By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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gardener her mother-in-law had been, couldn’t be turned into something just as beautiful but dramatically more labour friendly. In fact she would make sure of it, Melanie determined.
Once home, she made a pot of coffee and began work at the dining table. She was deep into transferring all the measurements she’d taken that afternoon onto her rough plan when the phone rang. Her mind occupied with right angles and base lines and boundaries, she lifted up the receiver and spoke automatically. ‘Hello, Melanie Masterson.’
‘Hello, Melanie Masterson. This is Forde Masterson speaking.’
Her heart ricocheted off her ribcage and then galloped at twice its speed. Somehow she managed to say fairly normally, ‘Oh, hi, Forde. I was working.’
‘I won’t keep you,’ he said, the faintly teasing note that had been in his voice disappearing.
She wanted to say it was OK, that she hadn’t meant it like that, as a put-down, but, telling herself it was better to keep things businesslike and formal, she kept quiet.
‘I just called to thank you for how you handled my mother. She phoned a while ago and, from being more than a little apprehensive about her beloved garden being chopped about, as she’d put it initially, she came across as actually excited about the changes you’d discussed. I appreciate it, Nell.’
As ever, hearing the special nickname sent a flicker of desire sizzling along her nerve endings. His power over her was absolute, she recognised with a stab of dismay. Nothing had changed. Just hearing his voice made her want him so badly she was trembling with it.
‘Nell? Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here,’ she said quickly, pulling herself together. ‘And there’s no need to thank me. You do realise it’s going to be pretty expensive if we do it properly.’
‘Of course.’ There was a pause. ‘Would it be crass to point out you know what I’m worth and money isn’t a consideration? I just want her satisfied at the end of it.’
‘She will be.’ Melanie found she didn’t want him to finish the conversation. She wanted to keep talking to him, hearing those deep, smoky tones. She should never have agreed to do the job, she thought as fear at her vulnerability where Forde was concerned streaked through her. This was crazy, just asking for trouble. ‘She’ll love it, Forde. I promise.’
‘I don’t doubt that for a moment,’ he said softly. ‘I trust you, Nell. I always have.’
Panic gave her the strength to say, ‘I have to go now. I’ll be in touch once Isabelle’s decided exactly what she wants and I’ve planned and costed everything. Goodbye, Forde.’
‘Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.’
He’d put the phone down before her stunned mind could compute again. Sweetheart? And sweet dreams? What had happened to her conditions? she thought frantically as she went into the kitchen to fix more coffee, needing its boost to calm her shattered nerves. Admittedly she hadn’t actually spelled out ‘no endearments,’ but surely he’d got the message?
She found he had completely ruined her concentration when she tried to work on the drawings again. Eventually she took an aspirin for the pounding headache that had developed in the last hour or so and went to bed, there to toss and turn half the night, and have X-rated dreams in which Forde rated highly for the other half.
Nevertheless, when she awoke early Monday morning her steely resolve was back. The divorce was going through, come hell or high water, she determined as she sat eating her breakfast in the tiny courtyard, feeling like a wet rag. Absolutely nothing could prevent it. Nothing. It was the only way she could ever regain some peace of mind again.
CONTRARY to what Melanie had expected after Forde’s call the day she had visited his mother, the next four weeks passed by without further contact with him. She visited Isabelle twice more during the time she was finishing the other contracts, and they ironed out exactly what was required to their mutual satisfaction.
On her second visit, Melanie took James along with her. He was fully acquainted with the circumstances but—James-like—had taken it all in his stride as though it were the most natural thing in the world for an estranged wife who was seeking a divorce to undertake a major job for her mother-in-law.
Melanie could tell Isabelle was a little taken aback at first when she met James. He was something of an Adonis with a smile that could charm the birds out of the trees, but, just so her mother-in-law didn’t put two and two together and make ten, she took her aside at one point when James was busy measuring this and that at the other end of the garden and made it clear theirs was a working relationship and nothing more.
‘Of course, dear,’ Isabelle said sweetly, as though the thought of anything else hadn’t crossed her mind, but Melanie noticed her mother-in-law’s smile was warmer the next time she conversed with James. For his part, James was his normal, sunny self and by the end of the afternoon he had Isabelle eating out of his hand, which boded well for the future.
The night before they were due to start work at Hillview, Melanie didn’t sleep well. The August heatwave had continued into an Indian summer, and it was even hotter in September if anything. Everywhere, the ground was baked dry, and, although this was slightly preferable to working in drenching rain and mud, it wasn’t ideal. But it wasn’t the pending job that had her giving up all thought of further sleep at four in the morning and going downstairs to make a pot of coffee, which she took outside into the courtyard; it was Forde.
There had scarcely been a waking minute he hadn’t invaded her thoughts since the night they’d slept together, and even when she’d fallen asleep he was still there, carving his place in her subconscious. And she hadn’t heard from him. Not a word. Not a phone call. Nothing. She’d submitted a ridiculously low estimate to Isabelle as he had requested once she’d worked out the pricing of the job, and a realistic one to him via his office rather than his home, thinking this emphasised the businesslike nature of the arrangement. His secretary had called the next day to say that Mr Masterson was happy with the estimate and his confirmation of acceptance would arrive by return of post. Which it had. A signature in the required space. Great.
Melanie wrinkled her nose in the scented darkness. He’d finally cut his losses and moved on, that was plain to see. The last ridiculous scenario when she’d all but begged him to make love to her and then frozen him out the next morning had been too much. She didn’t blame him. How could she? Why would any man put his hand up to take on a nutcase like her? And it was what was necessary, what she’d been aiming for, so why did it feel as though her heart were being torn out by its roots?
She sighed heavily, swigging back half a cup of coffee and looking up into the dark velvet sky above, punctured by hundreds of twinkling stars. She had to get a handle on this. Her dream of a happy-ever-after ending had been smashed to pieces months ago so why was she dredging up the past? She wasn’t like anyone else—that was what Forde didn’t understand. And it wasn’t his fault he’d married a jinxed woman. But she would never let herself get close to anyone again; that way she couldn’t be hurt and neither could anyone else.
Finishing the last of the coffee, she continued to sit on as the sky lightened and the birds woke up, her limbs leaden. She hadn’t really slept well since Forde had come back into her life again—not that he’d ever left, if she was being brutally honest. She might not have spoken to or seen him those seven months before he had written to her, but he’d only been a heartbeat away, nonetheless.
This had to get better, she told herself miserably. It must. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life feeling like this. Her grief and remorse about Matthew would always be with her; she had come to terms with that and in a strange way almost welcomed it. If she couldn’t do anything else for her darling little boy she could mourn him, and as long as she was alive he would never be forgotten but cherished