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Chapter Three
JOANNA cleared away in thoughtful mood. So he was March Aubrey. While he thought she was Joanna Sutton. Which she had been—at one time. But to explain would mean taking March into confidences about her adoptive parents. Far too personal with someone she’d known such a short time. Perhaps she should go back to Arnborough Hall Nurseries and make a few discreet enquiries before she got too involved. Because involved she was likely to be if she went on seeing March Aubrey on a regular basis. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Or ever.
Jo gave a sigh of relief later as she slid into the beautiful sleigh bed which had been part of Kate’s legacy from her aunt who, though single all her life, had probably not, according to Kate, been a maiden aunt. Definitely not, thought Jo, stretching. A bed like this was made for lovers. Which was why she made sure no male guest ever laid eyes on it. But the sudden thought of sharing the bed with March Aubrey was so unsettling she arrived at Logan Development next morning with shadows under her eyes.
‘The gardener kept you out late last night?’ said her father affably.
‘No,’ she said with truth.
‘Did you have a good meal?’
‘Yes.’ Also truthful. ‘How’s Kate this morning?’
Jack’s eyes, rimmed with darker marks of fatigue than hers, met hers unhappily. ‘She’s very tired. A man feels so bloody helpless at times like this—not to mention guilty. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘is hardly something to discuss with my daughter.’
‘Jack,’ she said gently. ‘Stop worrying. Loads of women have babies in their forties these days.’
‘I know, but because it’s my woman it doesn’t help.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘All right. Let’s get to work. What’s first up in the diary?’
The diary was full and the day was hectic. Jo was glad. It helped keep her mind off March. But only temporarily. When she got home a van marked with the logo of Arnborough Hall Nurseries was parked near her house. A young man emerged from it, eyeing her hopefully as he held out a giant sheaf of flowers.
‘Miss Joanna Sutton?’
‘Yes.’ More or less.
‘These are for you.’
‘How lovely. Thank you.’ Jo let herself into the house as the van drove away, eager to read the card tucked into the blooms.
With my thanks. Until Saturday. March.
As if she needed reminding. Jo eyed the extravagant bouquet in disapproval, hoping March had been given a discount at the nurseries for something so pricey. It was also a long way for delivery, which added to the expense. She must make it plain on Saturday that extravagant gestures like this were unnecessary. A text to say thank you for the meal would have done. Jo arranged the flowers in a tall ceramic pot, set the spectacular result on the floor under the parlour window, and then sent a text of thanks to March, before hurrying upstairs to exchange her office suit for jeans and sweatshirt. After that it was straight back out to drive to Mill House and play with Kitty, then take over bathtime duty while their parents enjoyed a peaceful predinner drink together.
‘Mummy’s going to buy a baby soon,’ announced Kitty, when Jo was helping her into her pyjamas.
Oh, boy. As far as Jo knew the subject hadn’t been mentioned to Kitty before. ‘How wonderful,’ she said brightly, lifting her onto her lap. ‘You’ll like having a baby brother or sister.’
‘Mmm.’ Kitty sighed as she snuggled close. ‘But I can’t choose.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jo carefully, smoothing the dark curls. ‘Either one will be lovely.’
‘That’s what Daddy said. Will you read me a story?’
‘Of course I will. The one about the little bear?’
‘I wish I’d gone with you on Sunday,’ said Kate later, over supper. ‘But it’s such a trek to Arnborough. I’ve never been to the new garden centre there—nor, oddly enough, to the Hall itself. Is it worth a visit, Jo?’
‘Definitely. Fabulous old house, dreamy gardens—you’d love it. I’m going back myself some time, to see the bits I missed. I got there too late to see everything.’
‘Because she took so long to choose your pansies,’ Jack told his wife. ‘We were about to send out a search party by the time she got back.’
‘I wasn’t that long,’ protested Jo, laughing. ‘And you must admit they were first-class plants, Kate. They look fabulous in those stone troughs.’
‘Don’t they just! Grandpa put them in for me.’ Kate shot a look at her daughter. ‘So, are you seeing this gardener of yours again?’
‘Yes. Saturday. I’ve made a reservation at Molly’s.’
‘So Molly gets to meet him before we do,’ commented Jack. ‘You’d better bring him here some time, too, so we can look him over.’
‘No,’ said Jo flatly.
‘Why not?’ asked Kate mildly. ‘Are you ashamed of us?’
‘No, of course not.’ Jo got up to collect plates. ‘You’re just not up to it right now, Kate. Besides, if he comes here and sees this place, and the penny drops about Logan Development and so on, it could embarrass him.’
‘Or,’ said Jack with edge, ‘he might think he’s landed in the honey pot.’
Jo glared at him. ‘Always a possibility. Either way, I won’t be inviting him home to meet the family any time soon. Thanks just the same.’
Jo couldn’t get her father’s words out of her head when she was in bed that night. March, who lived in a ‘sort of flat’, had been impressed enough by her place. Heaven knew how he’d react to huge, spacious Mill House, which Jack had restored so magnificently that articles on it featured in magazines. Jo sighed. She wanted March to like her for herself, not for any expectations he might think she had. She’d been down that road before. She tossed and turned restlessly as she remembered how quick he’d been to veto a return visit to the Arnborough Arms. He obviously didn’t want her back on his home ground, either.
It was a trying week. Jack’s honey pot syndrome occupied her so much that at one stage Jo even considered ringing March to cancel. But then she’d have to explain why. To her surprise—and mounting disappointment—she heard nothing from March all week. When he finally rang her on the Friday evening she tensed, sure he was about to pre-empt her and do the cancelling himself.
‘How are you, Joanna?’ he asked.
‘A bit weary. End of the week and all that. How about you?’
‘Very tired of grass. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’
‘On what?’
‘For waiting until now to ring you. Are you impressed by my restraint?’
‘Yes,’ she said, laughing,
