“You’re all big talk about feminism, but when it comes to standing up for yourself and saying, ‘Bugger this for a game of I-don’t-know-what. Do you love me or don’t you?’, you’re a shrinking violet.”
Her words sting me so much that my head snaps up and defensive words begin to form in my mouth, but then Shirley stands up and collects her ciggies and lighter, preparing to leave. “Why don’t you go inside and ask him?”
We both stare at her.
She gestures with her eyebrows towards the house behind us. “He’s back. His light just came on.”
I spin in my seat to look. West wing, second floor, fifth window. She’s right. His lights are on.
My heart leaps painfully, but I turn forward again. “It’s okay. I’ll stay here.”
“You okay?” Leonie asks softly when we’re alone.
“No. But I’m not going to run to him.” My answer is sharp with injured pride. His unexpected reappearance on top of Shirley’s stinging remarks.
“I mean, he buggers off without a word then comes back when he’s bloody good-and-ready and I’m supposed to run to him?” I sound angry, but my real anger is at myself.
Leonie wraps her arm around me and squeezes me affectionately. “I get it. Really, I do.”
Her kindness brings me too close to tears.
Chapter Forty-two
The next day we say goodbye to the graduatingPerllans. Kisses, hugs and a promise to stay in touch. Osian is kept busy most of the day conducting exit interviews.
I spend an hour with Evan. He is an expert people manager and helps me draw up contracts for Ashe and Schaefer, who will stay here for six months – the busy summer season. I follow Evan’s suggested pay scale and include a bonus for positive reviews or increased bookings. This way, he says, they have an incentive to make the gardens a success.
Amani will handle publicity for all of the partners, but she still wants to keep working on the rose arcade. It seems she’s already started a daily vlog showing progress.
Late afternoon, Osian comes to find me by the pond.
“Sorry to disappear on you last week.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his loose linen trousers. “It’s good to be back. I’ve missed you.” He looks around. “And all this.”
“Don’t get your clothes dirty,” I say, trying not to read too much into his words.
He looks tanned, especially that small triangle of skin showing through his open collar.
“I’m not here to work. Office day for me today. What are you doing?” He looks down on the muddy banks of the pond where I’m kneeling to plant forget-me-nots and irises by the water’s edge.
“As you see, I’m inmyoffice, too,” I say, without looking up at him.
“Can it wait? I’d like to talk to you.”
I sink my hands into the water to rinse off the mud, then dry them on the legs of my dungarees. “What’s up?”
“Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”
“I still have two hours to go.”
“The water plants can wait a day. Come on. You can afford to take half an afternoon off.”
I look down on the twenty pots of blue and white flowering plants that should line this corner of the pond so they can be seen from the bench on the opposite bank. I suppose they’ll keep.
“I’m going to need a shower first.” I get up.
“You’re fine,” he says, a little impatiently.
“No, I’m not and if you say I look fine one more time I’ll fling mud on your nice office clothes.”
