Sarah Bennett - Bluebell Castle

Not knowing what else to do, Will decided his only cause of action was to ignore it and try and stick to business. He bent to retrieve the sketchpad which had slipped from his fingers the moment she’d reappeared. ‘I … I think I might have found a solution to the issue for the zen space. We can turn the angle of the pool by forty-five degrees, so the water runs from east to west. You’ll be able to align your exercise mat in the same direction then, which I think was one of the main problems?’ He offered her the sketchpad, making sure to keep his eyes fixed above her chin.

With a quirk of her lips, Phillipa took the pad from him and turned into the house. He almost sighed with relief, thinking he’d found a way to navigate free of the nightmare, until she paused to cast a knowing look over one shoulder. ‘It’s too bright outside to see this properly, come in and show me what you want to do.’

There was no mistaking the message behind those words, and as Will watched her slink inside with an exaggerated sway of her hips, he wondered how the hell he was going to extricate himself from this mess. It wasn’t the first time a client had made a pass at him, though he had to hand Phillipa the prize for the most blatant seduction attempt to date.

Will blamed it on the ridiculous ‘bad boy of gardening’ image Chris had created for him. Eager, naïve, and somewhat blinded by his first taste of the spotlight, Will had allowed himself to be persuaded to play the part. It worked for chefs, after all, his manager had argued, so why not for a gardener? Embarrassing crap like this was the downside he hadn’t banked upon when agreeing to it. Taking a deep breath, he followed in Phillipa’s wake. If she persisted, he’d have to put her straight.

Somehow.

The contrast between the bright sunshine outside and the much darker interior left him disorientated for a moment. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, Will felt his heart sink as he saw the double doors leading to the master bedroom had been flung wide. Tony Cornwall had pointed it out on Will’s previous visit, saying how as soon as he’d seen the fabulous views he’d refitted what had originally been staff quarters into a luxury suite. The door had remained closed so Will hadn’t seen inside.

Right now, he wished he still hadn’t. Perching on the edge of an enormous bed, Phillipa tossed his sketchpad down and patted a spot on the quilt next to her. Will didn’t know what the term was for something larger than a super king, but this vast expanse of crisp white bedding could probably accommodate half a dozen people with room to spare. Even if she was sitting at the far edge of the bed, it will still be too close for comfort. The hounds of hell couldn’t drag him over the threshold. ‘Mrs Cornwall …’

‘Call me Pippa. All my very good friends call me Pippa.’ She patted the bed once more.

Keeping his feet firmly in place, Will crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Mrs Cornwall.’ He didn’t like the way her confident smile wavered into an expression of confusion when he stressed her formal title once more, but it couldn’t be helped. ‘The sketches are pretty self-explanatory. Why don’t you talk them over with your husband?’ Subtle, Will . ‘You can let my assistant know in due course.’

She seemed to crumple in upon herself, as though each word was sucking the confidence and vivacity out of her. How come doing the right and honourable thing could make him feel so awful? He checked his watch-not that he cared what the time was, he just needed an excuse to look away. ‘I really should be going …’

‘Are you sure you can’t stay?’ She sounded less seductive and more desperate now, and although he felt sorry for her, he couldn’t help a tinge of anger that she’d been the cause of her own embarrassment.

Fumbling for what else to say, he was saved by the bell-literally-when his phone starting ringing. He snatched it from his pocket, barely giving the unknown number a glance before he answered it. Even a marketing call would be a welcome reprieve. ‘Will Talbot.’

‘Mr Talbot? Iggy Ludworth, here. I’d like to discuss a job with you, if you’re not busy.’

He didn’t recognise the rather odd name, nor the forthright tones of the woman. His diary was blocked solid for the foreseeable future, and one half of Britain’s golden couple was currently attempting to seduce him so no, he wasn’t busy at all. Turning away from the scene before him, he lowered his voice in the hope Phillipa Cornwall wouldn’t overhear him. ‘It’s not a great time, if I’m honest. Why don’t you call my office and we can set up an appointment?’

‘I’ve already spoken to your assistant; she was the one who gave me your number. Told me to give you a call straightaway, but perhaps I misunderstood her. I’ve sent through a few sample photographs as she suggested, but I’m under a bit of a time crunch so if you’re too busy I’d rather you came out and said it straight.’

She had the clipped accents of a member of the upper class, and her forthright manner made him feel a bit like a stroppy teenager being scolded by a teacher. Patience already on a knife’s edge, he was on the verge of telling her what she could do with her time crunch when a thought occurred to him. Why had Anna passed his private number on instead of dealing with it the way she did all the other enquiries that came into the business? Intrigued, he swallowed his snap of temper and asked, ‘What’s the job?’

A soft exhalation filled his ear. A sigh of … relief? Perhaps Ms Iggy Ludworth wasn’t quite as sure of herself as she sounded. And what the hell kind of name was Iggy, anyway? ‘My brother owns an estate in Derbyshire and we’re planning to open up to the public. I need your assistance to restore the formal gardens here at Ludworth Castle in time for the August bank holiday.’

Castle? Will gave a mental whistle. Upper class, indeed, he thought, picturing towering battlements looming over rolling acres of green. It’d be a hell of a challenge, too, something on a scale he’d never tackled before. Trying to contain the little buzz of excitement, he made a mental count of the months in his head. It was already the beginning of May … He’d have to shuffle a few projects around, leave Nick and Anna to run things here and source a local work crew of his own. ‘Sixteen months sounds doable, what’s the budget?’

A throaty laugh echoed over the phone, so at odds with her frosty speaking voice. Deep, rich and wildly filthy, it shot straight to his groin. ‘You’ve misunderstood me, Mr Talbot, I was referring to this bank holiday, not next year.’

The jolt of insta-lust withered in astonishment, and Will couldn’t help his own shout of laughter. ‘Is this a wind-up? You’re taking the piss if you think I can pull something like that off in four months. I’m good, Ms Ludworth, but I’m not that bloody good. What you’re suggesting isn’t just ridiculous, it’s fucking impossible! The planning alone would take more time than you have left.’

There was no humour in her next words. ‘Oh, it can be done, Mr Talbot, and it will be done. I thought you might be up to the challenge, but apparently not. I thought you were more than your sordid reputation, but clearly I was wrong if you think it appropriate to swear at a potential client. I’m sorry I’ve wasted my time believing otherwise.’

The phone went dead, leaving Will gawping. Wasted her time ? ‘Has the whole world gone bloody crazy?’ he muttered to himself.

A soft sniffle came from behind him. Forgetting snooty Ms Ludworth and her ludicrous expectations, Will spun on his heel. To his horror, tears were pouring down Phillipa’s face, streaking her make-up and turning her already sheer nightdress even more see-through. Spotting a box of tissues on a dressing table across the room, he broke his cardinal rule of remaining on his side of the threshold to grab them. Not wanting to get too close to her, he proffered the box awkwardly from arm’s length, taking a precautionary step backwards as soon as she took it.