Читать книгу Bluebell Castle - Sarah Bennett, Sarah Bennett - Страница 10

Phillipa Cornwall hadn’t seemed that bothered about the plans for the roof terrace. They’d barely spent five minutes discussing her concerns with the design before she’d left him alone up there to fetch them both a drink. She’d returned with a pot of very strong Turkish coffee and two tiny cups, only to disappear shortly afterwards with a promise she’d be back. He was starting to feel like she was jerking his chain, that this whole thing was some kind of power play. When you were as famous as she was, perhaps it became second nature to assume everyone was at your beck and call. Whatever the reason, he was starting to resent her for wasting his time about something that could’ve been addressed via a couple of swapped emails.

He was about ready to gather his things and make his excuses when her familiar, breathy voice came from behind him. ‘If you’re finished with those designs, there’s something else I’d like your assistance with.’

Jaw dropping was something he’d previously assumed was an acting exaggeration, and not something real people did until the moment he turned in his seat and saw her. Closing his eyes at the same time as he shut his gaping mouth, Will hoped perhaps he was hallucinating after the second very strong coffee he’d recently finished on a still empty stomach. He cracked open a lid and was once more greeted with the sight of his client posing against the doorway leading from the roof terrace back into the house. He might have been able to dismiss the flirty pose she’d adopted-hands clasping the frame behind her, back arched, one knee softly bent-if it wasn’t for the fact the stylish navy dress she’d been wearing when she’d greeted him at the door not half an hour previously was now pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in nothing more than a tiny, sheer black nightgown thing. Nope, not the coffee.

Clamping his mouth tight against a litany of swear words that would earn Anna a full body massage at her dream spa weekend, Will urged his addled brain to think. When he was finally sure he could speak without cursing, he opened his lips. The sound he made was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, the kind of noise he’d only ever heard a cartoon character make and he quickly shut his mouth again.

‘I didn’t think you’d be shy, William,’ Phillipa stretched his name into a purr, which he supposed she thought was sexy, but only made him want to take a flying leap over the low parapet running around the edge of the roof terrace.

Not knowing what else to do, Will decided his only cause of action was to ignore it and try and stick to business. He bent to retrieve the sketchpad which had slipped from his fingers the moment she’d reappeared. ‘I … I think I might have found a solution to the issue for the zen space. We can turn the angle of the pool by forty-five degrees, so the water runs from east to west. You’ll be able to align your exercise mat in the same direction then, which I think was one of the main problems?’ He offered her the sketchpad, making sure to keep his eyes fixed above her chin.

With a quirk of her lips, Phillipa took the pad from him and turned into the house. He almost sighed with relief, thinking he’d found a way to navigate free of the nightmare, until she paused to cast a knowing look over one shoulder. ‘It’s too bright outside to see this properly, come in and show me what you want to do.’

There was no mistaking the message behind those words, and as Will watched her slink inside with an exaggerated sway of her hips, he wondered how the hell he was going to extricate himself from this mess. It wasn’t the first time a client had made a pass at him, though he had to hand Phillipa the prize for the most blatant seduction attempt to date.

Will blamed it on the ridiculous ‘bad boy of gardening’ image Chris had created for him. Eager, naïve, and somewhat blinded by his first taste of the spotlight, Will had allowed himself to be persuaded to play the part. It worked for chefs, after all, his manager had argued, so why not for a gardener? Embarrassing crap like this was the downside he hadn’t banked upon when agreeing to it. Taking a deep breath, he followed in Phillipa’s wake. If she persisted, he’d have to put her straight.

Somehow.

The contrast between the bright sunshine outside and the much darker interior left him disorientated for a moment. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, Will felt his heart sink as he saw the double doors leading to the master bedroom had been flung wide. Tony Cornwall had pointed it out on Will’s previous visit, saying how as soon as he’d seen the fabulous views he’d refitted what had originally been staff quarters into a luxury suite. The door had remained closed so Will hadn’t seen inside.

Right now, he wished he still hadn’t. Perching on the edge of an enormous bed, Phillipa tossed his sketchpad down and patted a spot on the quilt next to her. Will didn’t know what the term was for something larger than a super king, but this vast expanse of crisp white bedding could probably accommodate half a dozen people with room to spare. Even if she was sitting at the far edge of the bed, it will still be too close for comfort. The hounds of hell couldn’t drag him over the threshold. ‘Mrs Cornwall …’

‘Call me Pippa. All my very good friends call me Pippa.’ She patted the bed once more.

Keeping his feet firmly in place, Will crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Mrs Cornwall.’ He didn’t like the way her confident smile wavered into an expression of confusion when he stressed her formal title once more, but it couldn’t be helped. ‘The sketches are pretty self-explanatory. Why don’t you talk them over with your husband?’ Subtle, Will. ‘You can let my assistant know in due course.’

She seemed to crumple in upon herself, as though each word was sucking the confidence and vivacity out of her. How come doing the right and honourable thing could make him feel so awful? He checked his watch-not that he cared what the time was, he just needed an excuse to look away. ‘I really should be going …’

‘Are you sure you can’t stay?’ She sounded less seductive and more desperate now, and although he felt sorry for her, he couldn’t help a tinge of anger that she’d been the cause of her own embarrassment.

Fumbling for what else to say, he was saved by the bell-literally-when his phone starting ringing. He snatched it from his pocket, barely giving the unknown number a glance before he answered it. Even a marketing call would be a welcome reprieve. ‘Will Talbot.’

‘Mr Talbot? Iggy Ludworth, here. I’d like to discuss a job with you, if you’re not busy.’

He didn’t recognise the rather odd name, nor the forthright tones of the woman. His diary was blocked solid for the foreseeable future, and one half of Britain’s golden couple was currently attempting to seduce him so no, he wasn’t busy at all. Turning away from the scene before him, he lowered his voice in the hope Phillipa Cornwall wouldn’t overhear him. ‘It’s not a great time, if I’m honest. Why don’t you call my office and we can set up an appointment?’

‘I’ve already spoken to your assistant; she was the one who gave me your number. Told me to give you a call straightaway, but perhaps I misunderstood her. I’ve sent through a few sample photographs as she suggested, but I’m under a bit of a time crunch so if you’re too busy I’d rather you came out and said it straight.’

She had the clipped accents of a member of the upper class, and her forthright manner made him feel a bit like a stroppy teenager being scolded by a teacher. Patience already on a knife’s edge, he was on the verge of telling her what she could do with her time crunch when a thought occurred to him. Why had Anna passed his private number on instead of dealing with it the way she did all the other enquiries that came into the business? Intrigued, he swallowed his snap of temper and asked, ‘What’s the job?’

A soft exhalation filled his ear. A sigh of … relief? Perhaps Ms Iggy Ludworth wasn’t quite as sure of herself as she sounded. And what the hell kind of name was Iggy, anyway? ‘My brother owns an estate in Derbyshire and we’re planning to open up to the public. I need your assistance to restore the formal gardens here at Ludworth Castle in time for the August bank holiday.’

Castle? Will gave a mental whistle. Upper class, indeed, he thought, picturing towering battlements looming over rolling acres of green. It’d be a hell of a challenge, too, something on a scale he’d never tackled before. Trying to contain the little buzz of excitement, he made a mental count of the months in his head. It was already the beginning of May … He’d have to shuffle a few projects around, leave Nick and Anna to run things here and source a local work crew of his own. ‘Sixteen months sounds doable, what’s the budget?’

A throaty laugh echoed over the phone, so at odds with her frosty speaking voice. Deep, rich and wildly filthy, it shot straight to his groin. ‘You’ve misunderstood me, Mr Talbot, I was referring to this bank holiday, not next year.’

The jolt of insta-lust withered in astonishment, and Will couldn’t help his own shout of laughter. ‘Is this a wind-up? You’re taking the piss if you think I can pull something like that off in four months. I’m good, Ms Ludworth, but I’m not that bloody good. What you’re suggesting isn’t just ridiculous, it’s fucking impossible! The planning alone would take more time than you have left.’

There was no humour in her next words. ‘Oh, it can be done, Mr Talbot, and it will be done. I thought you might be up to the challenge, but apparently not. I thought you were more than your sordid reputation, but clearly I was wrong if you think it appropriate to swear at a potential client. I’m sorry I’ve wasted my time believing otherwise.’

The phone went dead, leaving Will gawping. Wasted her time? ‘Has the whole world gone bloody crazy?’ he muttered to himself.

A soft sniffle came from behind him. Forgetting snooty Ms Ludworth and her ludicrous expectations, Will spun on his heel. To his horror, tears were pouring down Phillipa’s face, streaking her make-up and turning her already sheer nightdress even more see-through. Spotting a box of tissues on a dressing table across the room, he broke his cardinal rule of remaining on his side of the threshold to grab them. Not wanting to get too close to her, he proffered the box awkwardly from arm’s length, taking a precautionary step backwards as soon as she took it.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, God, you must think me such a stupid fool.’ Phillipa began to sob in earnest, like her heart was breaking into pieces.

Embarrassment and guilt made him squirm. Instinct made him want to comfort her, but how could he when she was dressed like that? Wishing like hell he’d made a run for it when he’d the chance, he glanced towards the exit. His eyes alighted on a scrap of material poking around from behind the door. Reaching out he snagged the white towelling dressing gown with one hand. It was shorter than he would’ve preferred it to be, but at least it would cover everything that needed to be covered.

Moving gingerly towards the bed, he draped the robe around her shoulders and did his best to pull it around her without touching anything his hands had no business being anywhere near. Snatching at the material, Phillipa gripped it closed beneath her throat. The look she gave him, so full of shame and misery cut him off at the knees and he found himself sinking down beside her. ‘It’s all right. Please don’t cry.’ He patted her shoulder.

Before he could withdraw his hand, she turned and buried her face in his chest, leaving him no choice but to give her an awkward one-armed hug. ‘You’re a very attractive woman, Mrs Cornwall. It’s just … you’re married … and what with Tony being such a decent guy and everything, it just isn’t right, you know?’

A bitter laugh broke through her tears. ‘Oh, yes, Tony’s such a decent guy. Isn’t it marvellous the way he takes beautiful young actresses under his wing and offers them the benefit of his experience?’

Shocked to the core by what she was suggesting, Will pulled back to stare down at her. ‘He’s cheated on you?’

Shuddering, Phillipa swallowed back more tears and straightened up. ‘Cheating,’ she corrected. ‘Present tense. He left yesterday with his latest paramour. Rehearsing for their new film, apparently.’ She didn’t need to make the gesture for him to hear the quotation marks around the word ‘rehearsing’.

‘I’m sorry, I thought you guys were rock solid.’ Everything he’d ever seen or read about them implied a strong and happy relationship. Then again, everything she’d probably read about Will had made Phillipa think he’d be up for it. If the stuff in the papers about him was a combination of managed spin and made-up rubbish, wouldn’t it be even more so for a couple infinitely more famous? ‘So, this-’ he gestured between the two of them ‘-was supposed to be a way to get your own back at him?’

She shrugged. ‘What’s good for the gander is good for the goose, and all that.’ Using the crumpled tissue in her hand, she wiped at the streaks of mascara on her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Will, you must think I’m ridiculous.’

‘No!’ Whatever anger he’d felt towards her for putting him in such a compromising position was redirected towards her cheating rat of a husband. Not all marriages were good, Christ knew his own parent’s relationship had been a disaster, but at least they’d had the sense to call it a day. Taking her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. ‘I’m really sorry that you’re hurting, Phillipa, but sleeping with me isn’t the answer to your problems-ask any of my ex-girlfriends.’

She managed a watery chuckle, and Will felt his panic subside at last. Reaching out he brushed free a tendril of hair that had stuck to her cheek. Beneath the streaked make-up and the fine lines age had settled into her skin were hints of the beautiful woman she’d been in her heyday. Tony Cornwall was either mad, stupid or both. ‘Shall we both take a deep breath and pretend the past half an hour never happened?’

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded. ‘Thank you.’

And because he was British, there was only one thing left to say. ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’

Half an hour later, looking much better after the tea, a sheepish-looking Phillipa escorted him to the front door. She’d washed her face and tied the dressing gown tight around her middle leaving her looking much smaller and more fragile than the woman who’d greeted him earlier. Pausing in the open doorway, Will tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and gave her a smile. ‘If you still want us to go ahead with the terrace, give Anna a call once you’ve decided on the alterations I’ve suggested. She’ll make arrangements with you for when the installation team can start.’

‘Thank you.’ She hesitated for a moment then stretched up on tiptoe to pop a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘You’re a very good man, Will Talbot.’

He winked. ‘That’s our secret. Take care of yourself, Phillipa.’

*

As he made his way back towards his car parked several streets away thanks to some very stringent local parking restrictions, Will couldn’t help but feel thoroughly depressed. The Cornwalls had been married for longer than he’d been alive. Had they been unhappy with each other all that time? He shook his head at the idea of it. What a bloody waste.

Thankful to be free of such emotional entanglements, although even his pretend relationship with Melody was growing tiresome, he dug his phone out and browsed for messages. The first one was from Anna to say she’d cleared his calendar for the rest of the day in case things at the Cornwalls got complicated. He couldn’t help but laugh. Complicated didn’t even come close. Beneath that were a couple of sales offers from suppliers they used which he flicked without reading into a sub-folder for future reference.

The next message was from Iggy Ludworth and he was about to drop it into his trash folder when he spotted the thumbnail images attached. Curious, he clicked on the first one and stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed by the image of the top half of a statue poking out from a massive thicket of brambles. He moved onto the next photograph showing the remains of a walled garden, the red bricks of the short walls dividing the weed-strewn beds crumbling and broken. The third image was a distance shot over a collection of overgrown box hedges; the fourth a carpet of bluebells nodding beneath the boughs of an ancient oak. His heart pounded, excitement building inside him as he flicked his thumb to the next picture, then the next. The final few were too small to properly make out any detail, but they looked to be original design sketches, the paper on which they were drawn yellowed with age. As he rolled back up through the images the tips of his fingers began to itch. He could almost feel the rich, dark soil beneath them.

A belch of hot air hit him, followed by the acrid stench of diesel fumes from a delivery van stuck in the endless queue of traffic snaking along the street beside him. Wrinkling his nose, Will moved as far to the inside of the pavement as he could then continued towards his truck. When was the last time he’d breathed a lungful of air that didn’t carry the taint of heavy traffic? Or looked up at a night’s sky not stained orange from light pollution, for that matter?

He gave his phone one last wishful glance before unlocking his door and tossing it on the passenger seat along with his backpack. What was he doing daydreaming about fresh air and starry skies when he had a successful business right here that needed all his attention? Shaking his head, he slid into his seat. Running off to Derbyshire was a mad idea. As mad as the idea that it was possible to sort out the ruined gardens of Ludworth Castle in three short months.

And Will had sworn off doing mad things, hadn’t he?