by Girard, Dara
“You know there are other ways to start a garden.”
He rolled onto his back and stared at her with interest. “Is that right?” He reached up and tenderly brushed his fingers against her jaw. “I’d be interested to find out.”
“You’re not too tired?”
“I’m in great shape, remember?”
Victoria opened her mouth to respond then heard the sound of a car drive up to the house.
They both sat up. Victoria stared at Robert, panicked.
“My aunt’s home.”
He swore.
They scrambled out of bed.
Robert frantically searched the room. “Where are my clothes?”
“I don’t know. I have to find mine.”
He grabbed his shirt from on top of the closet door.
“How the hell did this end up here?”
“Who cares?” She tossed his trousers at him. “Get dressed.”
He quickly buttoned his shirt. “I am.”
She wiggled into her jeans then stared at him. “Why are you taking so long?”
He shot her a glance as he slowly zipped up his trousers. “Darling, there are certain things a man learns not to rush.”
She turned away. “What are we going to say?”
He tucked his shirt into his trousers then opened the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”
Robert reached the bottom of the stairs just as Janet opened the door. She stared at- him stunned. “Mr. Braxton. What are you doing here?”
“Talking to Victoria. I discovered she was upset and thinking of leaving. I gave her a reason to stay.”
Janet looked at her niece. “I hope it was a good one.”
Victoria bit her lip unable to look at him. “Don’t worry Aunty, it was the best.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Katherine stood at the second-story window in the corridor and saw Robert coming from the carriage house. She glanced at her watch and frowned. He’d stayed there a long time. Had he given Victoria two weeks’ notice? Very likely. He was a fair sensible man. He knew she’d need time to find another place of employment. Katharine prided herself on being discreet, but was too curious not to wonder what had happened between them. She met Robert as he came through the door.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Braxton?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I know Ms. Spenser left here in a hurry.”
“She’s okay now.”
Katherine blinked in, surprise. “Does that mean she’s staying?”
“Yes.” He walked past her.
Katherine listened to his fading footsteps trying to fight a seething anger. She was staying! Victoria was cunning, but she wouldn’t succeed. She had overwhelmed Braxton and the man was too kindhearted to know that. She’d heard Victoria and Braxton talking before. Victoria obviously had impressed him with her unusual ability. But what had caught her interest was who her father was--is. Such knowledge could prove useful.
Katherine turned toward her room then saw a card on the floor below where Foster hung his jacket. She picked it up to return it then read the name. Susannah Rhodes. The reporter. Hmm. She felt her anger subside. This could prove interesting. She pushed the card into her pocket. Victoria needed to go. She was such an uncouth young woman.
Katherine wrinkled her nose in distaste. She’d once seen her covered in mud laughing with Foster and talking to the gardening crew as though she were one of them. Most of them were foreigners with few English skills. Heaven knows what she could find to say to them.
Dana had also fallen under her spell. She’d spotted Victoria teaching her a new recipe and the girl always entered the kitchen with awe, as though she’d never seen it before. But what really concerned her was Amanda. Amanda thought Victoria was wonderful and blew into her flute determined to one day play exactly like her. Katherine doubted her mother would approve of Amanda having such a role model.
She certainly didn’t. Victoria had ambitions. Her kind usually did and Katherine knew Victoria was not good for Mr. Braxton. Since he didn’t know that, she would have to show him. Katherine went into her room and closed the door. She picked up the phone. When Susannah answered, Katherine said, “I think I’ve got an interesting story for you.”
* * *
“Come on,” Janet urged the next morning. “Why are you taking so long?”
Victoria sat at the breakfast table paralyzed. She’d never felt so alive, so refreshed. She’d slept so soundly. Yet how could she see him again after last night? How could she pretend that everything was the same? That he had not held her in his arms, that she had not invited him inside her? She took a deep breath. She would have to. She had to face him as her employer, Mr. Braxton, and nothing else. She had to remember who she was—who he was.
“Victoria!”
She leapt to her feet “Yes, Aunty, I’m coming.”
A wave of relief mingled with disappointment when she learned Braxton had left early. Delight replaced her disappointment when she saw the look of shock on Patrice’s face at breakfast.
Patrice dropped her fork, causing scrambled eggs to fall in her lap and gaped at her.”What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“You would think the uniform made it obvious,” Victoria said.
She glared at her, determined to make Victoria’s days as miserable as possible. She piled up her hamper with clothes, both dirty and clean; demanded that each side order be put on a separate plate; and had her polish her shoes—twice. Victoria worked as if Patrice were the most generous and pleasing guest she’d ever encountered.
Complimenting her on her clothes, her sense of style, and praising her kindness. This only irritated Patrice even more, so she sought to anger Victoria by attacking her vanity.
“You know you really should do something with your hair,” she said, watching Victoria clear the dinner plates. She lit a cigarette and took a drag. She exhaled and watched the smoke drift up to the ceiling. “You have so much of it and it really doesn’t do much for you. Your face isn’t pretty enough to carry it off. Since you’re so big, you end up looking like a mushroom.” Patrice watched her out of the corner of her eye. Victoria appeared unaffected, so she continued. “I would suggest my hairstylist, but you wouldn’t be able to afford it.” She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray. “I’m going to get rid of my wardrobe. Everything in it bores me. I’ve already had it for a year. I’m thinking of donating it. My mother can’t believe how generous I am, but I love giving to charity.” She pointed the cigarette at Victoria. “I would give some of my dresses to you, but unfortunately you don’t have the figure. I have this gorgeous silk dress, but you wouldn’t be able to fit it.”
“Yes, pity. I would have been able to fit it when I was twelve.”
Patrice narrowed her eyes. “There’s no need to be jealous.”
“I’m not.”
She walked up to her and poked her in the shoulder. “You’d better be careful. Family means everything to Uncle Robert. I don’t know what you did to persuade him to let you stay, but let me tell you, he can get that on a street corner.”
Victoria lifted a knife and let it glint wickedly in the light. “You can also find dead bodies there, so don’t tempt me.”
She backed away. “You’re crazy.”
Victoria ran her thumb over the edge of the blade. “Yes, I’ve been accused of that before.”
Patrice raced out of the room.
Victoria found solace outside. She loved getting out of the house to work in the garden with Foster. She also learned the names of other members of the garden crew that showed up once a week to maintain the lawn. She enjoyed listening to Foster sing his bawdy lyrics off key, and took the opportunity to bask in the still day with the sun’s warmth coating her skin.
What truly excited her was the challenge of saving the garden. She imagined that they were two doctors working to save the life of a patient with a rare disease. They poured over books, asked different nurseries for advice,
and went online to find the cause and a possible cure. Unfortunately, despite all their efforts, their patient continued to die. Each treatment became more expensive and time was running out with the contest only a month away.
Victoria thought the treatments were useless, giving the promise of miracles in long, foreign words, but only succeeding in disappointing them. She kept her thoughts to herself; not wanting to cause any more trouble with Braxton because many of the suggested treatments had come from him. She did try to convince Foster of her idea, but he wouldn’t do anything without Braxton’s say so.
Victoria fought feelings of frustration. She wanted to be a dutiful employee, but the task was becoming difficult; however, she continued to say nothing and did as she was told. As Foster grew more depressed, she worried that this set back might send him into a bar and into the waiting arms of a beer that would calm all the sorrow of losing his beautiful garden.
She had to do something to end the devastation of the garden and to revive Foster’s hope. After a night of endless pacing and weighing all the pros and cons, she decided it was time to share her idea. It had been two days since she’d seen Braxton. She had to face that what had happened between them meant nothing. She had taken that risk and would have to deal with the consequences.
* * *
There was no reply when she knocked on his study door. She chewed her lower lip, knowing she still had the chance to turn back: But she opened it and peeked inside. Braxton was asleep at his desk, resting his head on his arms. Papers lay scattered around him, a mug of coffee sat near his elbow and a large volume sat open, hanging precariously off the desk.
Her heart shifted and she made a move to go to him then stopped herself Benjamin lifted his head and wagged his tail. She raised her hand to knock then changed her mind and started to close the door.
“It’s still dying, isn’t it?” he asked in a muffled voice. She wanted to lie and tell him that the garden was slowly responding to the treatments. She would have done anything to have it be true. But he had only to look outside and see that the garden was a disaster. She walked in and closed the door. “Yes, it is.”
Robert didn’t raise his head. “The man at the State Department of Agriculture Horticulture division said, if the treatment they recommended did not work, there was only one thing to do.”
Victoria took a seat, clasping her hands together. She squelched the hurt she felt that he wouldn’t look at her. She would be as distance as he was. At least something could be done with the garden. The garden. She had to focus on the garden. “What is it?”
He paused. “We have to dig up all the plants.”
“Dig up all the plants?” her voice cracked in disbelief.
“That’s right. And create a new irrigation system, possibly import new soil.”
“That is utter nonsense!”
He raised his head and stared at her, interest entering his sleepy gaze. “You have a better idea?” he asked doubtful.
She straightened. “Yes. I can solve this problem without doing that.”
He rested his cheek against his hand, resigned. “How?”
She told him the solution.
He stared at her for a moment, considered her statement then burst into laughter.
“It will work,” she said, stung by his laughter.” You’ve already spent too much money and we’ve wasted enough time.”
He sobered, but his eyes danced. “And you think a bunch of herbs and water will do the job scientifically tested pesticides couldn’t do?”
“Yes.”
“And if that doesn’t work, what are we going to use? Pixie dust?” He laughed again.
She frowned. “I’m serious.”
He rubbed a smile from his mouth. “So am I. I have some strange exotic insect that is feasting on my plants and you think a couple of herbs boiled in water will solve all my problems. Should I ask what type of cauldron you’re planning to use?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m wondering how you plan to prepare your magic potion.”
“It’s not a magic potion. I don’t understand what you find so unbelievable about my suggestion. Nature has its own defenses, but we usually forget about them. Most medicines are made out of herbs. Why are you so skeptical?”
“Because I don’t understand it. I like things to have solutions that follow a logical direction. If you have aphids you spray them with insectidal soap. If you have caterpillars you cut down and burn the webs. If you have, a fireblight infestation, you prune out, destroy infected stems, and spray with bactericide. Simple cause, simple solution.”
“This solution is simple. I just need—”
Robert waved his hand. “Please don’t explain it, it won’t make sense to me anyway.”
“So will you let me try?”
He shrugged impatiently. “Fine. Go ahead. If we even place in this contest, I’ll walk around with a rose in my teeth.”
“You won’t regret it.” She stood.
He rested his head back down. “That has yet to be seen.”
Victoria reached out to touch his hair then jerked her head back. He’d made no gesture that anything had changed between them. She had to remember that. She wasn’t important to him. Her heart twisted with pain then she straightened. She had no room for self-pity. It was okay. She’d taken a risk and didn’t regret it. She would think about the garden. Only about the garden. That sad, dying garden. She turned to the door.
He spoke again before she opened it. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said without inflection.
“It’s been a week, hasn’t it?”
“A week since what?”
He winced. “Ouch. You really know how to wound a man’s ego.”
“Oh that. Only a couple days ago.”
“Really?” He lifted his head and yawned. “Seems longer. My bed is just not the same anymore. I actually entertained the thought of kidnapping you.”
She smiled.
“I’m not trying to be funny. I haven’t been able to sleep.”
Her smile fell. She’d been sleeping perfectly. The best she had in a long time. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t sleep.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no.”
“Oh no what?”
Had she somehow projected her feelings to him? That was impossible. She fell into a chair and searched for words. “Just...uh...that’s not good.”
“Yes, I know. The warehouse case has reached a dead end and I have two accidental fires that may not be accidental. I have this sense that something’s wrong. That old woman’s death bothers me. Why are you looking at me like that?”
She shrugged attempting to look innocent. “Like what?”
“As though I have a fatal disease. I have had sleepless nights before.”
“Of course you have.” He looked exhausted. She hoped it wasn’t her fault. “Besides not sleeping is everything else fine? Are you sure you’re all right?”
He was silent so long she wasn’t sure he would answer her. “I just came back from taking Nicholas and Patrice out.”
“I see.”
“You’ll be happy to know that after a rather long discussion, Patrice has decided to leave.”
She tightened her fists to keep from jumping for joy. “Oh.”
He glanced at his watch. “I have about a day before the phone starts ringing and my brother asks me what I did to upset his little girl. That would be my eldest brother, Timothy, the lawyer who can badger anyone until they wished they were in a coma. Patrice is DLG.”
“DLG?”
“Daddy’s Little Girl. He will find it upsetting that she’s decided to leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
He sent her a wicked glance, knowing she wasn’t sorry at all. “Sure you are.” He pushed his chair from the desk and held out his hand. The look he sent her told her she’d been wrong. Things had changed between them.
“Come here, Victoria.”
She jumped up and stood behind the chair. “I can’t, Mr. Braxton.”
“Robert,” he said. “Just for a minute.”
She gripped the chair. “I can’t.” Not until she could figure out what was wrong with him.
He frowned and came from behind his desk. “Why not?”
She backed away. “I have to go.”
He reached for her. “All I wanted—”
She slipped out of his grasp and opened the door. “I have to go.”
Victoria raced down the hall. When she saw her aunt, she grabbed her aunt’s shoulders and said in a rush, “I’ve done something awful.”
“What?”
She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell her that she’d slept with her boss and somehow transferred her feelings to him. She chewed her lower lip. What if it wasn’t that? What if he was somehow able to read her emotions? She released her aunt and held out her palms. “Let me tell you a story.”
Janet waved her away. “I don’t have time for stories.”
“It’s a quick one.”
“Not even a quick one.” She pushed past her.
Victoria stood in the hall defeated. The only thing she could do was stay away from him for a while. That might help. She would focus on the garden until she got her emotions under control. Yes, that would be a soothing, calm activity. Now that Patrice was gone she could focus.
* * *
“You look like hell,” Grant said as he and Robert stood in the backyard of the burned woman’s residence.
“Thank you.” Robert scratched his chin. “This case is driving me crazy.”
“It was an electrical fire. What’s the problem?”
“Victoria said it was arson.”
Grant stared at him surprised. “You believe her now?”
“Yes.”
“Great. How did she say it started?”
“Electrical.”
Grant began to speak, stopped, shook his head then said, “So what’s the problem? Unless she can tell us something that hints at arson, we can’t say it was arson. Did she see how he did it?”
“No. But she felt the woman’s pain.”
“It’s a tragedy, but it’s an old house. At least it was. The woman didn’t regularly check her fire alarm like most people so—”