by Liz Fielding
‘Writing.’A heartfelt sigh. Adele, it seemed, was not the only person who was concerned that Ellie was wasting her life. At least he could reassure her on that score.
‘Not writing. She was drawing.’
‘Drawing?’ There was a pause. ‘Drawing what?’
‘Anything and everything. She produced dozens of sketches-things, furniture, people. A quite detailed picture of the house.’
‘Oh, well, she fell in love with your house the first time she saw it.’
‘Did she?’
Somehow, he was not surprised. That was the difference between the way it had looked when Mrs Turner worked for him and now. The fact that his mother’s precious ornaments were no longer placed in regimented rows, but in small groups. That there were flowers. That it looked like home.
It was love.
‘I found her in a bit of a state at about five o’clock this morning.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ Then, ‘How is she?’
‘Exhausted. Asleep. She made me promise to wake her in time to pick up Daisy Thomas.’
‘Right. Yes, that would have been difficult. Tell her I’ll sort out cover for the rest of her jobs. Tell her…Tell her to take the rest of the week off, will you?’
‘I’ll tell her. I can’t promise she’ll listen.’
‘Maybe if you tell her that I won’t pay her even if she does turn up, that would do it.’
‘But would she believe you?’
She laughed. ‘You’ve got her measure, Ben.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. Why don’t you drop by this evening and tell her in person? She might need someone to talk to. Someone she trusts.’
‘I’m not sure that’s me any more. She’s cut herself off in the last few months. Stopped talking about anything, even her writing.’ Then, when he didn’t respond, ‘Maybe I should have tried harder. You’re right. I’ll be there. And Ben…?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you for taking care of her.’
‘No problem.’ Then, ‘Miss Spencer…?’
‘Sue, please.’
‘Sue. Would you say it’s a good thing? That Ellie’s drawing again?’
‘It’s certainly a breakthrough.’ Then, ‘How much has she told you?’
‘About her dead husband who wanted to take the balloon ride. That she’s given up teaching to write a novel. That studying art was not the common sense option.’
‘That much?’
Her evident surprise made him feel privileged, included. ‘Was he jealous?’ he asked. ‘Of her talent?’
‘Sean? He adored her, Ben.’
‘I never doubted it.’ He’d seen the man’s smile. The eyes suggested he had everything he wanted. ‘It doesn’t answer my question, though.’
‘She adored him.’
He’d never doubted that, either, but to hear it from someone who’d known Ellie all her life, known Sean, was both a comfort and a pain.
‘Maybe that does,’ he said.
‘Ellie?’
Surfacing from the dark pit of sleep, Ellie took a moment to work out where she was. Her head hurt, her gritty eyes refused to open, just as they had morning after morning for months when every night she’d cried herself to sleep. When every morning she’d dragged herself out of bed, plastered a smile on her face and stood in front of her class, going through the motions of another day.
‘You asked me to wake you. To fetch Daisy.’
Ben!
She sat up, suddenly wide awake, remembering, groped for her alarm clock, blinking at it, trying to focus, work out which was the big hand, which the little one.
‘You’ve got plenty of time.’
‘Sue? Did you call Sue?’ She dragged her fingers through hair that was sticking up in a tangled bush, saw the state of her hands, covered with pastel colour. Swung her legs over the side of the bed, then realised that she was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of pants. Decided not to worry about it.
Ben had seen her legs before, when she was tidy. He’d managed to contain himself then, so it was unlikely he’d lose it when she looked a total mess.
‘Slow down,’ he said. ‘I’ve spoken to Sue. She said you were to take the rest of the week to recover.’
‘Recover? What on earth did you tell her?’
‘You can ask her yourself. She’d coming to see you this evening.’
‘Oh.’ She’d been avoiding Sue. She could read her too well, would know she was hiding something. ‘Now I’m really worried.’
‘Don’t be. I’ve brought you a cup of tea and some toast-’
‘I don’t have time for that,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go. You should have called me sooner. It’ll take me twenty minutes to walk-’
‘But only five minutes in the car.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t need…’ She swallowed. ‘If you’d just called me.’
‘I did. You’ve got half an hour. Take your time.’
He didn’t give her a chance to argue, but without him the room suddenly felt horribly empty. She picked up a piece of thick, buttery toast, bit into it as she walked into the bathroom, instantly lost her appetite as she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
The hair was bad, but she’d expected that. Her fingers, nails, were ingrained with colour. Not good to go to bed that way, but the sheets would wash. It was the streaks and smudges of pastel, red and green and black, across her forehead, on her cheeks, down her neck, that made her flinch. She dropped the toast into the bin, spread out her hands. Her fingers hurt, her hands ached. She remembered the wild night, how the images had poured from her. Ben prising the pastels from her fingers, helping her downstairs. After that everything was a blank.
She looked down at her legs. Just as well she hadn’t thrown a wobbly over bare legs, since he must have helped her out of her jeans before he tucked her up in bed.
She tried not to think about that and, wasting no time, stripped off the rest of her clothes and dived under the shower. It took her less than five minutes to wash her hair, scrub herself clean of the war paint.
She towelled her hair dry, dressed swiftly, and in ten minutes was downstairs, with nothing on her face but a film of moisturiser, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a neat skirt that had been part of her schoolmarm wardrobe, her damp hair screwed back in a French plait.
Ben got to his feet as she walked through the kitchen, beat her to the door.
‘Don’t disturb yourself. I’m not an invalid.’ He was blocking the door. ‘Really, Ben, I’m quite capable of walking to the nursery school.’
‘I never suggested you weren’t, but I thought we might all go straight to the garden centre, have lunch there. We could take Daisy to visit the pets and then buy some plants.’ He held up the plan she’d drawn. ‘Since you’ve done all the hard work.’ Then, ‘Of course, if you think the little girl would be happier at home-’
Ellie swallowed. She’d hoped that if she just waltzed through the kitchen with a wave he’d see that she was back to normal, let her go. Be glad to forget the fact that he’d kissed her. Wipe last night from his mind.
If only she could. Put the clock back. All she could do was put things right. But not now. This needed more than ten minutes.
‘Yes?’ he said, prompting her for an answer.
She shook her head. ‘I’d planned to make sandwiches, take her for a walk along the river, feed the ducks, buy her an ice cream.’
‘There’s no time to make sandwiches. And the ducks won’t starve.’ She looked at him. Fatal…‘The garden centre has ice cream,’ he added temptingly.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. I noticed the freezer last time we were there.’
‘I meant about spending the afternoon…’ She waited for him to take the chance to back down. When he didn’t she gave an awkward little shrug. ‘I know how busy you are.’
Busy? Ben considered the word in the context of the work he was doing. ‘The text I’m working on has been waiting for me for o
ver five thousand years. I don’t imagine one more afternoon will make much difference in the great scheme of things,’ he said.
‘If you put it like that.’
‘I do.’ And, as if the matter were settled, he stood back to let her by before opening the car door for her, waiting until she was installed in the front seat of Adele’s ancient Morris, with her seat belt safely fastened, before he added, ‘Of course I will want something in return.’
She froze. ‘Oh?’
‘Relax, Ellie, your virtue is safe. If it was your body I was after, trust me, I’d want your wholehearted co-operation.’ Then, grinning, ‘The way your cheeks get involved when you blush.’
He didn’t wait for her hot denial, but closed the door and slid in beside her, deciding that if he was going to do much of this he was going to have to buy another car.
‘You drew a picture of the house,’he said, as he fitted the key into the ignition. This time his words had the totally opposite effect. ‘You’ve seen it?’ she said, the colour draining from her face.
Damn! She thought he’d invaded her privacy, and she was right, he had…
‘I know I shouldn’t have looked through your pictures,’ he said quickly, in an attempt to forestall the anticipated eruption. ‘I just meant to pick them up, but they were so striking. They have a real leap-off-the-paper quality.’ She didn’t respond. Maybe, like him, she wasn’t able to get that last terrible image out of her mind. ‘I’ve always thought the house looked at its best with the wisteria in full bloom,’ he said, hoping to distract her.
‘Wisteria? Oh, right.’ She seemed to sag a little. ‘Last night. I drew it last night.’
What had she thought he meant? Had she drawn it before?
‘It’s no more than a scribble, Ben. You can’t possibly want it.’
‘I’m sure Picasso said that when he drew sketches on paper napkins.’
‘I’m quite sure he didn’t. He knew his worth. But in any case, I’m no Picasso.’
‘So I can have the picture?’
‘That’s all you wanted?’
That wasn’t what he’d meant, but she seemed so jumpy he didn’t tease. ‘That’s all.’ For now.
She shrugged. ‘Take it. It’s yours.’
‘Thank you.’
Normally she would have looked at him, smiled. Instead she looked at her wristwatch, despite the fact that there was a clock on the dashboard right in front of her, and said, ‘It’s time we were leaving, Ben.’
CHAPTER NINE
ELLIE expected Daisy to be shy with Ben, but he was the one who lifted her up so that she could choose her lunch. It was his hand she clung to as they looked at the rabbits. He was the one who carried her as they toured the nursery, rubbing leaves so that she could smell the different herbs. Laughing as she screwed up her face and shuddered at something she didn’t like.
‘It’s no good buying them individually, like this,’ Ellie said, taking a pot of lemon balm from Ben. ‘If you’re serious about reviving the garden as it was originally laid out, you’re going to need dozens of plants.’ He didn’t answer and she looked up. Daisy was curled trustingly in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder, and without warning she felt the prickle of tears. ‘They don’t even have everything on the list,’ she said crossly. ‘This is a waste of time.’
‘Maybe we should get in a professional?’
We? There was such temptation in the word, such promise. Such pain.
‘No!’ It wasn’t the suggestion of professional help that she was refusing. He regarded her thoughtfully, those clear blue eyes seeing far too much. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean…’ She’d never meant it to go this far. To get this complicated. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘The garden, like the house, has been neglected for years. It was my mother’s passion.’
‘Oh? Like Laura, then.’ She was gripping the plastic pot so tightly that it was in danger of cracking, and she carefully replaced it back in the display. ‘Her garden is lovely.’
‘My mother designed it, laid it out with my grandmother. Laura was still at school then.’
She frowned. ‘Your mother lived there, too?’ Then, catching on, ‘She was the girl next door?’
‘She and my father grew up together. Like you and Sean.’
She didn’t want to talk about Sean. Had been doing her best not to think about him. If she let him into her thoughts he’d know she’d kissed Ben. Had wanted him to kiss her. ‘He never considered marrying again?’ she asked. ‘Your father?’
‘It wasn’t something he ever discussed with me, Ellie. He was a very private man.’ Then, ‘I suspect Laura hoped he might, given time, notice her. She never married.’
‘Oh. Poor Laura.’
‘Life isn’t that…tidy. The truth is, he was never interested in anything very much after my mother died. He hung on until he thought I was old enough to manage without him, then he just let go.’
An aging father, a teenage girl, a small boy. ‘It must have been hard for him. For all of you.’
‘We coped. Nannies. Housekeepers. And Laura was always there.’He looked down at Daisy. ‘Are you ready for that ice cream, miss?’ She giggled, wriggled, and he set her down. ‘Go and pick out the one you want.’
‘Not a good idea. She’ll choose some brightly coloured lolly that’ll have her whizzing about like a demon.’
‘Isn’t that what kids are meant to do?’
‘Not if they’re being fuelled by chemical colourings.’
‘Spoilsport. What time do we have to get her back to her mother?’
‘She’s usually home by four. She goes to the hospital twice a week for dialysis. On Tuesday and Friday.’
‘It’s kidney failure?’He looked at Daisy and, without being told, Ellie knew that was what had taken his mother from him.
‘She’s waiting for a transplant, Ben.’
‘My father gave my mother one of his kidneys. Her body rejected it. He never talked about it. Adele told me.’
For once she didn’t know what to say. Finally managed, ‘Things are better now.’
‘Yes.’ Then he turned to her, ‘Four o’clock? Plenty of time to fit in the ducks.’
He bought them all ice lollies layered in traffic light colours of red, green and yellow. When Ellie gave him a look that suggested he’d regret it, he grinned and said, ‘I always wanted to try one of these.’
‘You are such a liar, Ben Faulkner. And, to prove it, your tongue will turn purple.’
‘That’s life with you around, Ellie March. Every day a new experience.’
Sue arrived at eight, bearing a pizza of stupendous proportions.
‘We can’t eat all this-’
‘I have only one thing to say to that,’ she replied, putting the box on the table, along with a bottle of wine. ‘Extra anchovies.’
‘But we’ll do our best.’
Sue grinned. ‘Corkscrew?’ Then, as she tackled the bottle while Ellie found some glasses, sorted out plates, ‘Actually, I bought the biggest because I thought Ben would be here.’
Actually, she’d thought he would be, too. Had planned to sit him down as soon as they’d dropped Daisy off at home, make a clean breast of things. Own up to the Milady column. Tell him that her drawing of his house was appearing on a monthly basis in the magazine.
Instead, he’d dropped her off at the gate, said he had some things to do. She suspected he just wanted to put a little distance between them after the closeness of the past twenty-four hours. Starting with that kiss…
Her lips softened, warmed at the memory, and, realising that Sue was watching her, she snapped back to now. ‘You two must have had a very cosy chat this morning,’ she said briskly.
‘Only about you. Were your ears burning?’
‘My ears, like the rest of me, were asleep.’ Then, because the idea of Sue and Ben talking about her was slightly disturbing, ‘Should I be worried?’
‘No. I was the soul of discretion.’
<
br /> ‘There’s nothing in my life to be indiscreet about.’
‘I know. You’re a real disappointment to me. But I have high hopes of Ben. The man is a dish. Bright, too. Books, papers-you name it, he’s written it.’
‘Checked him out on the university website, did you?’
‘I just have your best interests at heart.’
‘You were just being nosy.’ Then, because talking about Ben was a lot easier than facing a grilling from Sue about last night, ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense. I know there’s more.’
‘Well, obviously.’ Sue finally pulled the cork, filled two glasses. ‘The university website was fine as far as it went, but-and I did this purely in the spirit of sisterly friendship-I Googled him.’
‘You are so bad.’
Sue regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Are you telling me you were never tempted?’
‘I’m telling you I resisted.’
‘Really? That’s…telling. What were you afraid you’d find?’
Ellie refused to bite. The truth was it had never occurred to her to go snooping on the net. She knew Benedict Faulkner was a distinguished academic. His sister had told her that when she’d first started working at Wickham Lodge. She was also aware that he’d written books on his forensic examination of ancient languages. They were on his shelves. If she’d ever bothered to do the decent thing, take one out and dust it, she have seen his photograph on the cover.
‘Did you know that he led a party of refugees over the mountains to escape the fighting in Kirbeckistan?’
What? ‘He told me that a group of them had walked out.’
‘Walked? Have you seen what it’s like there? A woman who was in the party talked to one of the redtops. Obviously completely smitten, but there’s no doubt that the man is a hero.’
‘Oh, please. If you’re prepared to believe anything printed in a tabloid newspaper.’ Except, of course, she could believe it. Just as she could believe that some woman had fallen for him. What about him? Not love. He was still in love with Natasha Perfect. But in life-threatening situations people clung to each other. And he’d stayed with someone, he’d said. When he’d got home. Someone who’d taken care of him. Tended that wound.