Chanel Sweethearts Read Online Free PDF Page A

club-rush that was overgrowing onto her jetty-style front walkway. Her next priority was to get stuck into the garden. She pulled out her phone and booked the landscape gardener. Excellent.
    Tori looked out at the exterior of the house. The place really could do with a good clean. Algae grew up the sides of the bollards she’d bought from the Flinders Pier renovation. Country dust coated the weatherboards. And the big artistic granite rocks lining the garden’s entrance could use a thorough scrub – they were filthy. She phoned Nick to organise an external mini-facelift before next weekend.
    He protested that he was too busy working full-time next door, but she sulked loudly until he gave in.
    â€˜Why can’t your handyman do it for you, Tori? Dave’s a good man,’ Nick said.
    â€˜Oh no, I only use him for the basic jobs. We really need you for the more high-level work,’ Tori insisted before bidding him farewell and tossing her phone on the kitchen bench.
    She was exhausted. Time for a cuppa. Maybe Jessica was at home. She went out onto her back deck and looked over the post-and-wire fence to the neighbouring property. Although Jessica’s land was several hundred acres, the homestead was just a few hundred metres from the boundary. No, Jess’s old Patrol wasn’t in the drive. She must be at the General Store. Well, that was as good a place as any for a break.
    Tori unloaded the rest of her summertime essentials from the car: Saeco espresso machine, new beach towels, boogie boards, wetsuits, pantry items from The Essential Ingredient that couldn’t be sourced at the local IGA, new cushions in teal and aqua and, finally, ramekins. She certainly couldn’t do an entire summer without ramekins, now, could she?
    At last it was time for a well-earned break. She hopped into the BMW, retracted the convertible’s roof to enjoy spring’s nervous sunshine and headed down to the General Store.
    ***
    Richard would never tire of this view. There it was, his precious MCG right in his backyard. He may have been a country boy at heart, growing up on the Springforth Estate, then raising his two children, Jessica and Angus, down there with his now late wife Eva, but Richard Wainwright embraced every aspect of his city lifestyle.
    Sporting events within a stroll; exhibitions, theatre and shows next door; bars, clubs and restaurants rendering his kitchen redundant. Even his daily espresso was taken care of by the barista in the five-star apartment building’s lobby.
    He plucked a cherry tomato from the ornamental tree perched on the stone patio table and popped it into his mouth. Definitely lacking the country composted flavour, but never mind. At least it gave the stone and stainless steel balcony a touch of green. He poured a cup of water into the plant.
    He gave one more look at his beloved sporting arena. Cricket season was around the corner and so was The Long Room; come on summer! He sniffed the smoggy spring morning and went back into the apartment.
    The phone on the kitchen bench caught his eye and he frowned. His beloved daughter, Jessica, hadn’t called for two days. Perhaps he should ring and see how she was. But he already knew. She’d been miserable ever since that bastard–. No, he stopped himself. He wouldn’t allow negative thoughts to block his energy. His tai chi instructor advocated eliminating such bitter emotions.
    He took a calming breath and opened his MacBook. It hummed to life with an aerial shot of Springforth Estate. God he loved that place. He could see the old lavender fields where Eva had run the Lavender Lunches cafe in the early eighties. Good lord, was it really almost thirty years ago? The beef cattle were grazing in stasis and Jess’s crazy garden looked like a lace doily resting under the house.
    Richard checked his email. Board papers had been sent for his next directors’ meeting. He had been one of Australia’s largest