in to help him, but…’ She shrugged and glanced around. Her father hadn’t maintained any of it. ‘There are a lot of vigorous-growing perennials here that have self-seeded and gone wild. It looks worse than it is.’ She crossed her fingers.
‘Do you see any self-seeding marigolds?’
He’d adopted that tone again. ‘I’m afraid marigolds are annuals not perennials. They need to be replanted each year.’
‘Why go to all that bother?’
‘For the colour and spectacular blooms. For the scents and the crazy beauty of it all. Because—’
She slammed to a halt and Rick slammed right into the back of her. ‘What on earth—’
He grabbed her shoulders to steady her, but she didn’t need steadying. She spun around and gripped his forearms. ‘You’ll find a clue where the marigolds grow.’
His face lost some of its cockiness. And a lot of its colour. She couldn’t concentrate when he stared at her so intently. She sat on the edge of the nearest raised bed and rubbed her temples. ‘When did I find out my mother didn’t like marigolds? John told me when I wanted to plant some of my own.’
Rick sat beside her, crushing part of a rampant rosemary bush. The aroma drifted up around them.
‘And why did I want to plant marigolds?’ Oh, but… ‘He couldn’t have known, could he?’
‘Couldn’t have known what?’
She turned to him. ‘After he chased you away that day he gave me my very own garden bed to tend.’
‘And you grew marigolds?’
She shook her head. ‘I wanted to, but I didn’t. You see I had this old chocolate box tin and it had pictures of marigolds on it and I showed it to John and told him that’s what I wanted to grow.’
Beside her, Rick stiffened. ‘A tin?’
She nodded.
‘What happened to the tin, Nell?’
‘I put all of my treasures in it and…’ But it had been a secret. John couldn’t have known. Could he?
‘What did you do with them?’
‘I buried them here in the garden. After the policeman left. I snuck out in the middle of the night and buried them when nobody could see what I was up to.’ She turned to meet his chocolate-dark eyes. ‘And I never dug it back up.’
He swallowed. ‘Okay, so all we have to do is try to find where you buried it.’ He leaned back on his hands as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but she’d seen beneath the façade now. ‘I bet you’ve long forgotten that?’
No. She remembered. Perfectly.
She leaned back on her hands too, crushing more rosemary until the air was thick with its scent. She drew a breath of it into her lungs. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of a Sunday roast?’
He didn’t say anything.
‘What are you afraid of?’ She asked the question she had no right to ask. She asked because he kept calling her Princess and it unnerved her and she wanted to unnerve him back.
‘Where I come from, Nell, Sunday roasts weren’t just a rarity; they were non-existent.’
He said her name in a way that made her wish he’d called her Princess instead.
He leaned in towards her. ‘And what am I afraid of? I’m afraid this isn’t some hoax your gardener has decided to play and that everything he’s said is true. I’m afraid I have a thirteen-year-old brother somewhere out there growing up by the scruff of his neck the way I did and with no one to give him a hand.’
Her stomach churned.
‘I’m afraid he’s going to end up in trouble. Or, worse, as a damn statistic.’
She pressed a hand to her stomach and her mouth went so dry she couldn’t swallow.
‘Is that good enough for you?’
It wasn’t good. It was horrible. Her parents might not have been all that interested in her, but she hadn’t been allowed to roam the streets unchecked or at risk of being taken advantage of. Her parents might not have been interested in her, but she had been protected.
‘I remember exactly where I buried it, Rick.’
He stared and then he half laughed. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’
She leapt up and dusted off her shorts. ‘We’d better hope John put it back in exactly the same spot or we’re going to be spending a lot of time digging.’
She led the way to the garden shed. She grabbed a spade, secateurs and a couple of trowels. And gloves. Rick merely scoffed when she asked if he’d like a pair too. ‘On your own head be it,’ she warned. ‘We’re heading for the most overgrown part of the garden.’
He took the spade and secateurs before sweeping an elegant bow. ‘Lead the way, Princess.’
It was crazy, but it made her feel like a princess. Not a princess on a pedestal, but a flesh and blood one.
She led him across to the far side of the garden. ‘I’ll trade you a trowel for the secateurs.’ He handed them to her and she cut back canes from a wisteria vine gone mad. ‘That’s going to be a nightmare whenever I find the time to deal with it,’ she grumbled. She cut some more so he had room to move in beside her. ‘Believe it or not, there’s a garden bed there.’
She trimmed the undergrowth around it, found the corners. It wasn’t as big as she remembered, but that still didn’t make it small.
She moved into the centre of it, stomping impatiens and tea roses. She closed her eyes and shuffled three steps to the right. She took a dolly step forward and drew an X on the ground. ‘X marks the spot,’ she whispered.
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