Sarah Bennett - Bluebell Castle

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, God, you must think me such a stupid fool.’ Phillipa began to sob in earnest, like her heart was breaking into pieces.

Embarrassment and guilt made him squirm. Instinct made him want to comfort her, but how could he when she was dressed like that? Wishing like hell he’d made a run for it when he’d the chance, he glanced towards the exit. His eyes alighted on a scrap of material poking around from behind the door. Reaching out he snagged the white towelling dressing gown with one hand. It was shorter than he would’ve preferred it to be, but at least it would cover everything that needed to be covered.

Moving gingerly towards the bed, he draped the robe around her shoulders and did his best to pull it around her without touching anything his hands had no business being anywhere near. Snatching at the material, Phillipa gripped it closed beneath her throat. The look she gave him, so full of shame and misery cut him off at the knees and he found himself sinking down beside her. ‘It’s all right. Please don’t cry.’ He patted her shoulder.

Before he could withdraw his hand, she turned and buried her face in his chest, leaving him no choice but to give her an awkward one-armed hug. ‘You’re a very attractive woman, Mrs Cornwall. It’s just … you’re married … and what with Tony being such a decent guy and everything, it just isn’t right, you know?’

A bitter laugh broke through her tears. ‘Oh, yes, Tony’s such a decent guy. Isn’t it marvellous the way he takes beautiful young actresses under his wing and offers them the benefit of his experience?’

Shocked to the core by what she was suggesting, Will pulled back to stare down at her. ‘He’s cheated on you?’

Shuddering, Phillipa swallowed back more tears and straightened up. ‘Cheat ing ,’ she corrected. ‘Present tense. He left yesterday with his latest paramour. Rehearsing for their new film, apparently.’ She didn’t need to make the gesture for him to hear the quotation marks around the word ‘rehearsing’.

‘I’m sorry, I thought you guys were rock solid.’ Everything he’d ever seen or read about them implied a strong and happy relationship. Then again, everything she’d probably read about Will had made Phillipa think he’d be up for it. If the stuff in the papers about him was a combination of managed spin and made-up rubbish, wouldn’t it be even more so for a couple infinitely more famous? ‘So, this-’ he gestured between the two of them ‘-was supposed to be a way to get your own back at him?’

She shrugged. ‘What’s good for the gander is good for the goose, and all that.’ Using the crumpled tissue in her hand, she wiped at the streaks of mascara on her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Will, you must think I’m ridiculous.’

‘No!’ Whatever anger he’d felt towards her for putting him in such a compromising position was redirected towards her cheating rat of a husband. Not all marriages were good, Christ knew his own parent’s relationship had been a disaster, but at least they’d had the sense to call it a day. Taking her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. ‘I’m really sorry that you’re hurting, Phillipa, but sleeping with me isn’t the answer to your problems-ask any of my ex-girlfriends.’

She managed a watery chuckle, and Will felt his panic subside at last. Reaching out he brushed free a tendril of hair that had stuck to her cheek. Beneath the streaked make-up and the fine lines age had settled into her skin were hints of the beautiful woman she’d been in her heyday. Tony Cornwall was either mad, stupid or both. ‘Shall we both take a deep breath and pretend the past half an hour never happened?’

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded. ‘Thank you.’

And because he was British, there was only one thing left to say. ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’

Half an hour later, looking much better after the tea, a sheepish-looking Phillipa escorted him to the front door. She’d washed her face and tied the dressing gown tight around her middle leaving her looking much smaller and more fragile than the woman who’d greeted him earlier. Pausing in the open doorway, Will tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and gave her a smile. ‘If you still want us to go ahead with the terrace, give Anna a call once you’ve decided on the alterations I’ve suggested. She’ll make arrangements with you for when the installation team can start.’

‘Thank you.’ She hesitated for a moment then stretched up on tiptoe to pop a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘You’re a very good man, Will Talbot.’

He winked. ‘That’s our secret. Take care of yourself, Phillipa.’

*

As he made his way back towards his car parked several streets away thanks to some very stringent local parking restrictions, Will couldn’t help but feel thoroughly depressed. The Cornwalls had been married for longer than he’d been alive. Had they been unhappy with each other all that time? He shook his head at the idea of it. What a bloody waste.

Thankful to be free of such emotional entanglements, although even his pretend relationship with Melody was growing tiresome, he dug his phone out and browsed for messages. The first one was from Anna to say she’d cleared his calendar for the rest of the day in case things at the Cornwalls got complicated. He couldn’t help but laugh. Complicated didn’t even come close. Beneath that were a couple of sales offers from suppliers they used which he flicked without reading into a sub-folder for future reference.

The next message was from Iggy Ludworth and he was about to drop it into his trash folder when he spotted the thumbnail images attached. Curious, he clicked on the first one and stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed by the image of the top half of a statue poking out from a massive thicket of brambles. He moved onto the next photograph showing the remains of a walled garden, the red bricks of the short walls dividing the weed-strewn beds crumbling and broken. The third image was a distance shot over a collection of overgrown box hedges; the fourth a carpet of bluebells nodding beneath the boughs of an ancient oak. His heart pounded, excitement building inside him as he flicked his thumb to the next picture, then the next. The final few were too small to properly make out any detail, but they looked to be original design sketches, the paper on which they were drawn yellowed with age. As he rolled back up through the images the tips of his fingers began to itch. He could almost feel the rich, dark soil beneath them.

A belch of hot air hit him, followed by the acrid stench of diesel fumes from a delivery van stuck in the endless queue of traffic snaking along the street beside him. Wrinkling his nose, Will moved as far to the inside of the pavement as he could then continued towards his truck. When was the last time he’d breathed a lungful of air that didn’t carry the taint of heavy traffic? Or looked up at a night’s sky not stained orange from light pollution, for that matter?

He gave his phone one last wishful glance before unlocking his door and tossing it on the passenger seat along with his backpack. What was he doing daydreaming about fresh air and starry skies when he had a successful business right here that needed all his attention? Shaking his head, he slid into his seat. Running off to Derbyshire was a mad idea. As mad as the idea that it was possible to sort out the ruined gardens of Ludworth Castle in three short months.

And Will had sworn off doing mad things, hadn’t he?

Fuming after her brief, humiliating call with Will Talbot, Iggy marched from Arthur’s office, determination in every stride. She would show that arrogant pig of man exactly what she was capable of. Couldn’t be done? Ha! She’d bloody well show him otherwise. Her righteous march ended swiftly thanks to the sight of an unwelcome present deposited on the stone floor of the great hall by one of the dogs.