by Helen Brooks
She glared at him.
‘OK, end of discussion.’ He smiled, reaching out and stroking one hot cheek as he said, ‘I love it that you can blush. It’s a lost art, you know. Most women are so hardboiled these days nothing bothers them.’
Most women wouldn’t run like startled rabbits if they saw a man in the nude. She took a swallow of juice because it was easier than having to think of something to say.
‘You were a great hit last night, by the way.’ He smiled over the top of his coffee cup. ‘My sisters are crazy about you.’
‘What about your mother?’ It was out before she could stop it, and something in the tone of her voice must have alerted him that all was not well.
‘Mum, too.’ The piercing blue gaze homed in on her.
‘Good.’ It was flat.
‘Really.’ He reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his lips in one of the little endearing gestures she found so special. ‘My mother likes you; you must have sensed that?’
She nodded. ‘I like her too.’
‘What is it?’ His voice was quiet, all amusement gone. ‘Was something said I don’t know about?’
She couldn’t let Jenny down. She forced a smile to her face. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said quickly. ‘Just feeling insecure being the new kid on the block, I guess.’
‘You did great,’ he said, but it was automatic. ‘Cory, you’d tell me if something was wrong? If someone’s upset you?’
How could she say that she knew she wasn’t really wanted, by his mother at least? That Margaret was destined for him? It would look as though she was criticising Catherine for a start and she wouldn’t want to do that. She didn’t blame Nick’s mother for wanting the best for her son, and Margaret, with her stunning looks and superintelligent brain, had more to offer him than she did. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She had to defuse the tension. She reached out and touched his hand. ‘I had a lovely time last night and it was great to meet everyone.’
I love you so much. I don’t want to be a ship that passed in the night in a few years.
She couldn’t bear to look at him a moment more without saying something they would both regret. She took her hand away and reached for her coffee cup instead, beginning to make light conversation about his sisters and their children. Nick fell in with her mood, making her laugh about some of the antics of the twins in particular.
After breakfast Nick loaded the dishwasher while she wiped the table in the breakfast room, and then they went for a stroll in the grounds to work off the breakfast.
The tennis court and croquet lawn were immaculate, and the trees in the small orchard were gently basking in the summer sunshine, but it was when Nick led her to the walled garden that Cory became absolutely enchanted. It was set behind the orchard and clearly very old, as the ancient walls, mellow and sun-soaked, proclaimed. Nick opened the gate which creaked as they stepped inside, and Cory just stood and stared for a moment.
The stone walls were brilliant in places with trailing bougainvillea—purple, red and white flowers all jostling for space beside the green and red of ivy. There were a host of scents in the air, a winding path meandering past squares and circles of raised flower beds, old trees, borders of hollyhocks and marigolds and secluded bowers with seats surrounded by climbing roses.
‘Nick.’ She clutched his arm as she spoke but continued to feast on the scene in front of her. ‘This is just the most perfect place in the world.’
He smiled, his voice soft as he said, ‘It was neglected and overgrown when I bought the house but still beautiful. My gardener is an old guy with a great deal of soul. He gentled it all back to perfect health by letting the garden tell him what it wanted.’
She looked at him, surprised. He’d sounded almost poetic.
He caught the look and his smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘That’s what he says, anyway. Come in and have a wander.’
The path led them past sweet-smelling shrubs and bushes specially chosen for their individual fragrances, an old statue of a little girl with a puppy at her heels cast in bronze and weathered by time, the odd fountain or two tinkling their music into ancient stone troughs and crumbling stone bird tables all bearing traces of seeds. ‘Albert loves the birds,’ Nick said as he caught her glancing at the seed.
‘I like Albert.’
The garden was an oasis of peace and tranquillity, the only sound the gentle hum of bees going about their business and the twittering of birds in the branches of some of the old trees above their heads. There were butterflies galore, bright and colourful as they fluttered from one sweet-smelling bush to another. It was a magical place. A place she’d remember all of her life.
‘I would spend hours just sitting if I owned anything like this,’ Cory said dreamily. ‘Sitting and watching and letting the garden talk to me.’
‘You’d get on like a house on fire with Albert,’ Nick said wryly. ‘He takes it as a personal insult that I don’t inhabit the place twenty-four hours a day.’
‘How often do you come in here when you’re home?’
He shrugged. ‘Not often.’ And as she continued to look at him. ‘Rarely.’
‘What a waste.’
‘Albert enjoys it.’ They had reached the gate again, having done a full circle, and now they stood together looking at the colour in front of them. ‘And I’ve been tied up with the business the last umpteen years. There hasn’t been any time for sitting and watching and listening to gardens talk.’
‘That’s a shame,’ she said quietly. ‘To work as hard as you do just for other people to enjoy what you have.’
He stared at her, clearly taken aback. ‘It won’t always be that way.’
‘When won’t it be?’ she asked directly. ‘When is enough, enough?’ And then she turned away. ‘But it’s nothing to do with me, of course.’
For a moment he didn’t speak. Then he said, ‘You of all people should understand how it’s been for me. You said yourself your career is your life and that you don’t want anything else to come before it.’
Had she said that? She supposed she had. But since she had got to know this complex individual at the side of her it had gone out of the window. There were other things which could work alongside her career, things which ultimately could come before it. In a strange sort of way she felt she had been sleeping the last twenty-five years and had only just woken up.
She kept her eyes on an exquisite red admiral butterfly sipping nectar from a profusion of scarlet and white lilytype flowers. ‘Perhaps I was wrong,’ she said softly. Perhaps she had been wrong about a lot of things. She might appear to be sure about where she was going and what she wanted from life, but the self-analysing she’d done since getting involved with Nick had shown her she was still the shy, nervous little girl who had been programmed never to reach out to anyone. And she didn’t want to live the rest of her life like that. Whatever happened between her and Nick, she didn’t want to carry on the way she had been. It was a startling bolt of self-discovery.
‘Perhaps you were.’ He touched her mouth tenderly with his finger, his voice deep and holding a note she couldn’t quite discern.
She glanced at him, her eyes narrowed against the brilliant sunlight dappling the garden as she searched his face. But before she could say anything, he turned, pulling her out of the garden and shutting the gate behind them. ‘It’s twelve o’clock,’ he said practically. ‘We’ve half an hour to get changed and make it to my mother’s.’
‘Oh, my goodness.’ She hadn’t realised how late it was; the time had flown. It always flew when she was with Nick.
But instead of rushing her off, he took her into his arms, kissing her hard until she relaxed against him. ‘I want us to talk when we get back tonight,’ he said, raising his head and stroking her mouth with his lips as he spoke. ‘We can’t go on like this. You realise that, don’t you?’
She looked back at him and her eyes were dark with the desire he had aroused, that and the slight chill sh
e’d felt at his words. Had he finally got tired of her? Had seeing Margaret made him realise he couldn’t be bothered to deal with someone who had so many hang-ups, someone who was such an emotional mess? And then she caught the thoughts. She was doing it again, she thought wretchedly, letting the anxious, uncertain little girl out of the closet. She nodded, trying to remove any trace of her fear from her voice when she said, ‘Yes, I know.’
‘Good. No argument, then?’
He hadn’t actually added—for a change—but the words hung in the air between them along with his smile. She tried to smile back but it was hard. ‘No argument,’ she said weakly.
‘You’re in danger of being reasonable. I shall have to bring you to the walled garden again if it has this effect on you.’
The mocking quality to his words was enough to clear the weepy feeling and enable her to say, half joking and half meaning it, ‘Don’t push your luck, Nick Morgan.’
‘As if. I seem to remember the last time I did that with you I nearly lost part of my face.’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t exaggerate. I had great faith in your agility.’
‘Agile I might be, but the long jump done backwards isn’t exactly my forte.’
‘Are you saying there’s something you’re not good at?’
They continued to spar on the walk back to the house, Nick’s arm round her shoulders and his hard thigh brushing hers. She wondered what he would say if she suddenly stopped and told him that she loved him, that she knew there would never be anyone else in the world for her and that he had become the centre of her universe.
Probably nothing, she answered herself wryly as they entered the house. He’d be too busy running in the opposite direction. Like Jenny had said last night, commitment wasn’t an option as far as Nick was concerned, not the for ever type anyway. Love was one thing, devotion quite another.
Once in her room, Cory changed into a sleeveless cream creêpe dress which was hand-painted with squiggles in a rich chocolate shade that matched her hair. It was the dress she’d brought with her for evenings and it was eminently suitable for a Sunday lunch at which Margaret would be present, she thought, turning this way and that in front of the mirror. Classy, understated elegance. Exactly the look she needed for today.
After making up her face very carefully to emphasise her eyes, she put her hair up in a casual knot at the back of her head, leaving a few loose tendrils about her face. Standing back, she surveyed the overall result. Cool and tasteful. She frowned. Should she had gone for warm and sexy instead? But she couldn’t compete with Margaret’s flamboyant colouring and lovely figure, which was on the voluptuous side in all the right places. This was her, Cory James. She would never be a Page Three girl.
She squared her shoulders, picking up her handbag. She glanced in the mirror one last time with the sort of look that said, once more into the breach, dear friends. Margaret—beloved god-daughter, brilliant lecturer and old flame—I’m forewarned this time. And forewarned meant forearmed.
Nick’s mother’s house turned out to be a rambling old place, beautifully furnished with some lovely antiques but the carpets were worn in places and the sofas were the type where you didn’t have to worry about dropping cake crumbs. Vibrant colours, lots of big throws, magnificent paintings on the walls—some of them Catherine’s own—and a general air of the house being a home rather than a showpiece. Nick had told her that his mother’s success with her paintings and his father’s shrewd handle on investment and financial matters meant Catherine was a very wealthy woman, but material things meant very little to her. Her dogs—seven at the last count—and cats—five—were her priority.
‘Every time there’s a dog or cat that stays at the sanctuary for a while because no one wants it, home it goes to join the crazy gang,’ Nick said, once they had patted and fussed the sea of animals about their feet on entering the house, and had managed to go through to the garden where Catherine had decided to hold a barbecue.
‘The crazy gang?’ Cory was sitting with a drink in one hand and her other in Nick’s as they swayed in a big swing seat under a shady parasol, Catherine opposite them in a garden chair. None of the others had arrived yet.
‘That’s what the children call my babies,’ Catherine said with a severe look at her son. ‘They’re not at all crazy. One or two were a little…disturbed when they came, but plenty of love and discipline in that order soon put things right.’
‘Bertie—that’s the big hearthrug,’ said Nick, pointing to a Bearded Collie lying by Catherine’s chair, ‘used to eat paper. Right, Mum? Newspapers, magazines, books, they’d all get swallowed and digested. He’d actually take a book out of the bookcase when he fancied a snack.’
‘That was because he’d been left alone from when he was a puppy and he’d developed bad habits because he was bored,’ Catherine said protectively. ‘He soon stopped that with me.’
‘That cat, there, the black one with the white paws, only walks sideways. Like a crab,’ Nick continued.
‘She was hit by a car and has got brain damage but apart from the walking she’s fine,’ Catherine said, her tone sharper.
‘And the mutt with the big grin—’ Nick pointed to a little shaggy dog that did look like it was grinning from ear to ear ‘—starts howling if it hears music. Any kind.’
‘Yes, well, I don’t know why he does that, I must admit,’ Catherine said reluctantly. ‘But I’ve got used to it now.’
‘Mother, they’re all crackers in some way or other, that’s why you’ve got them,’ Nick said with a touch of exasperation in his voice. ‘Crazy gang is kind; I can think of more appropriate names to call them. Especially him.’ He eyed a little Jack Russell with only three legs who nevertheless was as nimble as the others and who’d nearly had Nick over as they’d walked into the house, by scooting under his feet. ‘That wasn’t an accident when we first walked in, you know,’ he added to Cory. ‘That’s his party trick. He thinks it’s great fun if he can actually land you on your back.’
‘He never does it to women, though, only men,’ Catherine said defensively.
‘Great. You’re telling me he’s a gentleman now?’
‘I think they’re all lovely,’ said Cory, smiling at Nick’s mother, who smiled back. ‘And taking the ones who really need you is brilliant. It’s exactly what I’d do if I was in a position to work at home.’
‘Don’t encourage her.’ Nick frowned darkly and then, as a big fat tabby cat with one eye missing jumped on his lap and settled itself down, purring gently, he began absently to stroke the thick fur.
Cory caught Catherine’s eye and the two women exchanged a smile.
Rosie and Geoff joined them within a few minutes, their children, Robert and Caroline, politely introducing themselves to Cory before they disappeared to the end of the garden for a game of football with their father. All the dogs joined in, one or two barking frenziedly, while most of the cats retired to the fence where they sat looking down on the antics below with consummate disinterest. It was suddenly a lot noisier.
Jenny and Rod arrived next with Pears and Peach. The two small girls were identical twins and looked angelic, great big blue eyes looking out from under shiny blonde fringes and tiny rosebud mouths widening into smiles as Cory said hallo.
‘Angelic?’ Jenny snorted when Cory said what she’d thought. ‘Don’t you believe it. They’re monkeys, the pair of them. I can’t let them out of my sight for a minute.’
Within seconds the din in the garden had increased tenfold and Jenny smiled at Cory over the top of her wineglass. ‘See what I mean?’ she said resignedly. ‘They have this effect wherever they go.’
It was another half an hour before Margaret appeared, and Cory knew instantly that the other woman had timed her entrance for maximum effect, knowing everyone would be here. She looked stunning, her hour-glass figure filling out a low-cut black linen catsuit and her red hair styled in flirty fullness about her face. Red lips and talons completed the picture of a la
dy who meant business.
The men were all occupied with the barbecue and the women, having brought out the salads, french bread and all the extras, were sitting having another glass of wine when Margaret walked into the garden by way of a side gate at the end of the house.
‘Wow.’ Jenny was sitting by the side of Cory now in the swing seat, and her eyes widened. ‘Impressive. Tarty and over-the-top and totally without taste, but impressive.’
Catherine had jumped up at her god-daughter’s entrance, hurrying to meet her and then escorting her to a chair and fetching her a glass of wine. Cory schooled her face into a smile as Margaret glanced her way but then, to her shock, the other woman looked straight through her.
Whether Jenny had noticed the little exchange, Cory wasn’t sure, but Nick’s sister’s voice had a definite edge to it when she drawled, ‘Won’t you be a little warm in that today, Margaret? Black’s not ideal when it’s so hot.’
Margaret’s lovely green eyes were cold as she looked at Jenny. ‘I don’t feel the heat.’
‘Lucky old you.’ Jenny grimaced. ‘Still, I dare say Mum can find you an old cardigan or something if you start to burn.’
Margaret raised perfectly shaped eyebrows before turning and engaging Catherine in conversation, although Cory noticed the redhead’s gaze was fixed on the men at the barbecue. Or one man in particular.
The afternoon passed pleasantly enough. They all ate too much; the children wound the dogs up more and more until Catherine banished them into the house—the children that was, not the dogs—until they calmed down. They drank wine, glasses of homemade lemonade, which were absolutely delicious, talked, even dozed a little. It was relaxed and comfortable, or it would have been if Cory hadn’t been aware of every single glance Margaret sent Nick’s way. And there were plenty.
To be fair, Nick seemed quite oblivious to the other woman’s concentrated attempts to get his attention. Even when the redhead managed to brush up against him several times, ostensibly while fetching more food from the barbecue, which Nick was in charge of, he barely spoke to her. He was courteous but cool, Cory noticed. And she didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Did it speak of unfinished business? Of something bubbling away under the surface? A lover’s tiff maybe?