Chapter 2

Solomon Brown looked curiously at the two men who pushed past him at the gate. He held the gate open and approached the front door of the house with something akin to reverence. He folded down the black umbrella and leaned it against the low wooden wall of the porch of the grand old mansion. As he’d walked up the hill in the gusting wind he’d passed a constant stream of people walking to their parked cars and down to the bus stop. But he forgot about that and opened his eyes wide as the graceful old house on the top of the hill overlooking Bondi Beach filled his vision. It stood tall and proud, the stormy sky providing an atmospheric back drop.

This was meant to be. When he’d read the advertisement yesterday, the address had snagged his attention; so much so that a cup of coffee in his hand had gone flying when he realised the ad was to do with this house.

The same house that had called to him for years. The house he’d always loved.

 If he believed in things like that, he’d almost say he’d been led here this afternoon. But he didn’t believe in the paranormal.

Not completely anyway.

 Despite not having the medical mind to suit his family, Solomon still had a scientific bent. This beautiful house had always struck a chord in him. He’d admired the graceful old building since he was a kid walking up the hill with his boogie board slung over his back, fascinated by the architecture of it. The steep roof with the widow’s walk around the top had caught his attention when he was still at primary school. He’d imagined sea captains, and ghosts, and elegant parties held there in years gone by. The house was the same as he remembered it from twenty years ago and the same thrill tingled down to his toes. It was an anachronism set amongst the bland and boring apartment blocks that overlooked the beach. The square boxy minimalist apartments that people forked out millions of dollars for these days only added to its appeal. For a while there the old house had spurred on his career dreams, and he’d decided he wanted to be an architect.

Then after he’d rescued the cat and the litter of kittens from the drain behind their house at Rose Bay, he changed his mind and decided to study veterinary science. Of course all of this was enough to send his mother into one of her ‘nervy episodes’, because the expectation was that Sol would join their exclusive medical practice at Double Bay. With his grandfather and his father, he was destined to become the next young Dr Brown and pander to the whims of the matrons of Rose and Double Bay. He’d soon learned to shut his mouth about what his future would be. He’d almost finished his vet science degree when he’d become fascinated with psychology.

Although Sol was almost a doctor—when he finished his doctorate his mother could put doctor in front of his name— it was lucky that his older brother Tobias had graduated with the required medical degree at Sydney University because, as his maternal grandfather was wont to tell him, ‘you just don’t cut the mustard, boy.’

Or what he meant was that a study of psychology and an almost completed doctorate was not good enough for the esteemed Brown family of Vaucluse.

The vet dream was on the backburner since Sol discovered psychology. Now he was at the final stage of his thesis and there would be another Dr Brown in the family.

If I get my research completed in time.

But it was the wrong sort of doctor to make his family happy.

He should have know back in the days when he walked from Vaucluse to Bondi Beach so he could hang out with the friends he’d made at the local public school, that he was a misfit in his family. The boys he’d attended St Joey’s with— the private high school that he’d been forced to attend— were now all part of the ‘network’, and making their mark in the city or in high flying international careers. Sol was a tutor at Macquarie University, and ignored his mother’s comments that even if he had to follow “that career” surely he could be a professor. Her mouth always twisted in a funny grimace as she articulated the words. That career.

He could almost have written a thesis on the psychology of his mother’s disapproval and what each expression conveyed. To put it in the old fashioned words of his grandfather, psychology just didn’t cut the mustard. Sometimes Sol would smile as he wondered what his mother would think of the topic of his thesis.

But there was no fear of that ever happening. Anything studied away from his father and grandfather’s Alma Mater of Sydney University was not worthy of family interest.

Sol was sure he’d been abandoned on his parent’s doorstep as a baby—like that litter of kittens he’d found when he was in Year Six—and that his parents had taken him in to avoid any scandal. Maybe he’d been born in the old house on top of the hill above the beach.

But the one time he’d asked his mother if he was adopted, her professionally plucked eyebrows had arched and her mouth had formed a perfect O. Merely another question that had sent Mother—not being allowed to call her Mum like his mates called their mothers had only reinforced Sol’s idea that he was adopted—scurrying to the sideboard to the sherry decanter.

Heaven forbid that anything would taint the esteemed Brown name.

So even though he’d had to drive over sixty kilometers to answer the ad this afternoon—it had stated clearly to apply after five o’clock on Friday afternoon—he was buzzing with anticipation. The answer to his immediate problem, and the house he’d admired from afar for so many years.

He jumped as the door opened in front of him, only half aware that he’d pressed the old fashioned doorbell as he’d mused about his family woes.

‘Oh um, hello,’ he said. Despite the chill wind and the water droplets running down from his short cropped hair, his face heated as he stared at the woman who opened the door. Although she was really pretty, she looked tired and a scowl pulled her pretty face into an unwelcoming expression.

‘Before you say a word,’ she said as he stared at her lush lips wondering how such terse words could come from such pretty lips, ‘I did not place an ad in the Bondi View.’

***

Sally’s temper flared as she pushed the door shut. Or as she tried to push it shut. Her eyes widened when a brown suede desert boot wedged between the door and the frame.

Desert boots? She hadn’t seen shoes like that since she was in high school. She stared at them.

And brown corduroy jeans. Was this guy super trendy and dressing retro, or was he a charity case? Who knew from the different types she’d had knocking at her door for the past hour.

‘Do you mind?’ Her words came from between gritted teeth as she tried to shove the door shut with both hands.

‘Actually, yes.’ The cultured voice was more confident now and the desert boot stayed wedged firmly between the old wooden door and the porch. And every second it stayed there her hot bath was getting colder. ‘I’ve come a long way to answer your ad.’

Honestly, this was turning into the night from hell, to follow the day from hell. She’d taken the bus all the way to the other side of the city to run a class, and not one person had turned up. And then she’d missed the early bus home, and had sat in a cold and draughty coffee shop—with shit coffee—for an hour and a half until the next Bondi bus came through. She didn’t give a thought to being scared of the guy at the door. The constant stream of callers to her door had let her know that someone had used her address by mistake for some advertisement. If the truth be known, this guy would be wise to be scared of her because his foot in the door was really pissing her off.

‘It’s not my ad.’ Sally reiterated but the boot didn’t move. And when being pissed off was combined with cold and hunger—and the thought of her hot bath getting colder by the minute— it wasn’t going to be a good night.

I should have gone to Hawaii.

Since Sally had turned the bath taps on an hour ago, she’d met a procession of men, and two women, at the door, all claiming to be here about the “ad”. She was still damp and cold and now she was cranky and out of sorts. The taps had been on and off for an hour.

And she was hungry too.

Every time she’d come downstairs to answer the door her bath was getting colder. And the hot water system wasn’t terribly reliable either. There was a good chance it would have run out and the once steaming hot water in the bath tub was sure to be cold by now.

‘Look I have no idea about what ad you, or the other people who have interrupted my night, are talking about.’ Her voice was as cold as the water in the bath upstairs.

A strong gust of wind roared in from Antarctica, and the windows rattled. Sally hung onto the door so it wouldn’t slam shut. She didn’t want to injure his foot.

 Not very much.

 ‘I really need to talk to you about the ad. It’s perfect for me.’

For probably the fifteenth time since Sally had arrived home, wet, cold and thoroughly out of sorts, she repeated. ‘There is no ad. It is not my ad. You have the wrong house. I am not selling anything.’

Fourteen times, she’d answered the door to an ‘I’ve come about the ad.’

Fourteen times in the past hour and a half, she’d replied, ‘you have the wrong house,’ and the person had apologised, looked slightly embarrassed and left. None of the other callers had been as persistent as this one.

‘Does someone else live here? Someone called Sally?’

She peered around the door and lifted her eyes from the boots to the face.

‘What?’ Shaggy brown hair stuck to his cheeks like wet rat’s tails. It was one of the worst haircuts she’d ever seen. He actually had a fringe. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘That’s the name in the ad.’ His voice was patient now as though he was talking to a child. ‘There is an ad. With this address. And the name of the person to see is Sally. After five o’clock today.’ He dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of newspaper. ‘I’ve driven all the way from Peats Ridge.’

Sally huffed a sigh and let the door open a little bit more. ‘That’s the ad?’

He nodded but held onto it.

‘So can I see it? And then I can tell you for sure you’ve wasted your time.’

He handed over the small square of paper and she squinted. It was too dark to read the words, and she’d left her specs up in the bathroom, next to the book she’d been waiting to read.

She reached up and flicked on the light switch and the front porch was bathed in bright light. Her visitor put his hand over his eyes and took a deep shaky breath. She stared at him as she held the piece of paper, wondering what he was going to do. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket and for the first time, nerves shimmied up her spine and she backed away.

A knife? A gun? She’d been watching too many movies at night since Sonia had gone away.

But the only thing that came out was a polka-dotted handkerchief that he quickly put over his face to catch a sneeze that almost rattled the roof tiles.

‘Bless you,’ she said with not an ounce of sympathy. ‘I hope you’re not getting a cold. Good night.’

He’d pulled his foot back when he’d passed her the piece of paper and she took the opportunity to push the door.

 ‘Wait.’ The voice was deep but uncertain and she hesitated for a moment.

‘You can’t just take the ad and shut the door in my face.’

For the first time a smile tugged at her lips. ‘This is my house’—well technically it wasn’t but he didn’t have to know that—‘so I can do what I want.’

Determined to have some peace and quiet Sally leaned on the door but Mother Nature had different plans for her. A huge gust of wind rocketed in from the sea and the door slammed back against the wall taking her with it. The ad fluttered from her fingers and landed on the garishly patterned rug that Aunty Aggie had bought back in the 1950s. Sally stumbled and gasped as a torrent of water poured in through the open door.

‘Quick, come inside.’ Common courtesy won out. ‘You can’t stay out in that.’

The man stepped beside her and as he pushed the door shut a huge crack of thunder shook the house, and the lights went out.

‘Bloody heck, ‘Sally muttered. ‘Can it get any worse?’