her head and wondered how strange it would feel to come from all that glorious space on a ranch to something as enclosed as a Kensington garden. Either way, she was grateful he’d made the transition. He’d already made great inroads.
She set up her easel and set to work, humming a tune while she did so.
“You sound happy,” a deep male voice drawled from the shrubbery. “Always good to hear.”
Avery watched as her newest employee straightened from beneath the foliage and rose to his full height. Astonishing clear blue eyes met hers out from under a thoroughly disreputable hat that should probably have been confiscated by border control. He looked to be in his sixties and his rangy, fit build spoke of a man who’d done some hard physical labor in his time.
He wiped one hand on a pair of well-worn denims and tipped his hat to her.
“Good morning, Miss Cullen. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Wells. It looks as if it will be a lovely day. I see you’ve been busy already.”
“Please, call me Ted,” he corrected her with a smile that made her suddenly think of silver-screen stars from the fifties. Persuasive, perfectly handsome, yet with that edge of devil-may-care lurking about the edges. “So,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “are you always this happy when you work?”
She felt the uncomfortable heat of a blush stain her cheeks. It really was none of his business but for some reason she felt compelled to confide in him. Goodness knew she didn’t really have anyone else. She didn’t want to impose on Macy, who was busy planning her wedding and, with renovations on the inn she’d converted into a drama school complete, she was now looking at opening the school. Macy’s days were busy enough without being worried by what might or might not happen between Avery and Marcus. Avery’s only other potential confidante, Mrs. Jackson, was so protective of her she was just as likely to scold Avery for even thinking of spending time with Marcus, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for that.
From their first meeting online in the art forum and during their subsequent discussions over the past couple of months, and then in person a few days ago when he’d arrived for his first day of work, he’d struck her as the type of guy who’d hold a confidence close to his chest.
“I’ve met someone,” she said, almost shyly. “I don’t really know if it’ll go anywhere.”
“What’s he like? Do you trust him?”
She shrugged. “Good question. I barely know him except for the fact he’s tenacious.”
“That can be a good thing.”
“And a bad one, too. He wants to represent my father’s art collection at sale, and he won’t listen when I say it’s definitely not for sale.”
“You have your father’s collection here?” Ted asked, tilting his hat back a bit off his forehead.
“No, it’s back in L.A.”
“Any particular reason you don’t want to sell it? Don’t you think he’ll do a good enough job?”
Avery pressed her lips together before answering. Why did everyone think she should just let the collection go? Didn’t they understand what it had meant to her dad?
“He’s with Waverly’s. I don’t doubt they’d do a very professional job, but as to my reason for not wanting to sell, it’s personal,” she answered, not bothering to hide the note of irritation that tainted her words.
Ted Wells cracked a half smile and nodded. “Personal is good enough. I’ve heard of Waverly’s, they seem to know their stuff. You know, if this guy is with them, maybe you should ask him to help you track down that statue you’ve been looking for. With his contacts he might be able to succeed where you’ve struggled to find information in the past. Plus, if he’s willing to help you, it might show whether his character is true.”
Avery considered his words. As old-fashioned as the term character was, Ted very well might be right. She suddenly felt churlish for sounding so annoyed just a moment ago.
“Look, I’m sorry if I sounded rude.”
“No problem, you don’t want to let the collection go. That’s fine.”
“Sometimes I feel like it’s all I have left of my father, y’know? He loved it so much,” she found herself blurting out.
Compassion filled the older man’s eyes. “You think he didn’t love you as much?”
His words pulled no punches, they forced Avery to search deep into her heart for the truth. Sure, there’d been times when she’d felt unloved, what child didn’t at one stage or another? Perhaps her father hadn’t been as demonstrative as she would have liked, perhaps he’d been distant but he’d still been her father. Deep down, she knew he had loved her.
Ted bent to clear a section of weeds that poked through a herbaceous border and continued talking without waiting for her reply. “Paintings are only things. I’m pretty sure that your dad’s love for you was more than just a thing. I was never lucky enough to have kids, but I’d hope that if I had they’d know that no matter what, my love was something they could hold in their hearts and minds forever. Love’s like that, y’know?”
There was more than a grain of truth in what Ted said.
“So you think I should let them go?”
Ted shrugged and reached for the shears hanging on his belt loop, taking his time to snip a couple of dead stems off a nearby hydrangea. “That’s not for me to say. From what you’ve told me before, I’d hazard a guess that your father’d be sorry if he knew the paintings weren’t able to be appreciated by people who’d enjoy them like he had.”
There was something soothing in the measured way Ted spoke. Even though they’d only met online before today, and shared the briefest of phone calls establishing when he could start work in the garden, she felt as if he’d been around for a whole lot longer.
Avery sighed. “You’re probably right. I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
Ted nodded. “You’ll know when, or even if, it’s the right time. They say Waverly’s is supposed to be one of the best so, if you do decide to sell, the collection will be in the right hands when the time comes. In the meantime, think about getting that young man of yours to find the angel for you.”
“Oh, he’s not my young man,” she protested. Not yet, anyway, a tiny voice whispered inside her mind. “But I’ll think about your suggestion. Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said, gathering up the weeds and cuttings and loading them into a wheelbarrow. “If you need me I’ll be working around the front of the house for a few hours.”
When he was gone, Avery turned to her painting, giving it her most critical eye. Marcus had been one hundred percent right about what was wrong with it. Not to mention his observation that her heart wasn’t fully invested in the rendition of the garden. She let her gaze wander to the spot where the angel statue had once stood, seeing it as clearly in her mind’s eye as if it hadn’t been gone for the past nineteen years. The soft, almost fleshlike tones of the marble, the graceful sweep of the angel’s wings, the way the
