by Liz Fielding
She felt a surge of jealousy so overpowering that for a moment she couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear. Just clenched her fists, closed her eyes.
‘Ellie?’
She started. Realised that Sue was looking at her a little oddly.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine. Still a bit tired. Sorry, what were you saying?’
‘Nothing. Just wondering why you’re still here, that’s all. As a house-sitter you must be redundant.’
‘Ben will be going away again soon. It made sense for me to stay.’ She pushed back a trailing wisp of hair. ‘It’s a huge house. We hardly ever see one another.’
‘You get close enough to talk. And don’t think of denying it.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ she protested, wondering what on earth Ben had said, stuffing pizza into her mouth to give herself thinking time. ‘You know me,’ she said, when she’d managed to swallow it, then taken a sip of wine. ‘I never did know when to shut up, and he always seems to catch me with my guard down.’
‘Well, that’s promising. How far down?’
Further down than she’d ever imagined. He’d kissed her…Then, realising that Sue was regarding her through suspiciously narrowed eyes, she snatched her hand away from her mouth.
‘I hurt my knee,’ she said. ‘He gave me a lift, that’s all.’ Then, because the one way to distract Sue was to make her laugh, she shrugged and said, ‘Well, apart from the compost.’
‘The compost?’ she repeated.
‘And the rabbit. And the herb garden.’
‘Rabbit!’
She pretended to bang the side of her head. ‘There seems to be an echo in here.’
‘Very funny. Okay. Back up. Start at the beginning.’
Success…
‘Where to? The lift? It was nothing.’ Almost nothing. ‘Ben startled me, I fell off a ladder, fortunately I landed on him.’ She described the scene, the interesting exchange of views.
By the time she got to the part where Ben’s spectacles had fallen to bits in her hand, Sue was practically crying with laughter.
‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ she declared.
‘It’s true! Every word.’ Well, nearly every word. But why spoil a good story by sticking to the truth? ‘Anyway, having maimed me, he had no choice but to strap me up and drive me to the Chamber of Commerce reception.’
‘And then you talked?’
‘You know how it is,’ she said. ‘You sit there with your trousers round your ankles while someone straps an ice bandage around your knee. You have to say something, and “ouch” gets a bit monotonous.’ Uh-oh. That was the trouble with storytelling. Knowing when to stop…‘He didn’t think I should go,’ she said. ‘To the Chamber of Commerce.’
‘He was right.’ Sue clearly wanted to ask about the trousers-round-the-ankles scenario, but surprisingly let it go. ‘Tell me about the rabbit,’ she said.
‘Roger? Oh, well, I needed some compost for the ferns…’ Sue looked as if she was about to interrupt, decided against it ‘…and Ben took me to the garden centre because obviously I couldn’t fetch it on my bike.’
‘Obviously.’
‘And while I was there I went to look at the rabbits. Do you remember them, Sue?’
‘I remember you wanting one and your mum having none of it.’
‘Mmm. Well, there was this little black one.’
‘And you bought it?’
‘Roger. And Nigel. He’s a guinea pig. Ben built them a run.’
‘That’s quite a conversation you’ve had. He seems a very indulgent…’ She paused. ‘Not landlord. What is he, exactly?’
‘House-mate?’ Ellie offered. ‘And, yes, I suppose he is. He even ate my cooking.’
‘You cooked for him?’
‘No!’ She laughed. Ha, ha, ha…‘Not for him.’
Sue’s surprise was understandable. She had never even cooked for Sean. But then he’d been so much better at it than she was.
‘I just needed someone to taste what I’d cooked.’ And somehow, despite her determination not to tell, the entire story just spilled out. Milady. The column. Lady Gabriella…
‘Wait! Wait!’ Sue said, her eyes widening with horrified fascination-and entirely missing the impressive point that Ellie was now a columnist for a national magazine. ‘You not only somehow convinced this Cochrane woman that you’re “Lady Gabriella March…”’ she punctuated the air with quote marks ‘…but that you have three children? How old are they?’
‘Well, Oliver is eight. He’s really musical. Sings in the choir. Sasha is six and pony mad. Chloe is just a toddler.’In the face of Sue’s open-mouthed disbelief, she said, ‘Stacey loaned me one of her suits. I looked older.’
‘Even so, you’d have had to have been married at eighteen with a honeymoon baby.’ Then, perhaps remembering that that had been her dream, Sue said, ‘So, does the heroic Ben know he’s playing the role of the fictitious Sir Benedict Faulkner?’
‘No! I mean he’s not.’ Sue didn’t look convinced. ‘Honestly. This started before Ben came home.’ Then she’d written about him building the rabbit pen…‘Besides,’ she said, ‘my title is a courtesy one.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘That it’s mine, nothing to do with the fictitious husband.’ Sue still looked blank. ‘That my father is an earl or something?’ she offered.
‘You are in so much trouble, Ellie March,’ Sue said, grinning as she cut them both another slice of pizza, sucked the juices off her thumb. ‘No wonder you’re having trouble sleeping.’
‘It was just one night.’ Then, ‘What did Ben say? This morning.’
‘Just that you’d had a sleepless night.’ She smiled. ‘He was such a gentleman. When he realised he might have given entirely the wrong impression, he went to great pains to make sure I didn’t think that it was the result of a night on the tiles.’
‘As if.’
‘Well, indeed. The thought never crossed my mind which, when you think about it, is pretty sad. We haven’t got a life between us. Not a real one, anyway.’ She chewed meditatively on her pizza for a moment, then said, ‘He did ask me about Sean.’
‘Oh?’ Ellie couldn’t quite place the feeling that clenched at her stomach. A frisson of satisfaction that he was interested enough to want to know about the man she’d loved? Or was it nothing more than irritation that he should go behind her back and pry? Or both? ‘What, exactly, did he want to know?’
‘If Sean was jealous of your talent.’
‘What?’ All afternoon she’d been racked with guilt. Now she discovered that he’d been maligning Sean. ‘That’s outrageous!’
‘Uh-oh. Big mouth, large foot…’ Sue picked up the bottle, topped up both of their glasses. ‘If it’s any help, sweetie, I’m sure he was just concerned about you. He’d seen your drawings,’ she pointed out, as if that was enough. ‘Let’s face it, none of us understood why you chose English over Art.’
‘It wasn’t complicated. I just wanted an ordinary life, Sue. I wanted to be married to Sean. To have children.’
‘You could have taught art.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t.’
And because she didn’t want to think about it any more, and because she knew it would divert Sue as nothing else could, she said, ‘Ben has invited me to go with him to a family wedding on Saturday.’
‘Oh?’
‘Only because he doesn’t want people to think he’s a sad bastard who hasn’t got a girl. Or a closet gay.’
‘He’s not, is he?’
‘No!’ Then, when Sue smiled, wished she hadn’t been quite so emphatic. ‘He’s definitely not a bastard. His parents were childhood sweethearts.’
‘It’s not as rare as you’d think, then? So, who are you going as? Ellie March or Lady Gabriella?’
‘Myself,’ she replied.
‘You’ll be wearing a pair of extra fine Marigolds and a Busy Bees sweatshirt, then?’
Ellie stowed a new
pair of the bright yellow rubber gloves she wore to protect her hands in her backpack. It would serve Ben right if she did appear on Saturday morning wearing them, and her Busy Bees sweatshirt.
Sean. Jealous.
Obviously that was what everyone thought, she realised as she fetched her bike from the shed. Sue hadn’t said as much, but it had been there, in her voice. In everything she hadn’t said.
She’d just mounted her bike when a pick-up truck reversed through the gates and began backing up towards the kitchen garden, forcing her to swerve.
‘Hey!’ she said. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
The driver stopped alongside her, grinned. ‘We’re doing some clearance work for Ben.’ Then, ‘You must be Ellie. Any chance of a cup of tea before we start?’
‘I couldn’t say. Why don’t you wake Ben and ask him?’
She didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t even know if Ben was home. She didn’t stop to find out. He’d organised the clearance squad, he could give them tea and biscuits. She rode on, ignoring the whistle of appreciation that followed her.
‘Moron,’ she muttered.
Clearance work?
Was that where he’d gone yesterday after he’d dropped her? To organise some heavy labour? He really meant to go ahead with the herb garden?
All through an unusually long day, catching up with some of the people she’d missed the day before, after Ellie had convinced Sue she was fit enough to work, her head wouldn’t let it go.
She’d already decided not to continue the column after the six-month initial contract. She already felt bad enough about it. But telling Sue had somehow made it all much more real. Much more dangerous. Much less a triumph.
She still had three to write, however, and she’d already mentioned the overgrown herb garden. Restoring it would offer something less personal to write about, and finishing with the completed garden would round things off. Make a suitable ending.
By the time she got home, just after four, the pick-up had gone, and she went straight to the kitchen garden to see what they’d done. Ben was there, tending to the dying remains of a bonfire at one end of the plot. At the far end, hundreds of young plants in trays had been laid out, waiting to be planted.
‘When you make your mind up to do something, Doc,’ she said, feeling oddly defensive, ‘you don’t hang about, do you?’
‘Laura found me someone who could clear the ground quickly. And a nursery for the herbs.’
‘That’s where you were yesterday evening?’
She half expected him to ask her about the Milady column. Instead he grinned, said, ‘You missed me?’
Laura hadn’t told…
‘Sue missed you. She wanted to see if you lived up to your internet billing.’ Then, before he could comment, ‘You’re going to be busy.’
‘This was your idea, Ellie. I’m relying on you to pitch in and help.’
‘Me? I know nothing about gardening.’
‘Neither do I, but how hard can it be? You make a hole, drop in a plant.’
‘There’s got to be more to it than that.’
‘I suspect you’re right, but it’s a beginning. There’s something in the potting shed that might help.’
‘Alan Titchmarsh? Gift-wrapped?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Cuddly, good-looking, the country’s favourite television gardener?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Not the entire Ground Force team? Tell me it’s the Ground Force garden makeover team?’
‘Gift-wrapped is all I can offer. As for the rest, it’s just you and me,’ he said, sticking the fork he was holding into the ground.
The box lying on the bench in the potting shed was indeed gift-wrapped. It wasn’t very big, but the red bow more than made up for that. She tugged on the ribbon, lifted the lid to reveal the stainless steel trowel she’d been looking at on their first visit to the garden centre. She picked it up, felt the weight of it, the smoothness of the polished wooden handle. It was a fine tool.
The perfect gift.
The promise of partnership, of working together, being together. The promise of her future here, in his house.
She turned, knowing that he’d followed her, was standing in the doorway. ‘It’s beautiful, Ben. Thank you.’ And without actually meaning to, or knowing how it had happened, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.
It was a spontaneous, over-in-a-second, thank-you kiss. No one could have mistaken it for anything else. But he’d caught her as she’d flung herself at him. His strong hands were holding her just above the waist, and as she drew back he didn’t let her go.
There was a streak of wood ash across his cheek, and she touched it, silky smooth against the stubble of his beard. Laid her hand against his cheek.
There was a stillness about him that seemed to spread to the air around them, and the world, a moment before filled with small noises-a blackbird pinking with annoyance at some disturbance, a car door banging, the steady humming of a lawnmower-was silent.
The only thing she could see was the small fan of lines that radiated from the corner of his eye. Not a smile, but the promise of one. The incredible blue of a gaze that seemed to see, to know everything that she was thinking. No, not thinking, feeling.
Take the balloon ride, Ellie…
The words seemed to come from inside her head, but it was Sean’s voice she heard, and her eyes were prickling with tears as she kissed Ben Faulkner again, not impulsively, not an over-in-a-second peck, but slowly, thoughtfully, in a lingering touch of her lips to his.
Someone sighed, it might have been her, and Ben drew her closer, wrapping her in the elemental scents of woodsmoke, clean sweat, hard physical work, deepening the kiss to something that had nothing of the boy-next-door about it, but with something raw and powerful that seeped through every part of her body, firing up damped-down desires, melting her bones, licking over her thighs so that her legs buckled, weak with need.
He caught her close as she dissolved against him, held her so that she could feel his own powerful response, while his other hand gently touched her cheek with dry, garden-roughened fingers, before sliding through her hair. He cradled her head in his palm as she responded to this purely physical raid on her senses, tightening her arms about his neck, opening up to the silk of his tongue, answering him with everything in her that was female, intuitive.
She dropped the trowel as he backed her against the bench, pushed up the T-shirt she was wearing, lowered his mouth to her navel, curling his tongue around the ring she wore there.
‘Ben!’
He looked up at her. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you.’
‘Oh.’ She felt a bit giddy. ‘Does it, um, live up to expectations?’
‘I’ll have to try it again to be sure…’
Yes! She was shivery, giddy, first warm, then cold, as his mouth trailed moist kisses over her belly, pushing her T-shirt further as he advanced on her breasts, sucked in a nipple over the thin lace of her bra.
She held in her breath as hot, urgent waves of pure pleasure spread in widening circles from the epicentre of his touch, stoking a hunger, firing a need so strong that it blocked out every thought, everything but this moment, now. Then he touched her, and she was flying, no hot air involved…
‘Ben…’ She murmured his name.
‘Ben.’
There was a sharper echo…
Or maybe not. The voice was not hers, and Ben had stilled. Without a word, he straightened, tugged her T-shirt back to respectability, never once taking his eyes off her.
‘Basic Gardening, Lesson One, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Always lock the potting shed door…’ Only then did he turn and say, ‘Hello, Natasha.’
CHAPTER TEN
A MOMENT before Ellie had been feeling elemental, powerful, the earth mother being worshipped by man.
All she felt now, in the presence of this tall, slender designer-wrapped snow queen, was pathetic, grubby, easy…
She couldn’t bear to look at either
of them and, not knowing what to say, where to put her eyes, she seized on the first thing she saw. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Doc,’ she said, picking up the trowel. ‘Holes to dig…’ maybe she could dig one big enough to hide herself in ‘…herbs to plant.’
‘Ellie, wait.’ Ben made to follow her. Natasha stopped him with a touch of her white hand, with its perfectly French polished nails, to his arm.
‘Leave the poor girl, Ben.’ Then, with a soft laugh, ‘Really, you are in a bad way if you’re knocking off the help in the garden shed. My rescue mission is long overdue.’
Ellie didn’t blush. This kind of embarrassment was beyond blushing. She didn’t hang around to hear what Ben had to say, either. She needed to take out her feelings on something right now, and innocent soil would feel no pain.
If she kept moving, didn’t stop to think, maybe she’d manage to keep one step ahead of it. That was the answer. Grab for life, hold on to it. Keep moving. Don’t stop to look back…
She blinked, brushed something from her cheek. Shooed away Millie, who was nibbling at one of the plants with a look of ecstasy on her face. Grabbed a tray of plants.
Lemon balm.
She didn’t have to look at the label. As she brushed against a leaf the scent rose, clean and fresh, bringing back that moment in the nursery.
It had been some kind of a turning point for her. The day, so dark and full of bad memories, had turned on that moment, become a day of sunshine and promise…
She dashed away another tear that had escaped. She didn’t cry. Wouldn’t cry. Tears were useless, pointless, and blinking furiously, biting down on her teeth until she thought they might break, she looked around. She’d planned the layout of the garden, knew where everything would go.
She was halfway through filling the square with the lemon balm when Ben joined her. He didn’t say anything. He just picked up a box hedge plant, jabbed an old trowel into the soil with more force than was strictly necessary, scooped out a hole, stuck it in, firmed it down. Repeated the action over and over, completing the edge while she filled in the middle, until the square was complete.
‘What’s next?’ he asked.