Sunshine Over Bluebell Castle. Sarah Bennett
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fines depending on the severity of the swear word he used. Some employers might have been affronted at her brazenness, but she could just as easily have sued him for creating an unhealthy working environment. Besides, Anna had made such fantastic inroads into the chaos of his desk and diary he was happy to modify his language-or at least pay the price whenever he failed to do so.
‘I know you’ve got your eye on that spa weekend,’ Will said, his stress factor easing, which had no doubt been his assistant’s intention when she’d interrupted him. Anna was free to spend the contents of the swear jar on whatever took her fancy, Will’s only stipulation was that it should be on something frivolous rather than practical. Embracing the idea, Anna had so far enjoyed a hot air balloon experience, dinner at one of London’s top Michelin-starred restaurants and a helicopter flight over the city. ‘I’m just contributing to the cause.’
‘And all donations are gratefully received. Now about the Cornwalls’ roof terrace …’
Picking up his phone, Will headed towards the front door, pausing only to shoulder into the battered leather jacket he’d tossed over the back of the futon he hated with a passion. It had come with the rest of the furnishings as part of a package when he’d signed the lease for the apartment in one of the swanky new developments shooting up all over Battersea. Thankfully, the bed on the mezzanine upper floor was akin to sleeping on a cloud, and it wasn’t like he ever had any guests staying who would need to sleep on the futon-cum-torture-device, so it could remain as an expensive coat rack until he got around to replacing it.
‘Can’t Nick sort it?’ Even as he was saying the words, he knew it wasn’t happening. Nick, an experienced landscaper almost twenty years Will’s senior, was another one of his few good choices. Together with a small core team, Nick turned Will’s designs into beautiful, living reality. Lucky bastard. Will was so busy building the brand and schmoozing the big clients, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had his hands in the soil.
It was churlish of him to be jealous of Nick, knowing how many people would bite their arm off for a chance to achieve Will’s level of success, but on days like today he couldn’t help but long for a simpler time when his days were spent digging and planting. But his skills with a spade weren’t what the big clients were paying for. They wanted his name, his reputation, his presence. ‘Forget I even said that. Can you contact Mrs-’ he glanced at the diary on his phone ‘-Butler and postpone?’
‘Already done.’
Will grinned as he patted his jacket pocket checking for his keys. Of course she’d already done it. ‘You’re a bloody superstar.’
‘I know, and that’s another 50p you owe me.’
‘Shame on me.’ Laughing, Will collected the rucksack he used to carry his work paraphernalia around, tugged his door closed behind him and pressed the call button for the lift. ‘I’ll call you back once I’ve finished at the Cornwalls’. Is it both of them?’
‘Just Phillipa, I think. Tony had to go away for a new project, didn’t he? I’m sure that’s what all the rush was about in the first place.’ Anna sighed, dreamily. ‘Listen to me talking about Tony Cornwall like we’re best mates or something.’ Tony Cornwall was the darling of British theatre. Though he’d made successful forays into the world of film, drawing huge box office numbers for anything with his name attached to it, the stage was his first love. He’d helped make going to the theatre cool again.
‘Yeah, you and Tony are like that.’ Will crossed his fingers and held them up before realising the gesture was wasted as she couldn’t see what he was doing.
Anna got the point, though, from the way she started laughing. ‘Best mates, that’s me and Tone. Talk to you in a bit.’ She was still giggling as she rang off.
*
As he rode down from the twentieth floor, Will contemplated what he might say to alleviate his new clients. Young and old alike adored Tony, and from what Will could tell he seemed like a genuinely decent bloke. According to the numerous features written about him over the years, Tony and Phillipa had met and fallen in love whilst rehearsing for a Royal Shakespeare Company production of Romeo and Juliet in the mid-Eighties when they’d both been 21. Unlike those ill-fated young lovers, their story had a happy ending, as Tony was often quoted as saying.
Phillipa’s star had also been on the rise until they’d decided to have a family and she’d stepped somewhat out of the limelight, choosing to stay at home from where she ran a hugely popular website dispensing advice and no-nonsense guidance on everything from child-rearing to fashion and healthy-eating. Her Life is for Living brand had branched out into a series of successful best-selling books and was always featuring in Top Ten lists in the media.
If he hadn’t already been aware of the honour the golden couple were bestowing upon him when they’d selected Will to design a luxury outdoor space on the roof of their Hampstead home, his manager had driven the point home. Sledgehammered the point home. The moment he’d caught wind of their interest, Chris had insisted Will drop everything. He’d arranged an expensive meal out, pouring praise and champagne in equal measures until Will had been all but squirming with embarrassment over the fawning display. Tony, seeming to take it all in his stride, had cut through the nonsense and answered Will’s questions with the easy charm that had made so much of the British public take him into their hearts.
A home consultation had followed-without Chris, much to Will’s relief-and he’d thrown himself into designing a garden that would work for the multiple purposes the Cornwalls needed it to. With a combination of carefully positioned planters and eye-catching set pieces like an infinity-edged water feature, Will had divided the large area into a mixture of entertainment, family and contemplation spaces.
He’d been really pleased with it, could already picture in his mind’s eye the family sitting around the rustic wooden table he’d selected for the dining area beneath a simple grid pagoda draped in fragrant strands of climbing honeysuckle, or Phillipa doing some morning yoga as the sun reflected off the still water of the infinity pool and the white rocks laid in spirals and swirls to create a zen space. And negative energy, apparently. With a snort of disgust and the hope he could keep from laughing, or losing his temper, Will exited into the underground garage and jogged towards his hybrid flatbed truck.
Chris had been appalled at his choice, telling Will he needed something sexy and sporty in line with the bad boy image his manager had cultivated for him in the press. But sexy and sporty was crap when it came to storage and Will had stuck to his guns. Wincing as he reversed out of his space, barely missing one of the many concrete pillars in the underground structure, Will considered the only thing one of the stupid sports cars Chris had pushed him towards might have had going for it was the ease of parking it.
He was just waiting for a gap in the traffic when his phone started ringing. Flicking the screen without taking his eyes off the queue of cars, he instantly regretted it when his manager’s familiar voice boomed over the car speakers. ‘Will, mate! How’s it hanging this fine morning?’
Will cringed. Was there anything worse than a fifty-something bloke trying to be ‘down wiv da kids’ as Chris liked to put it. Double cringe. Spotting half a gap in front of a shiny, silver Mercedes, Will nudged his big truck into the traffic stream, reasoning that the owner of the Merc cared more about his lovely shiny bumpers than Will did. ‘Morning, Chris. I’m a bit busy, actually, can I call you later?’
‘Sure, sure! I get it, mate, no hassles from my end,’ Chris started laughing as though he’d said something hilarious. ‘But seriously, I’ve scored you a primo invite for this evening. You and Melody are attending the album launch for Clay Givens. He’s making some noises about wanting her to appear in one of his videos.’
Unable to believe what he was hearing, Will lost concentration for a moment. The rear-end of a red hatchback loomed before him and he slammed on his brakes just in time. ‘Christ!’
Clearly mistaking Will’s exclamation of dismay for delight, Chris burbled on. ‘I know, it’s epic, right? Her profile is off the charts right