But that would be too much too soon—for both of them.
Instead he pressed his chin onto her shoulder in silence and pulled her a little tighter towards him in the circle of his arms, savouring the feeling of her warm cheek against the side of his face, waiting for her to say something—anything—but not wanting to break this bond which connected them by something as powerful as words.
Her chest rose and fell several times before he sensed the tension ease away from her shoulders. His reward came as she relaxed back just a fraction of an inch farther into his arms, as though she was willing him to take her weight.
And his heart sang. For one precious moment he allowed a tiny, small and oh, so precious bubble of something other people would call happiness to burst into existence and he sucked in a breath of shock and surprise and delight.
Sara instantly stiffened and clasped onto his hands, drawing them away from her waist so they could rest lightly on her hips.
Leo stepped back just far enough to allow some space between them so that she could turn and face him.
The palms of her hands pressed gently onto the front of his shirt and her heartbeat increased and was so loud he could almost hear it. Every instinct in his body was screaming that this was right, but she had still not raised her head.
She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. His hand lifted so that he could caress the back of her head, making him tremble at the intensity of the waves of delicious sensation at the ends of his fingers.
His voice was low and so close to her ear that it was more of a whisper. ‘I understand why you don’t want to use her name,’ he said. ‘Better than you can imagine.’
‘How can you possibly understand?’ she answered, her words muffled into his chest. ‘You are part of the Rizzi family. You have everything you could possibly want in life.’
His hand slid down her back from her hairline and he could almost feel the mental and physical barriers coming down between them as he pulled back and lifted her chin so that he could look at her.
And what he saw in those green-and-gold eyes made the breath catch in his throat. The intensity. The confusion. The regret. It was all there.
The only thing this woman deserved was the truth.
‘I understand you because my mother gave up a life of luxury and privilege to be with the man she loved. Her own family disowned her for choosing my father over them, but she did not regret it for one minute. That’s why I understand why you admire your grandmother so very much.’
Leo’s fingers caressed the back of her head as she gasped in astonishment, her eyes locked onto his.
‘And that is why I am going to help you honour her memory in any way I can,’ he said, smiling.
‘What do you mean?’ she breathed, her eyes wide and her skin flushed. ‘Honour her memory?’
‘From what you’ve told me, your orchid houses are a living memory to everything she created here and the deep love she felt for this place. And that is too special to let go. Am I right?’
‘Yes, of course. They are her orchids! I am simply carrying on the work she started and trying to repay all of the love she gave me over the years at the same time. And yes, she did love this place. And so do I.’
Leo slowly and gently slid his hands down her arms in wide slow circles, and watched her sigh of pleasure as he did so.
‘Then we had better get back to work. Although I do have one more question before we get started. How do you hunt orchids?’
‘You hunt them in the wild, of course,’ she replied with a laugh and started waving her arms around. ‘The craze for orchids started in the early eighteen-hundreds and reached its peak with the Victorians and Edwardians. Everyone simply had to have exotic orchids in their greenhouses to keep up with the fashion—it was a mad and exciting time. Explorers were sent all over the world to collect hundreds of species of orchids of every possible size and shape and colour and it was dangerous work.’
Sara paused for a second and pointed to a sepia print on the wall of a fine-looking man with a handlebar moustache who was standing with his arms folded and wearing a stiff-looking tweed suit. ‘Alfred Fenchurch almost died of yellow fever and got caught up in a revolution, but on top of that there were all kinds of other tropical diseases, wild animals, fierce tribes and natural disasters. Travelling in Central America or Papua New Guinea at the turn of the century was no joke.’
She slipped away from him just enough to turn the kettle on and Leo mourned the loss of that deep connection that he had not even realised was there until she moved out of the comfort of his arms.
‘The Fenchurch family caught orchid fever and it has been in the blood ever since. Would you like to see some photographs of the house in its heyday?’
Sara swept past him and practically skipped across the small room, energised and excited, and more animated than Leo had seen her since the party. He could only look on in wonder as she rummaged around at the bottom of the dresser and pulled out a large hat box wrapped with string.
In an instant she had swept her bundles of finance papers to one side to create a space on the table with a lot more enthusiasm than she had for doing filing and admin, and Leo watched in amazement as the hat box sprang open like a children’s toy and bundles of photographs and documents tied with ribbon and, in some cases, garden twine, cascaded out across the desk.
All he could do was sigh and shake his head. These old sepia prints, faded in places and torn in others, were obviously of great historical value—and here they were, all stuffed in a flimsy hat box with broken sides in a draughty kitchen which was filled with steam one minute and heat from the oven the next.
Did Sara not realise how very precious these family memories were?
His own mother had brought very few photographs of her Rizzi family with her when she had eloped to marry his father in secret, and he had no true sense of the heritage she had left behind apart from the stories and newspaper clippings she’d kept in an album at the bottom of her wardrobe.
He would have loved this kind of treasure trove to delve into and explore his past as a boy, but that was impossible. His aunt had answered many of his questions following his parents’ death, but it was not the same as sitting on a bed with his mother as she pointed to the faces of her family in newspapers and magazines.
Perhaps that was why he simply grinned and dived into the box so that he could share Sara’s simple joy and excitement and enthusiasm at the mere sight of these photographs. She passed him image after image, explaining who each person was and what they were doing in their tropical costumes and exotic settings. But, just as she passed him a photograph of her great-great-grandfather, he noticed a folded piece of chart paper tucked down the side of the hat box.
‘Is that a map of their adventures?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no,’ Sara replied and drew out the page and quickly unfolded it. ‘This was one of the original designs of the tropical glasshouses. That was when there was real money in the family—’ she laughed ‘—and they could afford to hire one of the most famous garden designers in Britain to create something very special to house the orchids. Back then, there were hundreds of plants from all over the world with a full-time staff to look after them.’
‘May I?’ he asked. ‘I’ve always loved architectural designs.’
Beautiful calligraphy ran down the side of the page and Leo smiled in delight at the stunning pristine craftsmanship of the hand drawn plans dated over a hundred years ago. They were some of the most beautiful architectural designs he had ever seen, and he instantly recognised the name of the designer.
‘This is amazing,’ he whispered breathlessly, aware that Sara was sitting so close to him that the side of her body was pressed tight against his as they looked at the chart together. ‘Were these glasshouses ever made?’
‘The money ran out,’ she said with a tut. ‘The two Victorian glasshouses I use for my orchids were based on a smaller version of the plan, but of course this was only one part of a much
greater design. The other evening on the terrace I was telling you about the wonderful gardens that used to be here when my grandmother was a girl. The orangery and main conservatory were still in place then and they must have been quite magnificent.’
‘What happened to them? Were they damaged or destroyed?’
‘My great-grandmother sold them after the war when times were hard. She was a widow on her own and she couldn’t afford the staff to run them. There are a few photographs in the stack here if you’d like to look at them.’
Leo watched in delight as Sara drew out photographs, then more photographs of her family and their servants standing in front of beautiful ornate glass structures next to the house he knew as Kingsmede Manor Hotel. And, as she did so, the first glimmer of an idea flitted through his mind. An idea for something so remarkable and grand that it startled him by the sheer exuberant ambition of it.
What if he could convince his aunt to invest in restoring the gardens?
He had been looking for something unique which would distinguish this hotel from all the other country hotels in the area—something which would attract new guests with different interests. Perhaps Sara Fenchurch had just given him something to work on? And it could just save her business at the same time.
It was incredibly frustrating that he could not share his ideas with her without giving away his aunt’s secret but he would not raise her hopes until he had something more tangible. Then he would tell her everything. But in the meantime he needed to gather together all of the information she had.
Drat. There went another one of those bubbles of happiness again. This was starting to become habit-forming and it only happened when he was around Sara. Strange, that.
‘Sara, this design is fantastic. I would love to see everything you have on the original plans for the garden design and glasshouses of the Manor. Will you help me?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
NORMALLY, at six-thirty on a Tuesday morning, Leo was in the gym of the stunning London hotel which he had chosen to make his home. It was convenient, warm and he could sneak back to his room in the private elevator, knowing that a delicious breakfast would be served at his convenience.
Kingsmede Manor had proved deficient on both counts. No gym and no room service at that time in the morning unless he wanted a stale roll and coffee.
There were compensations, of course. Starting with the fact that he was alone on a sunny morning and was about to spend some of the day with one of the most intriguing and remarkable people he had met for a long time, and who was probably stamping her foot at that very moment and wondering where on earth he had got to.
Sara had promised to show him some of the local area from the passenger seat of her delivery van while he took her through a few ideas for the business.
She would be driving.
He could hardly wait.
He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and marched down the patio steps and in minutes was across the lane and just about to knock on her front door when there was a rat-tat of a car horn with a musical chime, and he turned and stared in disbelief at the remarkable example of decrepitude in automotive engineering which was rolling down the lane towards him.
The tiny delivery van had originally been white, but was now more of a dirty, rusty pale yellow, decorated with pictures of orchids of various colours and sizes which were scattered around the words ‘Cottage Orchids’. It was so girly and unprofessional he could hardly believe it.
Wait a minute! Cottage Orchids! Oh, no—it couldn’t be! But there could be no mistake. His eyes closed for a second when he realised the true horror of the situation he had got himself into.
Sure enough, the engine juddered to a halt, the driver’s door clanked open and Sara stepped out and he did a double take.
She was wearing a smart outfit of navy trousers and navy T-shirt with ‘Cottage Orchids’ embroidered in gold letters on the shoulder. Her hair was swept back with a navy bandanna and she looked cute, attractive, gobsmacking lovely, and parts of his body did a little happy dance.
Pop music blared out from the radio, bright and cheerful, and in total contrast to the look on her face.
Sara stood back and crossed her arms, her feet squarely on the ground in a stance that screamed out that she was not best pleased.
‘You are so late. It is not funny,’ she said. ‘I was going to give you three more minutes before heading off on my own. You do know I have five deliveries to make this morning? Which, as you pointed out yesterday, are actually quite important to my income.’
Leo looked deep into her eyes and replied in a serious voice, ‘I like the outfit. Very classy. Now, about the delivery van…’
She shrugged, uncrossed her arms and patted the roof of the once white vehicle, her mood instantly transformed to one of pleasure. ‘You noticed. I know—’ she grinned and wrinkled her nose in pleasure ‘—isn’t she fantastic? I had to paint the letters myself, of course, to get it just right, but Mitzi has never let me down once. She knows I love her.’
‘Mitzi?’
‘Mitzi my microvan, of course. She’s electric and quiet. Not the fastest little motor in the world but that’s okay. And she’s so cheap to run. This is a good thing.’
Leo decided that it would be dangerous to his health to mock Mitzi or offend her owner.
‘If you give me directions to the first stop, I’ll follow in my own car—that will leave more room for you and your plants inside…’ And coughed twice before adding, ‘The lovely Mitzi.’
Sara’s eyes narrowed, and she gave him a hard look for a few moments, then she threw out her arms to both sides and laughed until she had to bend over and grasp hold of her knees to recover.
‘Oh, I should have guessed it.’ She laughed and wiped away tears from her eyes. ‘Leo Grainger, you are a car snob. A full on, totally over the top car snob. I bet that you even have those cute little driving gloves so you don’t get nasty sweat on your steering wheel. Am I right?’
‘They were a Christmas present from my sister,’ he replied indignantly with a twist of his lip. ‘And I am not a car snob. I merely appreciate, let’s say, the finer things in life. And poor old Mitzi here has seen better days. I do have some standards.’
Her reply was a gentle smile, followed by a short nod. Then she reached into the van, took out the keys and tossed them to him.
He caught the keys one-handed as if he had been waiting for them.
And they stood there, smiling at one another like a pair of idiots in the morning sunshine.
Three hours later, Leo collapsed down into Mitzi’s driver’s seat outside a very pretty florist shop in a village ten miles away from Kingsmede, turned on the engine and banged his head twice against the steering wheel, his arms hanging loosely on either side of his body as he waited for his blood pressure to reduce until he was calm enough to drive.
‘Oh, it wasn’t that bad,’ said Sara, pulling off her gardening gloves. ‘They loved you in the shop.’
‘She offered me a job selling cut flowers!’
‘I know! And the manager is usually so shy!’ Sara paused and sniffed. ‘But well done. You will be pleased to know that this was our very last stop so you can turn off the charm offensive and speed all the way back to the Manor.’
‘Twenty miles an hour,’ Leo sobbed dramatically. ‘Our top speed has been twenty miles an hour! I feel so ashamed. Is there a taxi rank in this village?’
‘Hey!’ she replied and hit him on the arm with her delivery notes. ‘The bus goes once a week so you are stuck with me or hitching a lift. But, as a special treat, I will let you sit in the passenger seat going home.’ Then she flung open her door and was about to jump out of the van, when she surprised him by closing the door quickly and shuffling down in her seat.
‘Try to look interested in this paperwork,’ she hissed, and passed him a bundle of loose papers from the floor of the van before reaching under his seat for a green baseball cap, which she pulled down hard over her hea
d.
‘Er, Sara… What is going on, and why should I pretend to be interested in your order sheets?’
‘Shush,’ she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Do you see the lady who is coming out of the grocers? Beige suit. Cream handbag.’
Leo glanced casually through the windscreen before nodding and staring intently at an invoice with a muddy shoeprint on it. ‘Blonde, mid-fifties, make-up from the same era. Do you owe her money?’
‘Much worse,’ Sara hissed, bending across to stare at the papers. ‘She has been trying to set me up with her son for the past eighteen months and the woman will not take no for an answer. For some bizarre reason she is convinced that her son will rocket up the promotion ladder if he has a lady with a classy family name on his arm. And at the moment I’m his best bet for a trophy girlfriend.’
Sara had barely got the words out of her mouth when there was a small tap on the passenger window and Leo waved gently at the lady that Sara was trying to avoid, who was giving him a filthy look through the glass.
Sara instantly rolled down the window and smiled politely. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Tadley. Isn’t it a lovely day?’
‘Oh, indeed,’ she replied, staring intently at Leo as she spoke. ‘How nice to see you, Lady Sara. I was hoping to catch up with you about our summer soirée. I do hope you can join us.’ And then she looked over towards Leo and smiled through clenched teeth. ‘And perhaps your new friend would like to join us?’
‘Oh, my business adviser is only in town for a few days, Mrs Tadley,’ Sara replied casually. ‘And we are on a very tight schedule.’
‘Business adviser? Oh, yes, how clever of you,’ she replied, clearly relieved that Leo was not a love interest. Then she lowered her voice and stuck her head into the van. ‘I have heard about your problems with the hotel, Lady Sara. It must be terribly distressing. Do call me if there is anything my family can do to help.’
From where he was sitting, Leo could see Sara’s fingers were clutched so tightly around the paperwork that her knuckles were turning white with the strain of the self-restraint.
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