when she bent her head to note his answers with green-stained fingers, Will studied her. Although she wore no makeup, her tanned skin was smooth and her vivid coloring a collection of contrasts: dark hair, white teeth, deep-red lips. Her mouth was wide and full, curling at the corners in a cupid’s bow. Her large eyes full of laughter a few minutes ago, were now serious.
“Do you have any siblings?” She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek, drawing his attention to the translucent moonstones that studded her lobes.
After a moment of silence she glanced up expectantly, and he realized he’d forgotten the question.
“Siblings,” she repeated.
“Two sisters and a brother.”
Her gaze remained fixed on his. “What number child are you?”
“I’m the eldest.”
“Star sign?”
“Capricorn.”
She frowned down at her clipboard, muttering, “Capricorn and Libra—bad mix.”
“Who’s a Libran?”
She didn’t answer, and he smiled to see a blush creep into her cheeks. “Do you believe in astrology?” he asked.
“Not really.” Her gaze sharpened. “I mean, yes.”
Will drank from his beer. “‘Our fate lies not in the stars, but in ourselves.’ Or words to that effect. I feel I know you already, through your father.”
“Oh?” She put down her pen and eyed him warily.
“For instance, I know you like pancakes topped with fresh fruit for breakfast on Sunday morning. And that you use rainwater to wash your hair.” His fingers flexed as he found himself wondering if her hair was as smooth and soft as it appeared.
“What else did he say about me?”
Will racked his brain, and couldn’t think of anything she might object to. “Nothing personal. No deep dark secrets.”
Maeve appeared relieved, and his fascination with her grew. But this session was about him, and she hadn’t forgotten that. “So,” she said, going back to her clipboard, “who was next—your brother or a sister?”
“My sister Julie. But why? What does my childhood have to do with this garden?”
“You never know,” she replied, writing down his answer.
He leaned forward, trying unsuccessfully to read her handwriting upside down. “Are you licensed to practice psychiatry in this state?”
Her mouth twitched, but she ignored his question and went on. “Did you grow up in the city or the country?”
“I grew up here on the peninsula on a small mixed farm. When I was ten, we moved into the town of Mornington.” Will shifted in his chair, crossed one leg over his knee. “What about your family? Art mentioned he has a son overseas.”
“My brother, Bill, lives in New Mexico. He’s an astronomer.”
“Is he searching the galaxy for extraterrestrial life forms?” Will joked.
“Yes,” Maeve answered seriously. “Now, when you were on the farm you must have played outside a lot. Do you remember the feelings you associate with being outdoors at an early age?”
He was about to make a flippant remark, when he stopped and thought twice. Perhaps the smell of the freshly mown grass called forth memories, or maybe it was Maeve’s gentle prodding, but suddenly the past came back in a flash of vivid imagery. That time in his life before his father died. Before he’d had to grow up too quickly.
“Freedom,” he said at last. “I could go anywhere, do anything I liked, from dawn to dusk. My brother and sisters and I roamed the beaches and the paddocks for miles around. We weren’t restricted by time or place or fear of strangers. Freedom and security—they were what I felt. Two rare and precious commodities. But they’re gone from today’s world. You can’t get them back.”
“I can try,” she said.
He eyed her skeptically. “If you can create the illusion of childhood in a garden, I’ll believe you really are a magician.”
“The magic comes from within,” she said quietly. “You have it, too. Everyone does. You just need to find it.”
She paused to sip her drink, the melting ice cubes tinkling faintly as she lifted her glass. To Will, the curve of her throat seemed at that moment both unbearably vulnerable and unimaginably strong. Magic within? He didn’t think so. Not him.
She lowered her glass and repositioned her pen above the paper. “Did you have a special place you liked to go to as a child? A place that was yours and yours alone?”
“Why are you asking all these questions?” All of a sudden he felt vulnerable himself.
“I told you. I want to know you.” Her huge dark eyes were hypnotic; her smooth low voice was mesmerizing.
“There was a place,” he admitted slowly, “at the bottom of the garden where jasmine grew over the fence. The vines were wildly overgrown—they must have been at least six feet thick. Next to the fence I hollowed out a cubby for myself. On hot days it was cool and filled with green light. Perfumed by the jasmine.” He chuckled. “I would pretend I was an Arabian sheik living in my tent at an oasis. My golden retriever was my camel.” He threw her another skeptical glance. “Not the sort of landscaping you had in mind, I’m sure.”
“You’d be surprised.” She closed her clipboard. “I’ll just go take a few more measurements. I want to check out those lilacs by the brick wall.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Will said, rising. Then, through the open sliding doors came the sound of the door chimes.
“Saved by the bell—again.” Her mouth hinted at a smile, then she strode off across the lawn.
Will went to open the front door and found Ida, his oldest friend and practically his best mate, on the doorstep. With her auburn hair and creamy complexion, Ida would have been a knockout if not for the burn scars that marred the right side of her face, puckering the skin from the outer corner of her eye all the way down to her chin.
“Hi, Will. You’re not busy, are you?” she asked, stepping past him into the entry hall.
“No.” Even after all these years, Will never saw the scars without experiencing a stab of guilt.
Today Ida looked slighter than usual in a slim gray skirt and white fitted blouse.
“Good, because I need to talk.”
“Of course. Come through to the patio.”
They stopped in the kitchen to get Will another beer and to pour Ida a glass of chardonnay.
“Can I have some mineral water with that?” she asked, rummaging in Will’s pantry for pretzels. “I’ve
