Shelley tapped the envelope. ‘These are those papers.’ Reverently, she pulled out a sheaf of the old documents, yellowed and faded around the edges, and pointed to the hand-drawn illustrations. ‘These are original plans by Enid Wilson for this garden. Look, there’s the fountain, the walls, everything. Can you believe it?’
Declan took the plans from her hands, held them up to the light, looked at them critically. ‘The plans certainly look like this garden. They’re beautifully rendered in watercolour.’ His grandmother’s favourite medium had been watercolour. ‘These are good. Very good,’ he said, judging them as paintings rather than horticultural plans.
‘Of course they are. Enid Wilson was an artist. Her plans were works of art and so were her gardens.’ Her voice rose with her excitement. ‘Your garden wasn’t just inspired by her designs, it was actually designed by her.’
She waved her hand to encompass the garden. ‘This is an undiscovered Enid Wilson garden.’
She seemed disappointed that he didn’t pick up on her excitement. He’d told her often enough he had no real interest in gardening—the interest for him in this garden was her. ‘Well, that’s great,’ he said, forcing interest into his voice for her sake.
She smiled. ‘I get that you don’t see what I see in these amazing plans.’
‘Tell me what you see,’ he said, prepared to stand back and listen to her enthusiastic explanation.
‘As I uncovered the garden I had my suspicions. It seemed such a fabulously good imitation of a Wilson garden. There are later additions, of course, like those dreaded ficus benjamina. But more and more I came to think it had all the hallmarks of her designs.’
Declan frowned. ‘Why is it such a big deal?’
‘Most of Enid Wilson’s gardens were in Victoria. She designed some gardens in this state but to my knowledge they were all rural. I didn’t know if there were any city gardens in Sydney. That’s one reason I didn’t take my hunch too seriously. It seemed unlikely and there was no proof.’ She flourished the plans. ‘These are proof. It’s the most amazing discovery. My discovery.’ Her eyes shone.
He frowned. ‘How can you be sure? Couldn’t the plans be imitations too?’
‘That’s what I thought. That’s why I didn’t tell you until I could get an expert to look at them for me and confirm their authenticity. I scanned the plans and sent them to one of my professors in Melbourne.’
‘You what?’
‘Yes, wasn’t it fortunate he was available? He’s validated them as genuine. He’s excited too. I hope he can get up here and see the garden for himself. I didn’t say anything to the television producer, of course, but wouldn’t it be the most amazing story? To reveal this hidden masterpiece?’
She kept on and on and didn’t seem to realise that his enthusiasm had dwindled to zero. In fact he was furious.
‘No,’ he said.
She pulled up, stared at him, obviously shocked at his abrupt tone.
‘What do you mean “no”?’
‘There will be no visiting professors. Or any other experts. And certainly no television people.’
He felt as if he were under attack. And she—the woman he had grown to trust—was the one who’d punched a hole in the barricades to allow access to the invaders of his privacy. For so long this house had been his refuge and his haven. He would not tolerate people tramping around the place, investigating, reporting, no doubt expecting interaction from him. He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t allow it. How did Shelley not get that?
‘But, Declan, this is such a find. People will be so excited about this discovery. Personally, it’s so important to me, important to my career.’
He kept hold of the papers. ‘These plans belong to me. You had no right to take them out of this house. To show them to other people. To invite so-called experts onto my property without my permission.’
He hated the way her face crumpled at the harshness of his words. ‘I didn’t realise. I honestly thought you’d be pleased,’ she said.
Her mouth twisted in a cynical way he hadn’t seen before and certainly didn’t like. ‘Your neighbours will be pleased. A heritage garden like this will add value to the street.’
‘I don’t give a damn about my neighbours. You should know that by now.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘What do you give a damn about, Declan? Certainly not me. You won’t even consider what this could mean to my career.’
‘Give me the rest of the papers,’ he said, reaching out for the envelope. Reluctantly, she handed them to him.
One part of him wanted to climb down. To compromise. To say she could be recognised as having discovered the lost garden. To possibly invite her professor for a private visit just the one time.
But that would be opening the floodgates. And he wasn’t ready for that. Not by a long shot.
‘Don’t discuss this with me again,’ he said over his shoulder as he strode back to the house.
* * *
Still shaking from Declan’s abrupt change of mood, Shelley walked around the garden to calm herself down, to let the tranquillity of this beautiful place soothe her and work the kind of magic only nature could.
He was right; she’d overstepped the mark. How could she have let her enthusiasm for her discovery override her caution in dealing with Declan?
When it came to emerging from the shadows of his isolation she’d decided he needed to walk before he could run. So she’d darn well dug in the spurs and tried to force him to gallop.
He was still too damaged to face public scrutiny of any kind—especially on his own turf. Why hadn’t she seen how far from ready he was to let down his guard and face the world? Instead she had just gone blundering in there, as was her way.
She sighed out loud, knowing there was no one to hear her. Was Declan too much for her to manage?
Her walk around the garden brought her back to the fountain. She thought about how hopeless a project it had seemed at the beginning, all damaged and dirty, unable to fulfil its function as a garden ornament, let alone a working water feature. Even she had quailed at the difficulty of restoring it. Had considered just pulling it down and filling in the pond. But she’d persevered—helped, of course, by Declan’s generous budget—and look at it now.
Declan was still broken. But she was prepared to work with him. These last weeks she’d been given glimpses of the extraordinary man he had been—could be again. And beyond all reason she wanted him.
No matter how angry he was with her, she intended to hang around. It would take time, more time than she might have imagined. But she could postpone her trip to Europe. When this garden was complete, she could find another job in Sydney. Her old employer had said he would welcome her back. And then there was the television opportunity. Declan might be convinced to let her remain in the apartment. She would be there for him. For however long it took.
He was worth it.
Her gaze went automatically up to the top-storey window where he worked. She could text him now and ask him to come down to her again. So she could apologise. Explain. State her case. Let him know how much she cared.
But no.
She had her key that opened the door into the kitchen of his house. She would not give him a chance to think up excuses to put up his barriers against her again.
She would brave him in his house. Surprise him. Tell him exactly how she felt. Even if the thought terrified her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHELLEY’S HEART WAS pounding so hard she imagined Declan could hear it—even from two floors above her. She tiptoed down his hallway in stockinged feet, holding in one hand the metallic pumps she’d worn with her pink dress to the interview with the television producer.
She paused before the elevator, decided against it. Too uncertain. What if she got trapped in it? It would have to be the stairs.
Cautiously she made her way up the flight of marble stairs with its ornate iron balustrades, past the silent floor of doors closed on what she assumed were be
drooms and bathrooms. Sad, unlived-in rooms.
She paused at the next landing to look out of the lead-light window at the view of the garden laid out below. All the structures perfectly matched the plan. The design was classic Enid Wilson—how could she have ever doubted it? But her discovery would remain private—she had to respect Declan’s wishes on that. Much as she wanted—deserved—the recognition.
The top floor had another smaller flight of stairs she assumed led to the turret. The rest of the floor might have been servants’ quarters in the days when a grand house like this would have employed them.
Now dividing walls had been pulled down and it had been modernised into a sophisticated living space furnished in tones of grey and black leather. Declan’s domain. Beyond the living room was a door she could only assume was his office and others led to a small kitchen and a bathroom. Framed black-and-white photos of an attractive young woman with a cap of dark hair, a small, sharp face and a huge smile lined the walls. Lisa.
As she knocked on the door to Declan’s office Shelley realised her hands were trembling. He had been so angry, so dark—as black in his mood as the storm clouds that gathered over Sydney before a violent summer storm.
Yes, she was a little afraid. Afraid of the man she was falling in love with. Afraid of the man she had planned to seduce this evening. No. Not afraid. Not in a million years would Declan hurt her. She was nervous. Nervous of his reaction when he realised she had broken her promise to him and invaded his sacrosanct, private space.
There was no reply to her knock. But she was convinced he was in there. An earlier quick glance through the window to his basement gym had shown it to be empty.
She turned the handle of the door and pushed it open.
Declan sat intently in front of an enormous computer screen, a black headset over his head covered his ears. He wore large black-framed glasses. They were hot—made him appear even more attractive to her. But they also made him look like a stranger.
This was a bad, bad idea.
She turned to leave, to scurry back down those stairs as fast as she could. But her movement must have caught Declan’s eye. He turned. For a long moment their eyes met—his dark and shuttered, hers no doubt wide with terror.
‘Shelley, what the hell?’
He took off his headset and his glasses. But even then he looked dark and forbidding.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on you in your...your bat cave.’
He frowned. ‘My bat cave?’
She looked around her at the banks of computers and high-tech equipment. ‘It does look like a bat cave—a movie–super-hero bat cave, not a real bat cave. If it was a real bat cave it would be dirty and smelly and...’ Her words dwindled to a halt. She turned again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m going.’
Declan leapt up from his chair. ‘Shelley. Don’t go. Don’t apologise. I’m the one who should be apologising for the way I behaved down there. I—’
When he said ‘down there’ her eyes went automatically to the window, which looked over the fountain and the sweep of the back garden. There was a large artist’s easel standing there, poised to catch the light, and a drawing board with a series of charcoal drawings clipped to it.
She took a step further towards the windows and she dropped her shoes with a clatter. Her hand went to her mouth but that didn’t stop her gasp. ‘What’s this?’ she said. ‘Who is this?’ Her heart thumped even harder and her mouth went dry.
‘It’s—’
She stepped closer. ‘It’s me. Paintings of me. Drawings of me. What does this mean?’
In the large canvas on the easel she rode bareback astride a white unicorn. She wore something so skin-tight it was practically nothing, and long green boots with her hair flying behind her like a banner against a background of a forest. The painting was magnificent. Breathtaking. But she felt...violated.
She turned to the drawing board. The sketches were of her too. Declan was talented; she recognised that through her shock. Just a few lines and some shading brought to life the curve of her jaw, the sweep of her hair and an action series where she was lassoing something outside the image.
‘It’s not you, Shelley,’ he said. ‘It’s...it’s Estella.’
‘Estella? Who the heck is Estella? The only Estella I know is the character in Great Expectations. Is that the link? Miss Havisham. This creepy house.’
‘Princess Estella is a character for a computer game.’
‘Princess Estella? So where do I come in?’
‘You’re...you’re my muse. My inspiration for a beautiful, kick-ass warrior princess.’ He closed his eyes, shook his head from side to side in a gesture of deep regret. When he opened his eyes again it was to look deep into her face. ‘I should have told you. Wanted to tell you.’
She looked to the screen where an animated character—who didn’t look as much like her as the painting did—was on her unicorn and fighting an army of some kind of mutant creatures.
She turned on Declan. ‘You were using me. So that’s why you...you made friends with me. Why you...why you let me think we could be more than friends?’
She had to swallow down hard on a sickening sense of betrayal that made her want to double over. Thank heaven she hadn’t slept with him. Having shared the intimacies of love with him would only have intensified his treachery.
He took her arm but she shook him off, unable to bear the touch of this man who was suddenly again a stranger. She had trusted him to be honest and straightforward with her but he’d thrown her back deep into that dark pit of distrust as brutally as the other men who had hurt her.
‘Not true, Shelley,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t let myself near you—though I realise now I wanted you from the get go. Maybe...maybe that’s why I created Princess Estella. As a device to keep you at a distance.’
Bitterness and disappointment made it difficult for her to speak and she had to choke out the words. ‘You mean so you could make even more millions.’
His face contorted in anguish. ‘No. You can’t believe that.’
She didn’t care if her words hurt him. ‘Why not? Was this why you hired me? To...to use my image behind my back? Not for the garden at all.’
Now she began to doubt the veracity of everything he’d told her. He had lied and misrepresented himself the way Steve had told her he was single, the way her father had denied his mistress was anything more than a work colleague. She had thought Declan was different. She had believed in him.
‘Was there really a complaining neighbour? Or did you invent all that to observe me for that...for her?’ She pointed at the painting with a finger that wavered and trembled despite her best efforts to make a dramatic gesture.
‘No,’ Declan exploded. ‘The neighbours’ complaints were only too real. I needed you to do the garden. But unwittingly you unlocked my creativity. Just by being you. Your strength, your beauty, like a modern-day warrior. You inspired me like nothing or no one ever had.’
His blue eyes blazed with sincerity. She wanted to believe him. If she wasn’t feeling so angry and betrayed she might even have felt flattered. But he should have told her all that long before this. Before her blundering into his bat cave had forced the issue. Had he ever intended to tell her? Or to just wave goodbye when the garden was finished?
‘And yet you didn’t say a word to me,’ she said.
‘You have to believe me, Shelley. I wanted to but...but I couldn’t. I hadn’t invented a game since...since...’
He didn’t have to say the words. Since two years ago.
Would it always come back to that—the tragedy he could never put behind him?
Her shoulders sagged as she felt overwhelmed by the inevitability that she was fighting a battle she could never win—even if she were to be mounted on a unicorn and armed with a magic lasso.
He deserved a second chance at love and she yearned to give it to him. But she was ill-equipped to bring down the barriers he’d built around his heart to punish himself
for the loss of his wife and baby.
She couldn’t risk losing her heart in a futile battle for his.
She took in a deep breath and forced herself to speak normally—or as normally as could be expected under such circumstances. ‘So if you haven’t been inventing games, what’s all this for? Why do you spend so much time up here all by yourself?’ She spread out her arms to indicate the banks of equipment in the room.
It was obviously an effort for Declan to get his words out too. ‘I haven’t worked on commercial games until Estella. Instead I’ve worked on non-profit educational games to help train surgeons, to help save lives. There’s also work for government defence departments on games that simulate terrorist attacks to help train the military.’
‘Th... That’s very noble of you.’ She hadn’t been expecting that. He was a good person—had proved himself to be kind and generous to her. Why couldn’t he be good to himself?
‘Not noble,’ he said with that wry twist of his mouth. ‘Trying to give back. To make amends.’
‘To assuage the guilt you heaped upon yourself.’ For something that was not his fault.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But also because I have more money than I need and I want to contribute not just with dollars but also with my skills.’
‘So what happens to Princess Estella?’
‘She could be the next commercial big thing for me. Estella has a strong environmental focus, which is timely.’
Shelley shook her head. ‘I don’t get all this, though I like her green message and...and her green boots. But what I do get is I thought we had something special happening between us. I don’t mind arriving second in your life after Lisa—she was your first love and I respect that. But I won’t be second best for you. And I certainly won’t compete with...with her—a cartoon character.’ She couldn’t help her voice from rising.
He looked as grim as she had seen him. ‘I should have told you about Estella.’
‘You’re darn right you should have. I would have posed for you, you know. Not in that...that body stocking. But it could have been fun.’ Her voice diminished to barely a whisper. ‘Something for us to share.’
Hired by the Brooding Billionaire Page 15