‘He—he’s the landscape guy. Garden designer, I think.’ Though, in truth, I haven’t seen him do much of anything. Except maybe me.
‘Oh, he has designs on more than just the garden.’ Mac chuckles. ‘And I think that sentiment is returned.’
‘Hush,’ I reply. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m recently widowed.’
‘According to Ivy, that’s no’ a bad thing. I hear he was a bit of a bastard.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say, my eyes gliding to the space where Rory just stood.
‘Fine, but that gardener?’ he teases.
‘Seriously, Mac, you’re full of crap.’
‘Must be the Lady Chatterley affect. I know horny when I see it and those were some serious come fuck me eyes.’
‘He was not looking at me like that.’ I mean, he was definitely looking at me like something, but it would’ve been easier if he’d clued me in on exactly what.Maybe sent me a note?
‘I wasn’t talking about him.’
He looks at me pointedly, one eyebrow raised, as I grasp at something to say, words to take us away from the topic ofRooree,because I’m so not going there. Even if I am tempted to ask Mac to decipher the man’s behaviour. God knows I could do with a clue.
‘So, you were saying about maintenance?’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ he answers with a sly smile.
‘Yeah, you were. Before—’
‘Before Mellors came in?’ I think my chin just hit my chest, or maybe it would have if I actually had boobs. ‘Come on, I’m not a complete philistine.’
‘You’ve read Lady Chatterley’s Lover?’ My question is filled to the brim with bewilderment. How is this possible? He’s such aguy.
‘Porn,’ he answers with a shrug.
‘Someone turned D. H. Lawrence’s work into porn?’ Incredulous much?
‘Aye, it was a bit art hoose for my tastes.’
‘I can’t believe—’
‘Jesus, your face. I’m not a complete moron. I have read bits of it.’
‘The dirty bits, I’ll bet.’
‘They were’na that dirty,’ he answers. ‘And it ended a bit flat—where was the resolution for either of them? But I digress. The point I was trying to make is that Mellors there.’ He gestures to the door Rory just shot out of. ‘Was looking at me like he’d smile while breaking my arm, just for having it near you. And you, well, you’ve no’ much of a poker face.’
‘It’s complicated,’ I begin. ‘An—and you mustn’t tell Ivy any of this.’
‘Fat chance of that, is there? Not when she’s buggered off to the States again. I don’t think she knows where she wants to be.’
‘I’m worried about her,’ I admit. ‘It just doesn’t make sense.’
‘Don’t fash yourself. Ivy does nothing she doesn’t want to. That girl’s got a head like a mule. Anyway, I can’t stand here all day. I’m an important business man.’ With this he folds his arms, pokes out his tongue and crosses his eyes as though we were both kids again. Though I suppose, as far as his emotional development goes, he still is.
‘You’re a loop. A serious fruit loop.’
‘That’s a bit of an oxymoron. Seriously daft? And, aye, I understand the word,’ he says, amused again. ‘So, am I to suppose you don’t want a lift with this fruit loop?’
‘Aw,’ I say, patting his cheek. ‘I didn’t say you were stupid, just a little crazy.’
