Secret Courtship. Grace Green
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already own a very impressive house in the best area of Toronto, she’d almost said. But she hadn’t. She had just repeated, firmly, that she had made up her mind.
Now, as she turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside, she felt her heartbeats accelerate in anticipation.
The first thing she noticed was that the interior of the cottage was still as bright as she had remembered itbright and inviting, because at the end of the lobby leading to the rear of the simple house was the drawing-room, with its wall of windows overlooking the back garden.
The second thing Laura noticed was the smell—not a damp smell, as she might have expected, but a dry one, edged with the fragrance of cedar logs, pine cones and lavender. A nostalgic scent...and one that made her want to sneeze.
The first thing she must do, she decided as she moved along the lobby, was open some windows.
But as she paused in the open doorway of the living-room she felt memories come rushing back with such force that her legs threatened to give way under her. Stumbling to the nearest sofa, she sank down on the overstuffed cushions and looked around her, with tears burning her eyes. It was just as beautiful... just as perfect ... as she had remembered.
Mellow sunshine slanted through open venetian blinds, painting the room’s uneven whitewashed walls with slats of butter-gold. Dust danced and hovered in the air, and lay thick on every surface, though Laura barely saw it, or the dried leaves that had fallen from a dead plant onto the Indian rug. What she saw were the chintzcovered sofas and armchairs, the antique lamps with their pink bead-fringed shades, the silver-framed photographs, the crammed walnut bookcases, the windowseat with its cabbage rose cushions...
And beyond, outside, the garden...
Pushing herself to her feet again, Laura crossed to the French doors, and, after a struggle with the lock, managed to open them. Dropping her backpack, she stepped out onto the brick patio and, raising her face to the sun, drew in breath after breath of the richly scented, salt-laden air.
This was why she had come back—for this peace, this isolation, this close communion with nature. If any place on earth could heal her, it was this one.
Eyes still blurred, she gazed around the garden, with the eglantine hedge at the bottom—the sweet briar from which the cottage had got its name—the burbling creek behind it, and the sloping lawn with its beds of flowers. The azaleas were just beginning to bloom, as was the clematis climbing over the weathered trellis by the patio...
And weeds, Laura noticed, flourished everywhere. She would begin tackling them tomorrow, if the weather stayed nice. Wet days would be for working indoors, sunny days would be devoted to the garden. She hugged her arms around herself with a feeling of joyful anticipation—and noticed, with vague surprise, how thin she had become.
She would start looking after herself, she promised. Surely her appetite would begin to pick up, and she would start eating regularly again, start exercising again.
The very notion seemed to charge her with energy. She moved around the house, her steps suddenly so light she was almost dancing, and as she touched one familiar object after another she found herself smiling through her tears. It was so good, so very good to be here.
But a few minutes later, as she threw herself down on one of the sofas, she noticed that the surge of energy had burned itself out, leaving her utterly drained. Kicking off her sandals, she tucked her legs under her, and, reaching for the crocheted afghan draped over the back of the couch, she pulled it loosely over herself.
She wouldn’t sleep, she knew that—she was far too excited. But she’d rest awhile, and then she’d get up, take some food from her backpack and have a snack.
In the meantime ...
CHAPTER TWO
“NICK...?”
“Mmm?” Nicholas Diamond looked up from his desk as his sister, tying the belt of her maternity dressing-gown around her bulky waist, came into his study. “Good lord, Sally—” he glanced at his watch “—I thought you went to bed ages ago. It’s after midnight, honey—should you be—?”
“I was in bed. I woke up a few minutes ago and had to go to the bathroom...” Sally Peterson paused, nibbling her lower lip worriedly, and Nick raised his eyebrows.
“Not edgy, are you, without James? But that’s why I suggested you come and stay here while he’s away! I know what a Nervous Nellie you are—”
“I think someone has broken in next door.”
“At Sweet Briar?” Nick frowned. “Who on earth would want to break in there? Surely there’d be nothing worth stealing in that old cottage.”
“Nevertheless, when I passed by my bedroom window the moon slipped out from behind the clouds for just a moment, and when I looked into the back garden I could have sworn the patio doors were open. Wide open.”
“Probably a trick of the light.” Nick glanced at the work on his desk. He really had to get these figures worked out before the meeting with his lawyer in the morning. “Don’t you think you should just go back to bed and-?”
“Nicholas, if—as you suggest—there’s nothing worth stealing there, won’t the burglar decide to try somewhere else?” She stared at him meaningfully. Like here, was the implication.
With a resigned sigh, Nicholas pushed back his chair. “Okay. James has left you in my care, so I’ll go and scout around.” He glowered at her teasingly. “But if I’m not back in half an hour, phone 911.”
“Thanks, Nicky.”
“Now, you scoot off to bed. The babes asleep?”
“Mmm, sound. Lucky, aren’t they, to be too young to worry about burglars and break-ins and murders and—?”
Nicholas touched a finger to her lips. “Enough,” he said softly. “This house, as you well know, has a very sophisticated alarm system. I’m going to investigate only to put your mind at rest.” He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her from the room. “Off you go to bed now, and stop worrying. I’ve got everything under control.”
Good Lord, Nick thought a few minutes later, Sally was right.
Stealthily he moved across Sweet Briar’s back patio toward the cottage’s French doors—which were, indeed, open. Just as he got there, however, a cloud floated over the moon, plunging him into darkness. Cursing under his breath, he glided through the doorway, straining to pick up any sounds, but the only noises came from outside—the rustle of the breeze in the bushes, the hum of traffic from the highway below, the distant bark of a dog.
So intent was he in his listening that he stepped forward too carelessly, and his foot caught against a soft, bulky object on the floor. With a startled exclamation he pitched forward, to sprawl over a heavy, upholstered piece of furniture.. In all probability, he decided, a couch. The sound had jerked from his throat before he could stifle it, and as it echoed in the night-hush he grimaced.
At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud, and as he straightened he saw, on the couch, hiding beneath an afghan, the figure of a youth. Sally’s burglar. He must, Nick surmised, have heard him coming and darted for cover... And the object he, Nick, had tripped over in the doorway was probably the bag used for the booty.
Thieving little punk!
“Get up!” Nick’s snarled command reverberated back from the walls of the room, and as it did the figure jerked spasmodically, a white face appeared above the blanket, and a pair of dark eyes gleamed up at him in fright.
Laura had thought, when she’d heard the harsh voice, that she must be dreaming. But as her eyes flew open, and she flinched back from the huge figure looming threateningly over her, she smelled the scents of summer dust, firewood and lavender, and knew that she wasn’t