fumes and scary commuters, and being here at Larkford, she knew what she’d pick.
She kicked her flip-flops off as she reached the edge of the lawn and sighed in pleasure as the soles of her feet met soft grass that was dry, but still cool from the early-morning dew.
It was silly, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Mark was staying away deliberately. Maybe he was embarrassed. He wouldn’t be the first person not to be able to handle her unique circumstances. She’d tried to run away from that feeling too, hadn’t she? And now it had tracked her down and turned up on her doorstep.
She looked around the garden. The roses on the wrought-iron arches that lined the main path were in flower, a variety with frilly shell-pink petals. The smell was fantastic.
She sighed. Well, if Mark wanted to stay away, she couldn’t stop him. It just seemed such a pity he was missing how beautiful his home looked. Every day there was something new to admire in the garden, another flower opening its buds or shooting out new green leaves. Maybe Mark wasn’t the sort of person to notice these kind of things, but even if you didn’t notice the details you couldn’t help but feel rested here.
When she went back inside the house and checked her laptop she found an e-mail from Mark, and this time, instead of giving another boring, bland reply, she decided to add a little bit about Larkford—about the rose walk and how the wisteria on the back of the house was fairly dripping with flowers, how the hazy summer mornings burnt off into hot, bright afternoons. At least he wouldn’t miss the magic of his house totally, even if he wasn’t here to see it for himself.
Just as she was about to turn the laptop off she heard a ping, announcing the arrival of an e-mail. Thinking it might be from Ginny, informing her of the latest in a long line of pregnancy-related stories about absent-mindedness, she almost ignored it, but at the last minute she clicked on the little window and opened up the message.
She blinked and opened her eyes a little wider. It was from Mark. He must be online right now.
Hi Ellie
Thanks for the update on the plumbing situation. I’m sure you’ll be glad to have your own space when the repairs are finished in your apartment. Feel free to decorate as you’d like.
I’m glad the wisteria is stunning and the roses are happy!!! I didn’t realise you were a poet as well as a housekeeper ;-)
Mark.
What a cheek! Still, she couldn’t erase the image of Mark’s devil-may-care smile as she read it, and she was smiling too when she typed back her reply.
Fine. Now I know my boss is a Philistine I won’t bother sending any similar observations with my next message!
Of course he couldn’t leave it at that. And a rapid e-mail battle ensued. Ellie was laughing out loud when she finally admitted defeat and switched the laptop off. Maybe he was busy, after all. Maybe this whole ‘deal’ thing wasn’t just an excuse to avoid her.
And that was how communication continued the next week or so. The e-mails got less businesslike and more chatty. Mark always added winky faces made out of colons and semicolons—Sam would have said that he used far too many exclamation marks—and Ellie forgot her threat not to tell him anything about Larkford and ended up describing the way the wonderful house looked in the pale dawn light, losing herself in the images and getting all flowery about it …
And Mark, true to form, would reply with a teasing quip and burst her lyrical little bubble, causing her to laugh out loud and send back something equally pithy. She decided it was nice to communicate with someone who didn’t remind her constantly of what she’d been like before the accident, who just accepted her for who she was now and didn’t patronise her. He wasn’t just her boss now; he was an ally.
But she knew he couldn’t be any more than that. And that was fine, because that was exactly how she wanted it. Really, it was.
London late at night was stunning. Mark pressed his forehead against the plate-glass wall that filled one side of his living room and used his own shadow to block out the reflection of his flat so he could see the city beyond. Multi-coloured lights blinked on the black river below, endlessly dancing but never wearying.
When he’d bought this place he hadn’t thought he’d get tired of this view, but lately he’d found himself wanting to trade it in for something else. Maybe a leafy square in Fitzrovia or a renovated warehouse near the docks?
He decided to distract himself from his restlessness by turning on the TV, but everything seemed pointless, so he wandered into his bedroom, crashed so hard onto the bed that it murmured in complaint, then picked up the book on his bedside table. A Beginner’s Guide to Head Injuries. Only one more chapter to go and he’d be finished.
He got it now. Why Ellie had moments where she zoned out, why she forgot common words. It wasn’t just that she was scatterbrained. Not that it mattered, anyway. And he wasn’t entirely sure that all of Ellie’s unique qualities were down to a rather nasty bump on the head. He had the feeling that even if the head injury could be factored out of the equation she’d still be pretty unique.
He read to the end of the bibliography and put the book back where he’d got it from. He hadn’t checked his e-mail yet this evening, had he? And he had started to look forward to Ellie’s slightly off-on-a-tangent e-mails. She had a way of making him feel as if he were right there at Larkford, with her little stories about village life and descriptions of which plants were in flower in the garden.
Bluebells.
In her last e-mail she’d said that she’d seen a carpet of bluebells in the woodland at the fringes of the estate. Although he’d never been a man to watch gardening programmes, or take long country walks to ‘absorb nature’, he’d suddenly wanted to stand in the shade of an old oak tree and see the blue haze of flowers for himself. He wanted to see Ellie smile and turn to him, as if she were sharing a secret with him …
No.
He couldn’t think that way. He liked Ellie. He respected her. Hell, he was even attracted to her—majorly—but he couldn’t go down that path.
It had been a long time since he’d held a woman in such high regard. And that was why this was dangerous. All the things he thought about Ellie … Well, they were the basis for a good relationship. Friendship, compatibility, chemistry. But he couldn’t risk it. And not just for himself. What about Ellie? He wasn’t the man for her. She didn’t need someone who would probably cause her even more pain.
He jumped off the bed and started moving. Not that he had any particular destination in mind. He just seemed to get a burst of speed whenever he thought about a certain housekeeper.
And that was why he’d stayed away from Larkford. Because he was scared of what he was starting to feel for her. Yet even then she’d burrowed even further under his skin. Staying away hadn’t worked, had it?
He found himself by the window in the living room again, and placed his palm on the glass.
So why was he here? Bored and wishing he was somewhere else? If keeping his distance hadn’t worked, he might as well go and enjoy the house he’d bought for himself, because that was what he really wanted to do.
He wanted to go and see the bluebells for himself.
The gentle chiming
