her brain filling in the details about the house, the textures and colours.
With a sigh Abby sat up and looked out the window, seeing the house. It was dark and quiet. Damn, that had been a good dream. It had been ages since Abby had had proper sex. It was probably everything combined: the unknowns, the strange energy of the house. Properly being alone for the first time in a very long time. Her body merely needed to get rid of some excess energy. Soon the physical work would start, and then she’d no longer have the energy for such adventures.
After sleeping in, Abby got up and set to work. For that day, she had lots of research planned. Lunch at the Hall further down the road. The house she had to restore had been part of the estate, and Abby wanted to see how the rest of it had been developed to get a good grasp.
The tour took a lot longer than Abby had anticipated. But she did get to see everything from the attic to every nook and cranny in the cellar.
The grand ballroom had been restored last since its grandeur had pushed hardest on the budget. It was deserted when Abby walked in.
She closed her eyes and imagined dancing there. Only the time seemed off. She didn’t see the modern wedding, but the Abigail from her dream last night, dancing with Antoine. He had been so handsome, kind, and hot. Abby would love to meet a guy like that in real life. Then again, men like that were most likely already taken, and certainly not interested in strong, independent, and fat women like her. Throughout the years, men had had no scruples telling her what they thought of a woman like her.
Due to the length of the tour, lunch had become tea, and Abby had to hurry to see another property before it was well and truly dark. An old farmhouse. She considered that what she’d lovingly started calling her house, would have to be in between the Hall and the farm, where styling was concerned. She wanted to do it justice.
She didn’t go into the big house upon returning. Abby had not been inside all day. Before going to sleep, she merely shot a glance at it, wondering if it had more surprises for her that night.
After a night of quiet, deep, and uneventful sleep, Abby woke up. With a fresh pot of coffee, she took her first delivery that morning. In the extension behind the kitchen and utility room, in what would later become the event room, she set up her workshop. The builders would be using one of the stables for storing their gear and materials. Abby wanted her things closer at hand. For now, she was the mistress of the house, so she figured she could get away with it. Besides, most of the work she was going to do on her own, and it would be good to be able to lock the door when she was there alone.
A workbench with tools was along one wall, a desk against the wall opposite.
She laid out the floor plans and hung the drawings of the architect on the wall above it. She also mounted a large computer screen. Although working on a laptop was convenient, sometimes it was better to see it on a bigger screen.
The day was spent setting up both physically and digitally. In the afternoon she ate a microwave soup with some bread she’d gotten from the bakery the day before. In the past, she’d baked bread herself. Wouldn’t it be nice to do that with the old AGA in the kitchen? She could almost taste it.
It would have to wait until she had the thing checked out though. For now, she couldn’t be sure if it was safe to use. The walkthrough with the electrician was the next day as well as someone who would check the heating. The structural check had been performed before the architect had started.
Abby considered that the first two weeks, it would mostly be planning, and fleshing out the rooms. She could start on some small jobs herself, but anything that would require a contractor would probably not happen until the new year. It would be foolish to start up all the work, only to have it lay still mostly over the holidays.
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