he lay there so intimately close to Shelley, but could only come up with happy.
SHELLEY LOVED EVERYTHING about Declan’s garden and was immensely proud of the restoration work she had done. Spring was taking over—the crab apple tree in a froth of delicate pink blossom, daffodils that had naturalised over many years coming up in golden drifts in the lawn, the scent of daphne replaced by that of old-fashioned white freesias.
The restored dry stonewalls and hedges delineated the concept of separate garden ‘rooms’ that made the space such a delight. She had even uncovered a small kitchen garden with an espaliered lemon tree growing flat against a wall, a rosemary hedge and herbs, including sage, tarragon plus three different varieties of thyme. She would plant annual herbs like basil and coriander if she thought anyone would use them in their one season of growth. Declan? He’d told her he rarely cooked but he might have use for fresh herbs. She must ask him.
In the front of the garden, the climbing rose ‘Lamarque’ was covered in hundreds of white buds ready to burst into glorious bloom—as she had promised Declan it would. Those higher rooms in his house must now be flooded with light and soon the delicate scent of the roses. But would she be here to see it?
The more she worked on the garden, the more she appreciated its design, and the work of the gardeners who had come before her. The original design certainly paid homage to Enid Wilson, which was perhaps one of the reasons she’d been so drawn to it.
But on Sunday morning—the day after Lynne’s party—even though she wasn’t officially working, she decided to spend the morning sorting out the shed.
It was a late start. She’d awoken to the surprise of finding Declan in her bed. Well, technically on her bed and fully clothed—as she was too. She’d only vaguely remembered him carrying her into the bedroom the night before. He’d stayed while she’d cooked him breakfast then he’d gone back to his part of the house.
But before he’d gone he’d kissed her and said he would catch up with her later in the day. She’d been itching to ask when but had resisted. Declan was coming from a dark place—if anything important was going to develop between them, it wouldn’t be overnight. Hope, like the spring garden, had blossomed in her heart.
She’d rebelled at wearing her gardening uniform on a Sunday. After all, it was officially her day off and she was going to fit in a ride with Flynn if she could. And, yes, if she was going to catch up with Declan she’d rather be seen in something other than khaki.
She didn’t want to look too eager, either, so compromised with slim-legged blue jeans and a shirt with fine stripes of blue and lavender. Eye make-up and lipstick for working in the shed? Why not? With her hair in a long plait down her back instead of jammed up under a hat. And her favourite French rose perfume liberally sprayed on her pulse spots.
Over the last weeks she’d managed to get some semblance of order into the shed and turned it into a useful workshop. She’d sorted out many of the wonderful old tools and garden implements. Having a wide, clear workbench made it easier to strike cuttings, plant seeds in trays, change the soil and trim the roots of potted plants and was especially useful in wet weather. But there was a large, weatherproof metal chest she hadn’t yet tackled.
Wearing her sturdy gloves, she’d brushed off the dust and cobwebs from the chest and was just about to force open the rusted lid when she heard the door opening. She turned and her heart leapt in delight to see Declan. He came over and dropped a kiss on her mouth. ‘I’ve come down to give you a hand,’ he said.
Shelley was stunned. Never had she expected that Declan would help her in the garden, the billionaire descending from his tower. ‘Thank you,’ she said. She hadn’t expected the kiss either; casual as it had been, it was a real turning point.
He was wearing jeans and a faded grey T-shirt with sleeves that rolled up to his biceps and showed off his impressive pecs and broad shoulders. She wondered if he had left her after breakfast to do one of his gruelling workouts. He had not shaved and she decided she liked the dark stubble on his jaw, the graze of it on her skin.
‘What can I do to help?’ he asked.
‘I’ll think of something,’ she said.
Shelley could think of a number of things she would like to direct Declan to do. None of them had anything to do with gardening. Just looking at him brought a flush of desire.
But she hadn’t changed her mind since the previous night. When she’d woken up next to Declan, she had been relieved they hadn’t made love. It took the pressure off getting to know each other, to take small steps instead of leaping in head first. To be certain.
‘What’s in the chest?’ he asked. It still bemused her that he owned this wonderful garden and yet knew so very little—and cared even less—about the treasures it contained.
‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘If I can get the lid off we’ll find out.’
‘Let me do that,’ he said. With one firm wrench he had the lid up.
They were met with the musty scent of old paper. She peered into the depths of the chest. There was a number of what looked like old diaries and a bundle of papers wrapped in oilskin and tied firmly with sturdy string.
She didn’t need Declan’s warning to watch out for spiders. Tentatively she reached into the chest and pulled out two of the diaries, flipped through their pages. ‘They’re garden diaries,’ she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘Can you get the rest, please?’
Declan pulled out all the diaries and put them on the desk. It only took him a few minutes to stack them in chronological order. ‘They date right back to pre-World War Two,’ he said.
She picked one up randomly and flicked through the pages. Then another. And another. ‘This is gardener’s gold,’ she said. ‘Daphne and before that her mother, Lily, kept meticulous dairies about their work in the garden. What they planted, what worked, what didn’t. When the first tomatoes ripened. When they sprayed for bugs. How they dealt with water restrictions in times of drought.’
She turned to Declan. ‘It’s the history of your garden. One of the grand old gardens of Sydney. A hidden gem.’
‘That’s quite a find,’ he said.
‘Aren’t you just the littlest bit excited?’ she asked.
‘Why would I be?’ he said. ‘But I’m glad you’re excited.’
‘Of course I’m thrilled,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to read through them all.’
‘Remember, it was Lisa’s garden not...not mine. She...she would have been excited.’
Shelley gripped the edge of the diary in her hand. Lisa. Lucky Lisa in one way as she had had Declan’s love, yet so very tragic that she had died so young in such sad circumstances. Yes, Lisa probably would have been excited to find the diaries. If things had been different she and Lisa might have been working together on the restoration of this garden with doting husband Declan occasionally dropping by to check on the progress of his wife’s project. Vivacious Lisa, remembered now in the garden with a planting of roses that would every year in late spring be a blaze of vibrant
