Читать книгу Save The Date! - Kate Hardy - Страница 12
ОглавлениеRICK STARED AT the spot and cold sweat prickled his nape. What the hell was he doing here?
To run now, though, would reveal weakness and he never showed weakness. In the world where he’d grown up weakness could prove fatal.
Not showing weakness and acting with strength, though, were two different things. When Nell took one of the trowels from his nerveless fingers, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He couldn’t move to help her. He couldn’t ask her to stop.
‘The spade will be overkill, I expect. The ground is soft and although it felt like I’d dug for a long time I was only ten so I expect the tin shouldn’t be buried too deeply.’
It was only when she dropped to her knees in the dirt that Rick was able to snap back to himself. ‘Princess, you’ll get dirty.’
She grinned, but she didn’t look up. ‘I like getting mucky in the garden.’
She certainly knew how to wield a trowel.
‘Cupcakes aren’t the only things I’m good at, you know?’
‘I didn’t doubt for a moment that you’d be a gardening expert too.’ He wondered if he should climb into the garden bed and help her. Except she looked so at home and he had a feeling he’d only get in the way. ‘Can I help?’
Her grin widened. ‘Nah, you just stand there and look pretty.’
He couldn’t help it. He had to grin too.
‘I can cook other things too. I’ll cook you a Sunday roast some time and then you’ll know what I meant about the scent of rosemary.’
Something hard and unbending inside him softened a fraction. Digging in the garden, grinning and teasing him, she was the antithesis of the haughty, superior woman she’d turned into yesterday. He could see now that he’d done something to trigger that haughtiness because Nell used her supercilious shrugs and stuck her nose in the air as a shield. The same way he used his devil-may-care grins and mocking eyebrows.
As he continued to stare at her, some parts of him might be softening, but other parts were doing the exact opposite. He adjusted his stance and concentrated on getting himself back on an even keel.
He wasn’t letting a slip of a girl—any girl—knock him off balance.
‘Princess, I admire cooking and gardening skills as much as the next man, but it’s all very domestic goddessy.’ A bit old-fashioned. He was careful to keep the judgement out of his voice and the mockery from his eyebrows. He didn’t want her getting all hoity-toity again.
‘Oh, that’d be because—’
She froze. It was only for a second but he was aware of every fraction of that second—the dismay on her face, the way the trowel trembled and then the stubborn jut of her jaw. She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the rest of whatever she’d been about to say.
He frowned. What on earth...?
Metal hitting metal made them both freeze. With a gulp, Nell continued digging. Rick collapsed onto the wooden sleeper that made the border for the bed and tried to ease the pounding in his chest.
Within a few moments Nell had freed the tin, brushed the dirt from its surface along with the dirt from her knees. She dropped the trowel at Rick’s feet and settled herself beside him. The tin sat in her lap. They both stared at it as she pulled her hands free of the gloves. She reached out to trace the picture on the lid.
‘Marigolds,’ he said softly.
She nodded.
‘Why didn’t John let you plant marigolds here?’
‘Because my mother didn’t like them, remember?’
‘Nobody would’ve seen them all the way down the back here.’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘I found it was always best not to make waves if one could help it.’
‘I decided on an opposite course of action.’
She glanced up with a grin, her green eyes alive with so much impish laughter it made his chest clench. ‘You did at that. I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and fill this entire garden bed with marigolds.’
Good for her.
She held the tin out to him. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’
His mouth went dry. He shook his head. ‘They were your treasures.’ He couldn’t help adding, ‘Besides, you could be wrong and maybe John never knew about the tin.’
‘I’m not wrong.’
Her certainty had his heart beating hard and fast.
She sent him a small smile. ‘Well, here goes.’ And she prised the lid off.
An assortment of oddments met his gaze. Silly stuff one would expect a ten-year-old to treasure. And from it all she detached a small gold locket that he recognised immediately. She held it out to him and his heart gave a gigantic kick. ‘When I buried this I swore that if I ever had the chance I’d give it to you.’
‘Nell, I couldn’t—’
She dropped it in his hand. ‘Even now it brings me no joy. It reminds me of the trouble it caused. Throw it away if you want and spare me the bother.’
His hand closed about it and his heart thumped. In kid-speak their exchange of gifts had been a token of friendship. Not that the adults had seen it that way. But the locket shone as brilliantly for him now as it had back then.
‘While I keep this.’
She held up the tin aeroplane he’d given her and a laugh broke from him. He took it from her and flew it through the air the way he used to do as a boy. ‘You really did keep it.’
‘I wasn’t a defiant child. I generally did as I was told.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Or, at least, I tried to. This was the one thing I dug my heels in about.’
Along with this big old relic of a Victorian mansion. He wondered why it meant so much to her.
‘I should’ve dug my heels in harder about the rest of it too, Rick. I’m sorry I didn’t.’
He handed her back the plane. ‘Forget about it. We were just kids.’ And what chance did a timid ten-year-old have against bullying parents and glaring policemen?
‘Hey, I remember those—’ he laughed when she pulled out a host of cheap wire bangles in an assortment of garish colours ‘—the girls at school went mad for them for a while.’
‘I know and I coveted them. I managed to sneak into a Two Dollar Shop and buy these when my mother wasn’t looking, but she forbade me from wearing them. Apparently they made me look cheap and she threatened to throw them away.’
So instead Nell had buried them in this tin where no one could take them away from her...but where she’d never be able to wear them either. Not even in secret.
She dispensed quickly with a few other knick-knacks—some hair baubles and a Rubik’s Cube—along with some assorted postcards. At the very bottom of the tin were two stark white envelopes. The writing on them was black-inked capitals.
One for Nell.
One for him.
With a, ‘Tsk,’ that robbed the moment of its ominousness, she handed them both to him and then proceeded to pile her ‘treasures’ back into the tin and eased the lid back on. ‘Do we want to rip them open here or does it call for coffee?’
‘Coffee?’ His lip curled, although he tried to stop it.
‘You’re right. It’s not too early for a drink, is it?’
‘Hell, no. It has to be getting onto three o’clock.’
‘I don’t have any beer, but I do have half a bottle of cheap Chardonnay in the fridge.’
‘Count me in.’
He carried the spade, the secateurs and the letters. She carried the trowels and the tin. It touched him that she trusted him with her letter. He could simply make off with both letters and try to figure out what game John Cox was playing at. But the gold locket burned a hole in his pocket and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
Besides, Nell had been the one to decipher the clue and dig up the tin. So he helped her stow the garden tools and followed her across the weed-infested lawn, along the terrace and back into the kitchen. He set both letters onto the table. Nell washed her hands, collected two wine glasses and the bottle of wine.
He took the bottle, glanced at the label and grinned. ‘You weren’t joking when you said cheap, were you?’
‘Shut up and pour,’ she said cheerfully. ‘When it’s a choice between cheap wine and no wine...’
‘Good choice,’ he agreed, but a burn started up in his chest at all this evidence of the Princess fallen on hard times.
He handed her a glass, she clinked it with his and sat. He handed her the letter. She didn’t bother with preliminaries. She set her glass down, tore open the envelope, and scanned the enclosed sheet of paper.
Rick remained standing, his heart thudding.
With a sound of disgust she thrust it at him. ‘I don’t like these games.’
Rick read it.
Dear Miss Nell,
If you think he’s worth the effort, would you please pass these details on to him?
Yours sincerely,
John Cox.
She leapt up and snatched the letter back. ‘He calls you “him” and “he’s”.’ She slapped the sheet of paper with the back of her hand. ‘He doesn’t even have the courtesy to name you. It’s...it’s...’
‘It’s okay.’
She stared at him. She gave him back the letter. ‘No, it’s not.’ She took her seat again and sipped her wine. She didn’t grimace at its taste as he thought she would. In fact, she looked quite at home with her cheap wine. He’d have smiled except his letter burned a hole in his palm.
‘And just so you know,’ she added, ‘the details there are for his solicitor.’
Rick didn’t think for a moment that John had left him any money. It’d just be another hoop to jump through. Gritting his teeth, he slid a finger beneath the flap of the envelope addressed to him and pulled the letter free.
At least it was addressed to him.
Rick
If you’ve got this far then you have the approval of the only woman I’ve ever trusted and the only woman I have any time for. If you haven’t blown it, she’ll provide you with the information you’ll need for the next step of the journey.
It was simply signed John Cox.
He handed the letter to Nell so she could read it too. It seemed mean-spirited not to. She read it and handed it back. ‘Loquacious, isn’t he?’
Rick sank down into his chair.
‘The solicitor, Clinton Garside, is wily and unpleasant.’
‘Just like John Cox.’
She shook her head and then seemed to realise she was contradicting him. Based on all the evidence Rick had so far, ‘wily and unpleasant’ described John to a T. ‘I never knew this side of him. He was quiet, didn’t talk much and certainly wasn’t affectionate, but he was kind to me.’
Maybe so, but he still hadn’t let her plant marigolds.
* * *
Nell glanced at Rick and it suddenly hit her that he was only a step or two away from abandoning this entire endeavour.
She didn’t know why, but instinct warned her that would be a bad thing—not bad evil, but bad detrimental. That it would hurt him in some fundamental way. As the messenger of the tidings she couldn’t help feeling partly responsible.
You have enough troubles of your own.
Be that as it may. She owed Rick. She owed him for what had happened fifteen years ago. She owed him for letting herself be browbeaten, for not being strong enough to have defended him when that had been the right thing to do. She might only have been ten years old, but she’d known right from wrong. She had no intention of making the same mistake now.
She straightened. ‘Clint will give you the runaround. He’ll tell you he won’t be able to see you for weeks, and that’s not acceptable.’
‘Nell, I—’
‘If you have a sibling out there who needs you—’ she fixed him with a glare ‘—then it’s unacceptable.’
His lips pressed together in a tight line. He slumped back in his seat without another word.
Nell pulled her cellphone from her handbag and punched in Clint Garside’s number. ‘Hello, it’s Nell Smythe-Whittaker. I’d like to make an appointment to see Mr Garside, please. I know he’s very busy, but it’s rather important and I was hoping to meet with him as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll just check his appointment book,’ the receptionist said.
‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ She searched her mind and came back with a name. ‘Is that you, Lynne?’
‘It is, Ms Smythe-Whittaker.’
‘Please, call me Nell. How’s your husband coming along after his football injury? Will he be right to play the first game of the season? All the fans are hoping so.’
‘We think so, fingers crossed. It’s nice of you to ask.’
Exactly. And in return...
‘There’s just been a cancellation for Wednesday afternoon at three-thirty. Would that suit you?’
‘Wednesday at three-thirty,’ she repeated, glancing at Rick. He shrugged and nodded. ‘That’s perfect! Thank you so much, Lynne. I really appreciate it.’
She rang off and stowed her phone back into her bag. ‘Three-thirty Wednesday,’ she repeated.
‘So you’re intent on holding my hand?’
An edge had crept into his voice. She sat a little straighter and lifted her chin. ‘It’ll speed things up.’
‘Why are you so intent on helping me get to the bottom of all this?’
She reached out to clasp the stem of her wine glass, twirled it around and around on the table. She lifted a shoulder. ‘There are a few different reasons. Guilt, for one. Your father has been dead for eight months and I’ve only found the time to give you his letter now.’
‘If he was my father.’
If.
‘You had no idea what that letter contained. If you did...’
‘I’d have tried to deliver it the same day! And I’d have quizzed John to within an inch of his life, but that’s beside the point. I should’ve found the time to deliver it to you sooner.’
‘You’ve had a lot on your plate these last eight months. You’ve no need to feel guilty.’
‘The locket,’ she whispered. ‘It caused you so much trouble.’
‘We were just kids, Nell. None of it was your fault.’
That wasn’t true. ‘I still feel badly about it.’
He reached out and for a moment she thought he meant to take her hand; at the last moment he pulled his hand back. ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’
He hadn’t touched her but warmth threaded through his eyes. His mouth had lost its hard edge, replaced with a gentle sensuality that threatened to weave her under its spell. She knew in her bones that Rick would know how to kiss a woman and mean it.
It took all her strength to suppress the thrill that rippled through her. She fumbled to find the thread of their conversation again. ‘The police labelled you a thief and a liar,’ she forced herself to say. ‘They thought you bullied me into handing the locket over. Those labels stuck.’
‘Not my fault, Nell. And not yours.’
Because he seemed to want her to, she nodded.
‘Anything else?’
‘John,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling he’d want me to help you and...I don’t owe him, but he was kind to me.’
He shot back in his chair, his eyes cold.
Her heart thumped. ‘I’m not trying to justify his behaviour to you. That’s shocking and unforgivable.’ But Rick would never have found the marigold tin without her help and what if there was further nonsense to be endured during the solicitor’s appointment?
All of the hard angles had shot back into Rick’s face. A lazy devil’s smile hovered about his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She pulled herself up, lifted her chin and gave the most speaking shrug in her armoury. ‘Of course, if you’d prefer I didn’t attend the appointment on Wednesday, obviously I won’t.’ She reached for her glass and took a sip, pretending it was something French and priceless.
Just like that, Rick laughed and the devil leached out of him. ‘What a pair we are.’
‘What are you talking about?’
He dismissed that with a flick of his fingers. ‘If you think it’ll make the meeting more profitable then I’d appreciate your presence.’
She took another sip, glad this time that it was just plain old Chardonnay. ‘Okay.’
‘What’s more, I’ll thank you in advance and mean it. Thank you, Nell.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘This, however—’ he lifted his glass and drained the last mouthful ‘—is awful.’
She feigned outrage, but he only grinned. ‘I know where Garside’s office is. It’s on the high street, right?’ She nodded. ‘Would you like to grab a coffee beforehand?’
‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘That’s a really nice idea, Rick, but—’
‘You have other plans. No sweat.’ He rose as if it were of no consequence. She wished it felt that way to her. Coffee invitations had been few and far between these last few months. ‘I’ll see you out the front at three-twenty-five.’
She rose too. ‘Right.’
* * *
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Nell... You don’t mind if I call you Nell, do you?’
Nell suppressed a shudder at the wet smile Clint Garside turned on her. ‘Not at all.’
‘I was under the impression that the business you wished to discuss concerned yourself.’
She forced her eyes wide. ‘Oh, but it does, Mr Garside. It’s just before we get to that I was hoping we’d be able to clear up this little matter for Mr Bradford and my family’s former employee, the late Mr John Cox. It’s been such a weight on my mind.’
‘Well...of course, of course.’
He smoothed his hair back and sent her another greasy smile. He barely glanced at Rick. She’d forgive him the smarminess, but she wouldn’t forgive him for ignoring Rick. He had no right to his snobbery. He had no right thinking he was better than Rick.
‘You have to understand, however, that it may take my staff and I some time to locate the file. It’s an older case and I’m sure you appreciate—’
‘Oh, I do hope not.’ Nell crossed her leg and smoothed a hand down the bodice of her dress. ‘Once that document is found I was hoping to discuss the possibility of selling Whittaker House with you. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in handling the conveyancing of the property for me?’
She traced fingers along the V-neck of her dress, drawing the solicitor’s eyes there, and she could’ve sworn that beside her Rick was trying not to laugh. She didn’t dare glance at him for fear that a fit of giggles might overtake her.
She tossed her hair back and assumed the most superior posture she could. ‘Of course, I couldn’t possibly consider that while I have loose ends like this one hanging over my head.’ She sighed and made to rise. ‘Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to call me once you’ve found the relevant documentation and then we can take it from there.’
‘Oh, please sit, Nell. Let’s not be too hasty.’ Clint Garside rushed around the desk and urged Nell back into her seat. ‘Let me just have a quick look to see if they’re near at hand after all.’
‘Why, of course.’ She beamed at him. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the trouble you’re taking.’
Rick snorted. Clint glanced at him sharply and Nell reached out to touch the solicitor’s arm and recapture his attention before elbowing Rick in the ribs. ‘The file?’ she reminded him gently.
‘Oh, yes.’ He was all smarmy smiles again. He patted her hand before trotting over to a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. Ugh! Behind his back, she wiped her hand down her skirt. The man had a touch like a dead fish.
‘Bingo!’ Clint turned with another wide, wet smile and held a file aloft. And for no reason at all her heart started to hammer. Was this the moment Rick would discover the identity of his sibling?
‘So...’ Clint sat across from her at his desk again, the file closed in front of him ‘...about Whittaker House...’
Beside her, she could feel Rick bunch up with tension. ‘Yes, it’s such a responsibility owning a house like that, but...’ She gave a delicate little cough and glanced sideways to indicate Rick. ‘Perhaps we can take care of this matter first and then...talk in private?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Why yes, of course.’
He opened the file and glanced at what she supposed must be John’s instructions. ‘There’s nothing too difficult here. The late Mr Cox left a letter for Mr Rick Bradford should Mr Bradford ever come to collect it. The letter will need to be signed for, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she echoed.
‘But, before that can happen, Mr Bradford has to provide a password.’
The air left her in a rush. Her entire body slumped like a deflated balloon before she had the foresight to shake herself upright again. She turned to Rick, trying to swallow her panic. A password?
‘You will only get one chance, Mr Bradford.’
Acid burned her throat. ‘Oh, Rick...’
He merely grinned at her, those dark eyes dancing. ‘Don’t sweat it, Princess.’ He turned to the solicitor. ‘The password will be Marigold.’
‘That’s correct.’
Marigold? He was a genius!
‘All you now need to do is sign here.’ Clint handed Rick a pen without looking at him and indicated where he should sign. His lack of courtesy grated on her. Hadn’t the people around here heard that Rick’s name had been cleared?
Ah, but there’s no smoke without fire. Her lip curled at the narrow-minded pettiness of it all.
Rick read the short statement, signed and took the letter from Clint’s outstretched hand. He clasped her shoulder briefly. ‘Thanks, Nell.’
And then he left. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
* * *
Seven and three-quarter minutes later Nell made her escape from Clint Garside. With what she hoped was a breezy wave to Lynne, she shot outside to drag a breath of air into lungs that had cramped.
‘Hey, Princess.’
She spun around to find Rick leaning against the wall just outside the door. One leg slightly raised, knee bent so his foot rested on the wall behind too. The epitome of casual indolence and she had to swallow to contain the leap of joy her heart gave at seeing him.
Slowly, she eased a breath of air out of lungs that had cramped up in an entirely different way. Rick wore a pair of dark denim jeans and a white business shirt, top button undone—no tie—and with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked like a model for a jeans commercial.
‘Everything okay?’
She should be the one asking that. She swallowed and nodded and tried not to swoon in relief that he’d waited. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.’
‘Why not?’
That intent dark gaze watched her as if...as if she were worth watching, she realised. As if he liked not just what he saw, but...her. As if he liked her.
No doubt it was all just a trick of the light. And if it wasn’t it’d just be smoke and mirrors. Rick had a reputation where women were concerned. Flirting would be as natural as breathing to him.
‘I thought you might like to be alone to read John’s letter.’
He glanced away and she took a step closer. ‘What did it say?’
One of those broad shoulders lifted. ‘I haven’t opened it yet.’
She stared at those shoulders and bit her lip. A hum started up in her blood. She stretched out her toes to prevent them from curling.
‘The street didn’t seem like the right place. I’d prefer more privacy than that.’
Did he want to go home? Or maybe he wanted privacy, but didn’t want to be totally alone? ‘You could come back to Whittaker House with me if you like.’
One corner of his mouth hitched up. It made her blood chug. ‘You’re dying of curiosity, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ she agreed. ‘But there are cupcakes at my place. There’s a Salted Caramel with my name on it.’
‘Is there one for me?’
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. ‘Of course there is. I would never be so cruel as to eat one in front of company without offering them around first. You can have the Cherry Cheesecake and the Bubblegum if you like.’
‘Sold!’ He pushed away from the wall and fell into step beside her. ‘Did you drive?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s only a five-minute walk—did you?’
‘Nah, it’s only about two minutes from Tash’s.’
They walked along in silence. She was aware of the heat and magnetism he gave off, of the grace with which his tall body moved and the confidence in his strides—shortened to match hers at the moment. With each step she took, her awareness of him grew.
‘You were magnificent back there, you know?’
‘Me? You were the one who guessed the password!’
‘You had that slimy solicitor eating out of the palm of your hand.’
She snorted. ‘That was nothing more than him being overtaken by his own greed.’
‘You played him to perfection. I went into that meeting determined to stamp my mark on it, but...’
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and dared to meet his gaze. ‘But?’
‘You were an absolute delight to watch and I didn’t want to interrupt you. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.’
Her cheeks warmed. ‘I was pretty good, wasn’t I?’ she said because she didn’t want him to see how much his words touched her.
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Did you crush him like a bug when I left?’
‘I was tempted to, but no.’
He eased back to survey her. ‘Why not?’
She kept her gaze straight ahead. ‘It doesn’t do to make enemies.’ She had enough of those as it was. ‘He thinks I’m exploring my options and that he’s number one on my go-to list. Besides, I didn’t want to burn our bridges where he was concerned until after you’d read your letter.’ Who knew when they might have to consult with him again?
He didn’t say anything so she forced herself to smile up at him. ‘I’ll save squashing him for another day.’
Her heart started to thump. Hard. She had to tread carefully—very carefully. She was in danger of turning this man into her Sir Galahad. Just as she’d done as a ten-year-old...and throughout her early teens—the fantasy boy who’d ride up on his white charger and rescue her.
She scowled and picked up her pace. Well, she was no damsel. And Rick Bradford wasn’t a Sir Galahad in anybody’s language.
