Chapter 2

Ingrid Solberg walked quickly from the back porch to the kitchen phone. She reached it just after the third ring. It was the business line light flashing and she answered it.

"Good afternoon, Ingrid's Designs."

"Hi Ingrid, its Steve Inhalt." His tone was light and upbeat.

"Oh, hi Steve. I didn't ... I mean I wasn't expecting," she stammered.

"Relax, Ingrid, I didn't call about the project, I called to see how you made out with your presentation this morning."

"Oh, fine, thanks ... I mean ... I think OK. There were lots of nodding heads and I hit all the criteria, point by point. I'm pretty happy with how it went." She had recovered her usual confident voice. "I even included a couple of references from previous clients, and each of the committee got a take-home package covering the presentation."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, sounding genuinely happy. "When do you think you will know?"

"They said they would be back to me in two weeks."

"Hmmm, typical government isn't it? Bring half the entire staff and then take two weeks to decide on a project that is a tiny fraction of their budget!" he said cynically. "Well, good luck. One win with the government can open a lot of doors.

"Thanks for calling, Steve." She assumed that was the end of the call.

"Actually, Ingrid, I called to see if you were doing anything this Saturday?" he said sounding less self-assured that just a minute ago.

"This Saturday? Uh, what time?"

"All day, actually. I wanted to invite you to come sailing with me. It looks like it's going to be a lovely spring day and I was hoping you'd like to join me for a sail."

"Uh, I'm not sure, I..."

"Don't worry Ingrid, as far as I know there's no Code of Ethics preventing you from dating a client. Have you ever been sailing before?" He kept it light and conversational.

"Years ago, on Lake Okanagan, with a bunch of my schoolmates. We had fun," she remembered.

"You don't suffer from seasickness do you?"

"No, not as far as I know. I don't get seasick, carsick or airsick. I seem to be pretty durable that way." She was a little less cautious.

"Great! I thought we could sail up the Sunshine Coast, run south out into the Gulf and let the Westerlies run us straight home."

"Who's going to be there?" she asked.

"Just you and I."

"Oh ... is it a small boat?" She began to feel a bit dubious again.

"No, not at all. I have a 37 foot motor-sailer. It's capable of sailing any ocean. It's no race boat, but there's lots of room, and it has all the safety features. You won't be taking any risk," he said, sounding hopeful.

"Can you handle a big boat like that all by yourself?"

"Not only can, but have, many times. I was taught by an old pro and I have the certificates for seamanship and navigation to prove it," he said with a hint of pride.

"Please say you'll come. I'll provide everything. All you'll need is some flat bottom sneakers, sun block and sun glasses."

"I guess so ... OK, I'd love to! But what should I wear?" She felt more positive again.

"Well, it will be cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon, so wear layered clothing, you know, t-shirt, sweat shirt, jacket. No tight clothing in case you go for a swim. I'll look after the safety gear.

"Oh ... and one other thing. I don't mean to be too personal, but if you have a sport-bra, wear it. If you get wet from spray or whatever, the regular bra will chafe you and with salt water, it can be very unpleasant. Do you have some canvas tennis shoes?" He'd spat all this out almost non-stop.

"Yes, I think I've got a grungy old pair." She was almost laughing at his string of instructions.

"Grungy is fine, there won't be any fashion critics aboard."

"Ok, but when do you want to go?" she asked.

"What's good for you? I'm usually up at seven, so I would usually go out around eight thirty for a day sail, but I don't want to rush you."

"I'm usually up at seven too, so eight thirty sounds fine. Where to you keep the boat?" she asked, now feeling much more enthusiastic.

"The boat is moored at Fisherman's Cove. There isn't much parking there, so I suggest I pick you up at eight at your house. I have a reserved parking space that goes with the moorage."

She detected a note of relief in his voice.

"Fine, I'll look for you at eight at my house. Do you have the address? It's the same as my office address in the phone book."

"Great, I can find that easily. Oh, before I forget, do you have any allergies?"

"No, not that I know of," she replied, now curious.

"Good! I'll look after the food. With any luck we should be able to have a picnic in a quiet bay up the Coast."

"That sounds lovely, Steve. In the meantime, I'll try and get our preliminaries for your house ready for tomorrow as promised. I'll give you a call when I'm ready and we can arrange a meeting."

"That's fine, Ingrid, but don't rush yourself. Make sure you're happy with what you want to do. A couple of days here or there won't mess up our schedule. I've already run into some snags with lowering the garage floor. Call me anyway, even if you can't finish this week. You can tell me where the hang-ups are."

He sounded like he was back to his normal confident self, and she found it reassuring.

"Thanks, Steve. I haven't had much time to think about it since yesterday, so I don't know what to expect yet."

She was pleased that he had taken the pressure off. Truthfully, she didn't quite know where to start with the dark interior and unusual floor plan.

"Ingrid, why don't we meet for dinner tomorrow and we can talk about the house then". This time he didn't sound hesitant about asking her out.

"Well, I don't have any reason I can't, but this time, I pay!" she said forcefully.

"Uh, that might be a bit awkward. I was going to prepare dinner at my place. I've been taking lessons from a couple of chefs and I don't think you'll be disappointed. So your paying is not going to work. However ... if you'd like to leave a tip."

"Very clever, Mr. Inhalt. But I have to tell you, I'm dazzled by your versatility. Financier! Sailor! Chef! Is there anything you can't do?" she asked with a smirk in her voice.

"Yah ... I don't have any experience in asking beautiful women out on dates. I am a genuine rookie in that department," he said quietly but with a smile in his voice.

"I don't believe you!" she laughed. I met you one day ago and already we've had dinner, have another arranged for tomorrow and we're going sailing on Saturday. Let's see, three dates from Tuesday to Saturday. Tell me again how you are a 'date rookie.' Sorry, I don't buy it," she laughed as she finished.

"Well, it's true. I guess I just got on a roll and ... well ... anyway, I'm delighted you accepted my offer ... all three times," he said quietly.

"So far, you haven't made me nervous, but if you really are the innocent boy you say you are, I want to hear the whole story tomorrow at dinner. No holding back!" she said merrily.

"OK, that's fair." he surrendered. "How does seven sound?"

"Seven's fine. I have your address, so I'll see you then," she said.

"Terrific! I'm already planning the menu! I intend to impress you."

"You already have," she replied with a sincere note in her voice.

"Bye Ingrid, see you tomorrow." he said quietly and hung up.

Ingrid looked at the phone after she had put the receiver down. She was in strange territory for a woman who was used to being in control of her personal relationships. He had her both interested but cautious. Was he too good to be true? There was that recurring sense of sincerity that allayed her fears. She hoped he would put her doubts to rest tomorrow.

He was a mystery man, but a handsome, eligible, financially secure mystery man.

"I should be jumping into his arms and I'm not," she thought. "The bad experiences from the past have made me careful. God I hope this guy is for real this time!"

She walked back out to the sun deck and picked up the notes and pictures from yesterday's meeting. No time like the present to get started.

-0-

Steve walked through the Living Room one more time and looked carefully around. It was probably the tenth time he had made this walk in the last thirty minutes. Once again, he adjusted the drapes on the picture window, opening them another six inches after having closed them three inches on his last trip. He glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time. On this occasion it was showing six minutes to seven. She would be here in a few minutes.

He walked back into the kitchen and went over the cutlery, utensils, place settings and ingredients. Everything laid out in time and place order, just the way Maurice and Robert had taught him.

He opened the refrigerator door and took out the bottle of French Red he had spent many minutes reviewing before choosing. He was breaking his own rule. Never serve an untested wine to friends you wish to impress. The risks are too great. It was the recommendation of Maurice that carried the day and allowed him to throw caution to the wind. It was the one risky move of two he had chosen for the evening. The other was the entrée.

He was startled by the buzz of the intercom and he walked briskly to the receiver and picked it up. "Hello?"

"It's Ingrid, Steve."

"Great, I'll buzz you in." He pushed the small black button on the wall-set and hung up the receiver. It was two minutes later that she appeared at his open door as he stood waiting for her just inside.

"Hi, welcome," he smiled broadly.

"Thank you sir. I brought you your 'tip, '" she smiled in return, handing him a bottle of the same wine he had chosen.

"Thank you. Couldn't resist, huh?" he grinned as he turned to invite her into the living room.

It was a warm evening and she wasn't wearing a jacket or sweater. She looked absolutely lovely in her stylish sleeveless blouse and knee length matching skirt. She started to take off her white low heeled shoes when Steve interrupted.

"You don't have to do that, Ingrid, unless you are more comfortable shoeless?"

"No ... thanks, I'll leave them on ... for now." She looked around the apartment and walked over to the living room window.

"What a lovely view," she commented turning her head to speak directly to him. "From what you told me, you were really lucky to find this unit, and now you have that great new property just waiting for you."

"Well, there's a bit of work to do, you know, but ... yes, I feel very fortunate to have found both these places. In fact, I've been pretty lucky lately, period!" he said, pointedly looking at her.

Ingrid blushed and smiled, turning back to the view of Stanley Park and English Bay. The stereo was playing softly in the background. It was a familiar female voice and the music was an old standard from the forties.

"Actually, I have made an unsolicited offer on this apartment to the owners," he continued. "They are non-residents who hold a stack of condos in False Creek. I've made them a handsome offer with a tidy profit for them. If they accept, it would make a good addition to my investment portfolio," he said matter-of-factly.

"Wow! A new house and a condo in Park Royal. That's a lot of property for one person," she remarked wide-eyed.

"Well, I've been investing since I was seventeen and I've been pretty successful at finding good places to put money. The best thing to do with it is to keep it working, whether that's in the stock market or in the property market. I've been lucky enough to be able to do it without having to beg the banking establishment for money.

"I've always had the collateral, so it has never been an issue. They're happy as hell to lend money to people who can prove they don't need it."

He tried not to sound arrogant or angry, more matter-of-fact.

"I'm impressed, really," she said.

Was he laying it on a bit too heavily?

"Sorry, I shouldn't be running on about it. Can I offer you a glass of wine?"

"Yes, please."

She waited at the living room window, looking around at the apartment, its furnishings and accessories. There were no surprises. The room was just like its owner, neat and tidy. It was tastefully furnished.

She appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. Steve had removed the cork and was pouring the wine into two simple crystal Bordeaux glasses. She looked around and noticed the second bottle of the same wine.

"Tell me," he asked, "how did you choose this wine?"

"I'm guessing that I did it the same way that you did," she laughed. "I asked Maurice."

Steve smiled. "I should have known. Oh well, at least we won't run out and we know he has impeccable taste."

Her tone was light and humorous. She was obviously enjoying being there, even with the awkwardness of her 'gift' to the host. He passed a glass to her and raised his in salutation.

"Here's to tonight. You're a brave girl to let me try my new skills out on you."

"I am? Now you have me a bit worried," she replied with her customary smile.

They sat in the living room, Ingrid in a large, comfortable wing chair and Steve on a light coloured upholstered love seat. For the next twenty minutes they easily exchanged small talk, possible ideas for the new house, her recent vacation in Mexico, his travels in Europe. It was light and easy conversation.

Finally, Steve stood up. "I'm just going to get the dinner started. You're welcome to join me in the kitchen." He took her glass and she followed him to the kitchen island. There was a single stool at the end of the island and she perched herself on it. He refilled her glass as she surveyed the dishes and items in front of them.

"So what's on the menu, Steve?" she asked surveying what was in front of her.

"Well, a bruschetta to start as an appetizer and light lime freeze for dessert. The entrée will be a filét with roasted Rosemary potatoes, and a variety of lightly grilled vegetables. Not very adventuresome, I admit, except perhaps for the filet."

"What's unusual about the filét?" she asked.

"It's Musk Ox. From the Arctic. Don't worry, I'm not going to serve you something you won't enjoy," he said quickly, looking at her with a sly grin. "Not a good idea to put the lady off with a bad meal."

"Where in the world did you get Musk Ox steaks?" She looked incredulous.

"You'd be surprised. In this day and age, you can get anything from anywhere thanks to airfreight. In this case, I get exotic meats from a small specialty shop in the city. Relax, I wouldn't serve you anything I hadn't tested myself," he grinned

The bruschetta were taken out of the broiler and he carefully arranged them on a rustic plate that suited the small slices of Italian bread. He suggested they partake of the appetizer at the island and she quickly agreed.

The aroma of the toasted cheese, garlic, and tomato prompted her to take a bite of the hot appetizer.

"God, I could eat a dozen of these, they're gorgeous!" she enthused with her hand open underneath her chin to catch any falling bits. The first one was gone in two bites. She reached for another.

"I hope you don't mind me helping myself. These smell so good, I can't resist."

Steve passed her a paper napkin and she held that in her hand and patted it on her mouth when she had finished the second piece. She closed her eyes and said, "If the rest of the meal is as good as this, I'll have an orgasm ... Ooops! Sorry, I didn't mean that," she blushed.

"I was hoping you did," he said looking at her with a quick smile. "A chef always wants some evidence that his food is enjoyed. That would be pretty ... conclusive, don't you think?"

He didn't look her way as he began to prepare the small but thick filéts for the broiler.

Ingrid said nothing as she reached for another piece, she too not looking at him.

Steve assembled the vegetables on a plate and began placing them in a particular order in a large, rounded, wok-shaped pan which he had earlier wiped with olive oil. After about half the vegetables were in the pan, he turned to the filéts on the broiler pan and slid them onto the top rack in the oven. He looked at his watch and then at Ingrid and smiled. "It won't be long now." He continued to add the final group of vegetables to the grilling pan and stirred them with a wooden spatula.

The aromas in the kitchen were driving Ingrid back to the appetizer platter again. She had eaten four while Steve had had three. He was happy to see her enjoy the small appetizer. He knew it would enhance her appetite for the entrée. He was also satisfied with his timing on preparation. The grilled veggies, potatoes and steaks would be ready almost exactly at the same time and since there was little to add for serving and arrangement, they would all be hot when the plates were placed on the table.

"How do you like you filét cooked, Ingrid?"

"Oh, medium is fine," she replied

"Medium it is then."

A few minutes later, the oven door was opened and the broiler pan removed. Steve used tongs to place the steaks on a small platter and began slicing them in medium-thin pieces but not cut all the way through. He left them on the platter while he reached for the grilling pan and using the tongs, removed the vegetables and began arranging them on the pre-heated dinner plates.

Next came the Rosemary potatoes and several pieces were arranged on another part of the plate. The filéts were then placed on each plate and he fanned the slices in a decorative fashion near the centre. A small pot on the stove contained dark brown gravy and he carefully spooned some on the meat and potatoes with a decorative trail on the plate.

He looked up at Ingrid when he had finished, smiled and said, "Dinner is served."

He carried the two meals using a pair of quilted pads to protect him from the hot plates. Ingrid followed him with her wine glass. He placed the plates on the table and pulled Ingrid's chair out and seated her. He removed his white vested apron and threw it on the counter, picked up his wine glass and moved to the table.

"You really have that down to a science, Steve!" she said picking up her wine glass and moving it toward him. "It smells wonderful and I'm starved. Thank you for this."

She took a sip of wine and picked up her knife and fork and began.

The meal was quiet and what little conversation passed between them was mostly consisted of Ingrid's compliments. Steve was delighted with the enthusiasm she showed to his offerings. She savored, and then devoured the Musk Ox, as he guessed she would. The grilled vegetables were a hit as well. Rosemary potatoes were no risk at all. He didn't know anyone who didn't like them.

He let her know that there were more vegetables and potatoes in the kitchen and she looked like she might take him up on the offer. It was a treat serving a guest who had a hearty appetite and she was truly enjoying the food.

When they finished, she changed her mind and declined more. "It was more than delicious and I want to leave room for my dessert. The little Bruschettas were more filling than I thought. Lucky I quit when I did." Smiling, she had a satisfied look on her face and leaned back in her chair.

"I'm glad you liked it. I made a couple of mistakes, but nothing serious." He enjoyed the look of contentment on Ingrid.