shrivelled autumn leaves making way for the fresh green shoots of spring. The perennial plants that died right down in winter only to shoot gloriously to life when the days got longer. The caterpillars she let chew holes on some of the leaves so they survived to transform into butterflies. All around her in this garden she was witnessing that everyday miracle.
From what she had heard about Lisa, she doubted she would have wanted her husband to spend the rest of his years alone, to live a shadowy half life with a shrivelled husk of a heart.
Shelley made a silent vow to the dead woman: if she had the chance she would rescue Declan from his blighted life, make him happy and— She fought against using the word love. Not now. Not yet. She had jumped too soon into love before and suffered heartbreak. But if she were granted a future with Declan, she would allow herself to love him and cherish him. He’ll be in good hands, Lisa.
But if she and Declan had any chance of that future together she had to ask. ‘Declan, why do you blame yourself for Lisa’s death?’
The colour drained from his face, leaving it as grey as his T-shirt. ‘Because I should have got her to the hospital quicker. The doctors said it wouldn’t have made any difference but I’ve asked myself over and over if those ten minutes I took to complete my work might have made a difference. I let my work come before her.’
‘Wh... What exactly happened? I know you said she...she died in childbirth but...how exactly?’
She had never seen him look so bleak and drawn. ‘The baby was premature but that apparently wasn’t what caused it.’
He paused and she waited to let him gather his thoughts, stomping down on her usual urge to fill a blank silence.
‘Tiny Alice had to be put on a ventilator—her lungs weren’t properly developed. I went with the doctors to see what was happening. But while I was in the neonatal intensive care unit with her one of the other doctors came to find me. Lisa had complained of feeling faint. They were concerned. By the time I got back to her bed she...she’d slipped away.’
Shelley closed her eyes. She wished she hadn’t asked. Could scarcely comprehend his anguish and pain. But she had to know.
‘How? Why?’
‘An embolism. A blood clot. It lodged in her heart. There was nothing the doctors could do. There was no warning.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘Declan, I am so, so sorry. Thank you for telling me. It...it helps me to understand you better.’
‘I wish I could understand it better myself,’ he said savagely, his mouth a bitter twist.
She had to tread lightly. ‘But seems to me that there can be absolutely no blame attached to you.’
‘So they told me. But I should have been able to stop it.’
‘How? If a team of highly trained doctors couldn’t have saved her and your baby, how could you have?’
‘I know all that,’ he said. ‘But I... I... Lisa wanted to wait a few more years. If I hadn’t cajoled her into starting a family earlier it...it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘How can you say that? Something else might have taken her. An accident. Disease. Anything. It was out of your hands.’
In response he made some inarticulate sound that speared her heart.
A millionaire at age eighteen. A billionaire in his twenties. Here was a brilliant man used to making things happen his way. Yet he had not been able to save his little family. And had turned it all back on himself.
Was Declan really ready to move forward? Would he ever be ready? And did she have the strength to be the one to help him? To keep on shining her light—as he put it—into the shadowy recesses of his soul?
She would darn well try.
She put her arms around him and was mightily relieved he didn’t push her away.
‘It’s dusty in here,’ she said. ‘Let’s go outside. Maybe I can make you a coffee.’
His face was set like granite. ‘I don’t need to be babied, Shelley. I’ve been living with this for two years. I can deal with it.’
Yes—if locking yourself away from the rest of the world meant dealing with it.
‘If you’re sure you’re not letting misplaced guilt—’
‘Maybe I am.’ He looked deep into her face. To her relief there was a softening of his features, a dawning warmth in his eyes. ‘But...but for the first time I’m beginning to believe I can forgive myself. You. My mother. You’re helping.’
‘And you’re letting yourself be helped. That’s the first step.’
‘But I have to do it at my pace. I don’t want to talk about it any more. Not now. Not ever.’
Shelley shook her head so vehemently her plait flew around to the front. ‘There you go, being so black and white about it. You can talk about it. You should talk about it. And when you’re ready I’m here to listen.’
She held out her arms to him and he came to her, holding her close against the solid wall of muscle that was his chest. She felt him take a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Thank you, Shelley. I’m glad you’re here,’ he said simply.
Her heart soared at this first recognition of her place in his life. ‘I’m happy to be here for you.’
They stood like that for a long time until Shelley pulled away. She looked up at him. ‘I’m not going to talk about bats or vampires, I promise.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t mind them. It’s the slugs I don’t like being compared to.’
‘And rightly so,’ she said. ‘It’s plants I’m thinking about—plants that thrive in the shade. If you dig them up and plunk them straight away into the bright sunlight they shrivel up and die. Moving them from the shadow to sun is a gradual process. It might be the same with you—too much light too soon might mean—’
He tilted her chin so she looked straight up into his face ‘If you’re the light, Shelley, I don’t think I could have too much of you,’ he said.
She met his gaze for a long moment as the import of his words ticked through her. ‘That...that’s good,’ she stuttered. ‘You don’t mind being compared to a plant? I’m talking plants that can live indoors like hosta and spathiphyllum and—’
There she went, deflecting anything emotional when it came to her. Why did she do this?
‘Baffling me with Latin again,’ he said.
‘You might know a spathiphyllum as a peace lily. At least I’m not comparing you to mushrooms,’ she said. ‘They love living in the dark and they feed on sh— Well, they feed on manure.’
Declan laughed and she loved the sound of his rare laughter. ‘I’ll add mushroom to the list of my attributes,’ he said in a voice choked with mirth. Then he sobered. ‘You really are adorable, Shelley.
