Читать книгу Save The Date! - Kate Hardy - Страница 15
ОглавлениеRICK HAD JUST finished his last cupcake and a mug of coffee when Nell walked through the back door. She stopped short when she saw him. ‘Hey.’ She swallowed. ‘How’s it going?’
Lines fanned out from her eyes and her frock—yellow with big purple polka dots—looked rumpled and tired. He wondered what she’d been up to all day. She dropped her handbag on the table, glancing at his plate and mug. Before her face could twist up with suspicion he said, ‘You can start using the front door if you like.’
A smile lit through her, banishing the lines around her eyes. ‘You fixed it?’
He swallowed. A woman like her could make a man like him feel like Superman if he wasn’t careful. ‘It was no big deal. The wood had swollen. I filed it back, rehung it and it’s as good as new.’
He tried to pull himself back. She might be a damsel in distress...or not. But he was no hero. He knew that and so did she. ‘I did promise to earn my keep,’ he reminded her.
‘Well, yes, but I didn’t expect you to start working the moment you moved in. I thought you’d take a day or two to settle in.’
Settle in? It didn’t take much ‘settling in’ to unpack a single suitcase.
‘You left cupcakes and sandwiches for me at the cottage.’ The cottage had been spotless too—not a speck of dust to be seen. He wondered who she’d had come in and clean it at such late notice.
‘Oh, that was just a neighbourly gesture. If I’d thought you’d want to start work today I’d have left you a key.’ She stuck out a hip. ‘Which rather begs the question—how did you get in?’
His stomach burned acid and he waited for that soul-destroying suspicion to wash over her face, for her to rush off and count the family silver. Ever since he’d been released from jail it was how people treated him. They didn’t believe a man could pay his debt to society and then move on and make something of himself.
If he’d known at eighteen what he knew now, would he have still taken the rap for Cheryl, claimed the drugs were his rather than hers? He stared at the Princess and had a feeling that answer would still be yes.
Which meant he hadn’t learned a damn thing.
Which meant he was still as big a sucker as he’d ever been.
He’d gone to prison a boy but he’d come out a lot wiser and a whole lot harder. He couldn’t draw comparisons between Cheryl and Nell—their lives were too different—but the same protective instincts rose up in him whenever he looked at Nell now.
Ice washed over his skin. He had no intention of getting that close to anyone again—no intention of taking the blame for anything that would land him back in jail. Ever. Regardless of who it was.
‘Oh, get over yourself, you idiot!’
He blinked at Nell’s rudeness.
‘If I trust you with my grandmother’s jewels I’m going to trust you with the contents of my house. For heaven’s sake, there’s nothing left worth stealing anyway. My father long made off with anything of value.’
Genuine irritation rather than suspicion chased across her face and he jolted back into the present. He rolled his shoulders.
‘Is my security that bad?’
‘It’s not brilliant. You should install an alarm system. I, uh, got in through the back door.’
‘But I locked it.’
‘You need to remember to use the deadbolt.’
She sighed. ‘An alarm system? I’d better put it on the list.’
She bustled about making coffee. She eyed the jar of instant he’d bought with distaste. ‘Would you like another?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Why didn’t you make yourself a proper coffee? It’s worth the effort, you know.’
‘That coffee is yours.’
Very slowly she turned. ‘And I’m guessing there’s milk in the fridge with your name on it too and sugar in the cupboard?’
He shifted. ‘People can get funny about things like that.’
She pointed her teaspoon at him. ‘Let’s get one thing clear right now.’ She raised her voice to be heard above the gurgling of the percolator. ‘You’re welcome to help yourself to tea, coffee, bread, biscuits and whatever else is in the pantry while you’re working. And—’ she thrust out her jaw ‘—if I feel like having instant coffee I mean to help myself to your jar. You have a problem with that?’
He grinned. ‘None at all, Princess.’
‘Hmph.’ She made coffee, sipped it and closed her eyes as if it were the first chance she’d had to relax all day. He wondered again what she’d been up to—hobnobbing with society types hoping to find an investor or three?
‘Oh, I meant to ask. Is that your car out front?’
‘Yup.’
‘There’s room to park it in the garage if you want.’
‘There’s a garage?’
‘Come with me.’
With coffee cup in hand, she led him out into the garden. About halfway between the house and the cottage she veered left. Hidden behind strategically placed trees and shrubs squatted a substantial wooden building with three large wooden doors. She walked across to the cast iron fence, fitted a key into the lock and slid the fence back. The fence slid along on a kind of roller. From the footpath it’d be impossible to see that this part of the fence also acted as a gate.
‘I had no idea this was here.’ And he must’ve walked past this section of fence a hundred times. He turned to survey the garage. ‘What did that used to be?’
‘The stables, once upon a time.’ She slid the gate shut again. It barely made a sound. ‘They were converted eons ago, which is why the gate and the garage doors aren’t automatic. Maybe down the track. Mind you, these big old doors have a certain charm I’d be loath to trade in merely for the sake of convenience.’
She took a sip of coffee. ‘This bay here is free.’ She lifted a latch and walked backwards until the door stood wide open.
He entered. And then stopped dead. A van, a bit like the ice cream vans that had done the rounds of the neighbourhood during the summers of his childhood, stood in the next bay along. Only, instead of ice creams, the van’s sides were decorated with cupcakes. ‘Candy’s Cupcakes’ was written in swirly pastel lettering.
He turned back to her, folded his arms and leant against the doorframe. ‘Your business is obviously bigger than I thought.’
She drained her coffee. ‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
For a moment her gaze rested on his shoulders. She shook out her arms as if an itch had started up inside her. His heart started pounding to a beat as old as time then too. He gritted his teeth. He and the Princess were not going to dance that particular tango. ‘Nell?’
She jumped. ‘Sorry, I—’
She averted her face, but that didn’t hide the colour on her cheekbones. Rick gritted his teeth harder.
‘Sorry.’ She turned back. ‘I’m tired. Concentration is shot.’ She gestured to the van. ‘Everyone expects me to fail. Some have said so outright. Some have laughed as if it’s a joke. Others have smiled politely while raising sceptical eyebrows. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.’
‘And you thought I’d react that way.’
She met his gaze. ‘You did.’
‘I...’
‘You thought my little cupcake business was limited to a few deliveries on the weekend and nothing more. You didn’t even begin to entertain the idea that I might also work Monday to Friday. But I do. I have a weekly schedule and I head out in Candy for the CBD to take cupcakes and coffee to the masses.’ She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. ‘Or, at least, to office workers. You won’t believe the number of people who now treat themselves to a weekly cupcake for morning or afternoon tea.’
Wow.
‘I thought you’d know better than to pigeonhole me like you did.’
Everything inside him stilled.
‘You’ve been in jail. I know what people say about you. They think once a criminal always a criminal. They think a man like you can’t be trusted and is only out for whatever he can get. And they’re still going to think that when your name’s cleared because it doesn’t change the fact that you were in prison.’
Each word was a knife to the sorest part of him.
‘I haven’t treated you like that.’
She hadn’t, but he kept waiting for her to. His stomach started to churn. That was hardly fair, though, was it? She’d shown him nothing but...friendship.
‘I also happen to know what people think of me—the pampered society princess who has never had to lift a finger one day in her life.’ She strode over and stabbed a finger to his shoulder. ‘Well, I’m not useless and I’m not a failure and I’m not...I’m not useless!’
He grabbed the finger that kept jabbing at him and curled his hand around it. ‘You’re not useless, Princess. You’re amazing. Completely amazing and I’m sorry I misjudged you.’
She tried to tug her hand free but he wouldn’t let her. ‘You really are skint?’
She stopped struggling to frown at him. ‘Yes.’
‘Yet amid all of your own troubles you’ve found the time to help me.’
‘Help or hound?’
He chuckled and a warmth he’d never experienced washed over him. ‘Thank you for cleaning my cottage.’
‘You’re welcome.’
God, such vulnerability in those wide green eyes, such softness and sweetness beckoned in those lips. She smelt like sugar and frosting and all the things he’d ever longed for. An ache gripped him so hard he had to drag in a breath. ‘Princess...’ The endearment scraped out of him, raw with need and longing.
She swayed towards him, those green eyes lowering to his lips. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered faster and faster. Her hand tightened in his.
He gripped her chin and lifted it, needing to taste her so badly he thought he might fall to his knees from the force of it. Desire licked fire through his veins. He moved in close—so close he could taste her breath—but the expression in her eyes froze him.
They glittered. With tears.
‘Don’t you dare kiss me out of pity.’
She didn’t move out of his hold and he knew then she was as caught up in the grip of desire as him.
‘Please, Rick. Don’t kiss me because you feel sorry for me.’
The tears trembled, but they didn’t fall. Every muscle he had screamed a protest, but he released her and stepped back. He swallowed twice before he was sure his voice would work. ‘Pity was the last thing on my mind, Princess. So was guilt and feeling apologetic.’
It was just...he’d allowed himself to see her properly for the first time and it had blown him away. He needed to get away from her, to find a sense of balance again. ‘I just...’ he dragged a hand back through his hair ‘...I just think it’d be a really bad idea to kiss you.’
‘Definitely.’
He glanced at her sharply, but he couldn’t see any irony or sarcasm in her face.
She tossed her head. ‘Besides, I don’t want you or anyone else to think I’m taking advantage of you.’
He almost laughed. ‘Take advantage of me?’ That’d be the day.
She waved an impatient hand in the air. ‘You know what I mean—seducing you so you’ll fix up my house all spick and span.’ She glared. ‘I can stand on my own two feet.’
He glanced at Candy. ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment.’ Did she ever take a day off?
‘Right.’ She smoothed down her skirt. ‘Good. I had some keys cut for you—the front and back doors and the gate here in the fence.’
There was an awkward moment where she held them out to him and he tried to take them and they danced around each other, trying not to touch. In the end she tossed them in the air and he caught them.
‘Now, if you don’t mind...’ She collected her coffee mug from where she’d set it on the ground. ‘I’m going to go have a much-needed shower.’
‘There’s something else we need to talk about, Princess.’
She turned back.
‘Those jewels can’t stay in the cottage while I’m living there.’
‘But—’
‘I’ve been to prison, Nell, and I’m not going back. If those jewels go missing the finger will be pointed at me.’
‘Not by me!’
She said that now. ‘You need to put them in a safety deposit box, because I’m not risking it.’
* * *
The shadows in Rick’s eyes told Nell exactly what prison had been like. Oh, not in detail, perhaps, but in essence. She suppressed a shiver. ‘I didn’t think of that,’ she finally said.
When really what she wanted to say was kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. Not that kissing would do either one of them any good.
She stroked her fingers down her throat. It might help iron out some kinks...scratch an itch or two.
Oh, stop it! Be sensible.
She cleared her throat. ‘Is it okay if I collect them first thing in the morning? As soon as it opens I’ll take them to the bank for safekeeping.’
For a moment she thought he might insist on her taking them now, but eventually he nodded. ‘First thing.’
With a nod, she backed out of the garage and fled for the house, leaving him to close up, or to drive his car around, or whatever he pleased.
She sat, planted her elbows on the kitchen table and massaged her temples. Dear Lord, she had to fight this attraction to Rick because he was right—kissing would be a bad, bad idea. It’d end in tears—hers. The minute Rick discovered his sibling’s identity he’d be out of town so fast she wouldn’t see him for dust.
As a kid she’d dreamed of Rick riding up and rescuing her—like the prince rescuing Rapunzel from her tower. That had all been immature fantasising mixed up with guilt, yearning and loneliness. It hadn’t been based on any kind of reality.
It hadn’t factored in Rick going to jail.
It hadn’t factored in that she could, in fact, save herself.
She shot to her feet. ‘I am a strong woman who can make her dreams come true.’
She kept repeating that all the way to the shower.
* * *
During the next week Nell marvelled at the progress Rick made on the house. He transformed the parlour from something tired and battered into a room gleaming with promise. He’d done something to the fireplace—blackened it, perhaps—that highlighted the fancy tile-work surrounding it. The mantelpiece shone.
It didn’t mean they became cosy and buddy-buddy, though. They edged around as if the other were some kind of incendiary device that would explode at the slightest provocation.
When Nell returned home in the afternoons she and Rick would chat—carefully, briefly. Rick would either continue with whatever he was doing or retire to the cottage. She’d start watching one of the spy movies she’d borrowed from the video store or would investigate code breaking on the Internet. To no great effect.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! This is a waste of time.’ She slammed down the lid of her laptop. Biting her lip, she reached out to pat it. The last thing she needed was to have to go out and buy a new computer.
‘Not having any luck?’
She glanced up to find Rick in the doorway. Wearing a tool belt. Her knees went a bit wonky. She swallowed first to make sure her voice would work. ‘I’ve trawled every website and watched every darn movie ever made about codes and code breaking and yet I’m still none the wiser.’ She pulled the piece of paper on which she’d scrawled the code towards her.
‘LCL 217, POAL 163, TSATF 8, AMND 64, ARWAV 33, TMOTF 102,’ she read, even though she’d memorised it.
‘I don’t get it, not one little bit, and I’m tired of feeling stupid!’
He didn’t say anything.
She leapt up. It took an effort of will not to kick the table leg. ‘Why on earth did he make it so hard?’
‘Because he doesn’t want me to find the answer.’
‘Why tell you at all then?’
‘To chase away his guilt? To feel as if he were doing the right thing and giving me some sort of chance at figuring it out?’
To chase away his guilt? In the same way he’d chased Rick away? Her stomach churned. And then she frowned. ‘Rick, it’s Saturday.’
‘Yup.’
‘You don’t have to work weekends.’
‘Why not? You do.’
She blinked.
‘I want to attach the new locks I bought for the parlour windows. I’ve been trying to work that code out all morning and now I want to hammer something.’
She blew out a breath. John’s code had evidently left him feeling as frustrated as it had her. ‘You haven’t given me the receipts for those locks yet.’
His gaze slid away. ‘I can’t find where I put them. I’ll hunt them up tonight and give them to you on Monday.’
That was what he’d said on Wednesday.
‘I might not be rolling in money, but I have enough to cover the work you quoted me.’ Besides, he couldn’t exactly be rolling in it himself. ‘Fixing up this house is exactly what I choose to do with my money.’ Well, that and eat.
‘And I had some questions about the library,’ he added as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘If you have the time...’
Something shifted in the darkness of his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what, only that it made her pulse quicken. She scowled. ‘Are they questions I’ll be able to answer?’
He grinned. It was swift and sudden and slayed her where she stood. ‘Colour schemes and stuff.’
She stuck her nose in the air. ‘That I can do. I’ve been trained by the best. Piece of cake.’
‘Speaking of cake...’ His gaze searched the table.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, there’re cupcakes in the cake tin. Help yourself.’ It suddenly occurred to her... ‘I didn’t make you any sandwiches. Would you like me—?’
‘Nope, not necessary. Sandwiches Monday to Friday was the deal.’
‘Was it?’ When he grinned at her like that she forgot her very name and which way was up. She had no hope of recalling anything more complicated. She swung away. ‘Nell,’ she murmured under her breath. She pointed to the ceiling. ‘Up.’
‘Talking to yourself, Princess.’
The warm laughter in his voice wrapped around the base of her spine, making her shiver. ‘Library,’ she muttered instead, pointing and then leading the way through the house.
‘It’s a nice room,’ Rick said from the doorway.
She tried to stop her gaze from gobbling him up where he stood. ‘I used to spend a lot of time in here as a child. It was my favourite room.’ She hadn’t disturbed anyone in here.
‘You were a bookworm?’
The look he sent her had her rolling her shoulders. ‘Uh-huh.’
He moved into the room. ‘Do you mean to keep all of these books in here when you open for business?’
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘All of the leather-bound collections will probably remain in here—the room wouldn’t earn the term library if there were no books.’ She trailed her fingers along one wall of glass-enclosed bookcases. ‘But I’ll take my old worn favourites upstairs. They’re a bit tatty now. I suppose I could put some pretty ornaments on the shelves here and there for interest and—’
She stopped dead and just stared.
‘What?’ Rick spoke sharply and she suspected the blood had all but drained from her face.
‘POAL,’ she managed faintly.
‘POAL 163,’ he corrected.
She opened one of the bookcase doors and dropped to her knees in front of it. She ran a finger along the spines. ‘I’d have never got it. Not in a million years.’
‘What are you talking about?’ He strode across to her, his voice rough and dark. ‘Don’t play games with me, Nell.’
She grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the floor beside her. ‘Look.’ She pointed to a book spine.
‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover,’ he growled. ‘So what?’
‘LCL.’ She pointed to the next spine along. ‘Portrait of a Lady—POAL. The Sound and the Fury, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Room with a View, The Mill on the Floss. These are my first-year literature texts from university. She pulled out Lady Chatterley’s Lover and handed it to him. ‘Open it at page two hundred and seventeen.’
She had no idea if she were right or not, but...
He turned the pages over with strong, sure hands. They both caught their breath when the page revealed a single sheet of folded paper.
He handed her back the book and she could have sworn his hand trembled. ‘It could just be some note or other you made.’
Her heart burned as the conflicting emotions of hope and pessimism warred in his dark eyes. ‘It could be,’ she agreed, though she didn’t think it was. There’d only be one way to find out—if he unfolded it—but she didn’t try to hurry him. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to suddenly discover you had a sibling you’d never heard about before.
He leapt to his feet and strode away. She swallowed back the ball of hurt that lodged in her throat. He wasn’t obliged to share the contents of John’s message with her. She stared instead at the book and waited for him to say something, her heart thumping and her temples pounding.
‘A T.’
She turned to find him holding up the sheet of paper bearing the single letter. His lips twisted. ‘He did say he wasn’t going to make it easy, didn’t he?’
She gathered up the other five books. ‘Obviously it’s going to spell something out. Maybe a name.’ This room was devoid of any furniture so she took the books back through to the kitchen and set them on the table before walking away.
‘Where are you going?’
He spoke sharply and she spun around. ‘I thought you might like some privacy.’
He cocked an eyebrow, all tough-guy badness in a blink of his eye. ‘Aren’t you curious?’
She wished she could say no. ‘Of course I am. I’m burning up with it.’
‘Then stay. We’d have never got this far if it weren’t for you.’
She didn’t need any further encouragement. She moved back to the table and watched silently as he laid the six letters out. When he was done they both stood back and stared at it.
T H E S U N
A growl left her throat. ‘What the bloody hell is that supposed to be and what’s all this nonsense of X, C and M on the last card?’
‘Roman numerals,’ Rick said, leaning over to look at them more closely. ‘I think it’s a date.’
He straightened. Nell stiffened. ‘The Sun,’ they said at the same time, referring to a Sydney newspaper.
‘I’m not good with Roman numerals.’ Nell moved back around to her computer. ‘But there’s bound to be a site on the web that can tell us what that date might be.’
Rick didn’t move. ‘It’s the twenty-sixth of May in the year of two thousand and thirteen.’
That was almost a year ago now. ‘The paper is bound to archive its back issues online.’ She went to the newspaper’s homepage, flicked through several screens and found the paper issued for the twenty-sixth of May. All the while she was aware of Rick standing on the other side of the table, unmoving, and it started to worry her. ‘Rick!’
He started and glanced her way. It hit her that inactivity wasn’t good for him. ‘Here, I found the right paper. I think. You do the search while I organise cake and coffee.’
Searching would keep him focused. Organising afternoon tea would give her something to do with her hands other than fidget.
He took her seat. ‘What do you reckon—search the personal classifieds for some coded message?’
She growled. ‘It better not be too coded.’
He laughed and turned his attention back to the computer screen.
She measured out coffee and set cupcakes on a plate—Citrus Burst, Pine Lime, Vanilla Cream and Café au Lait. She almost swiped a finger through the frosting of the coffee cupcake, but pulled back at the last minute. It had taken her a lot of work to lose her teenage puppy fat. As soon as she had her Victorian teahouse up and running she meant to enjoy the fruits of her labours to her heart’s content and to hell with her waistline. But until then...
Her nose curled. It was a well-known fact that slender women received more chances and better opportunities than plump women. It wasn’t fair. In her opinion it was downright scandalous, but she didn’t have too many assets—a big house that was threatening to crumble down around her, her ability to cook the best cupcakes on the planet and a trim figure. She meant to make the most of all of them while she could.
Behind her, she sensed Rick’s sudden stillness. She swung to him. ‘Well?’ Her voice came out choked, as if she had an entire cupcake lodged in her throat.
‘There’s a message here...for me.’
Her heart gave a giant kick. ‘Does he tell you...?’
‘No. The message reads: Rick Bradford. Many Happy Returns.’
The twenty-sixth of May was his birthday?
‘You’ve exceeded expectations. For she’s a jolly good fellow.’
‘She?’ That couldn’t be right, surely?
‘She,’ he repeated.
‘Do you think that’s some oblique way of saying your unknown sibling is a sister?’
‘I think he’s referring to you.’
Her?
‘Return on the thirteenth of March.’
She slammed the plate of cupcakes to the table. ‘Return where?’ she shouted.
‘I think he means to the classifieds in the newspaper.’ He leaned back. ‘Which means he put some thought into all of this before he died—paid for these ads well in advance. I wonder how many years’ worth he organised.’
The intricacy of John’s scheme stunned her. ‘The thirteenth of March is only a couple of weeks away.’ She bared her teeth. ‘That is if he’s referring to this year. There’s no guarantee of that, of course.’
‘All will be revealed then if you have the eyes to see it.’
She opened a kitchen cupboard just so she could slam it shut again. ‘That’s what I think of that!’
‘And it ends with Hip Hip Hooray!’
‘Oh, and that’s worth its weight,’ she snarled.
He laughed. ‘He was right about one thing. You are a jolly good fellow. I’d never have got this far if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘Well, of course you wouldn’t!’ she exploded, pacing up and down. ‘That’s the whole stupid point, isn’t it? How could you ever have possibly traced that stupid code to bits of paper in my books? How would you have ever known about my stupid marigold tin? How dare he risk everything on something so...so tenuous! How could he risk... All of it hangs on such a thin thread that could’ve broken at any time.’ She slashed a hand through the air. ‘How could he know I’d keep helping you? How could he know you’d even stick around? How could he know that I hadn’t sold the house?’
‘He couldn’t.’
She stared at the plate of colourful cupcakes and made a fist. Rick dragged the plate towards him out of harm’s way.
‘Princess, it’s not worth getting all hot under the collar about.’
‘Not worth...’ She started to shake.
‘You’re really furious at him, aren’t you?’
She had a feeling they weren’t talking about John any more. ‘Yes,’ she gritted out. Because whether they were talking about her father or his, it was true on both counts. ‘How dare he drag me into his nasty little game!’
Again, that counted on both heads.
‘What right did he have? What...’
The air went out of her and she sat with a thump.
Rick leaned towards her, his eyes wary. ‘Uh, Nell...you okay?’
She swallowed. ‘Earlier you said that he might be trying to make himself feel better...to make amends.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘That’s what this is about. He wants me to make amends too.’
