That would be a cakewalk compared to this.
Elaine jumped out at a busy corner of Newbury Street. “You can drop me here, as well,” he suggested, but Phil shook her head.
“I have to show you that bakery.”
“Just give me the address.”
“Then I’ll drop you at the garage.”
He argued, but she ignored him, chewing her lip as she merged into the traffic for the Harvard Bridge. Phil made a beeline for Cambridge, exactly the wrong direction that he needed to go. She parked with the expertise he was coming to expect from her, then poked him playfully in the arm. “Come on, help me prove that this Japanese maple hasn’t given up the ghost.”
“As if I would know.”
“Then charm the woman for me. It can’t hurt.” She slammed the door and darted up the path, obviously confident that he would follow.
And he did.
Even though Phil could charm the birds from the trees without his help. He watched as she re-established her rapport with the garden owner, taking the time to check on the other plants before approaching the tree in question. They cooed over the various bulbs in bloom, Phil touching tiny blossoms with a fingertip in admiration.
He stood back and looked at what she had done. The house had very strong simple lines and Phil had capitalized on its spare beauty, laying out a garden with definite Japanese overtones. The flowers that were in bloom were in clusters, like showpieces, and of clear vibrant hues.
There were beds of smooth dark pebbles that flowed through the perfectly square lot like a dry river and softened its shape. A round stone-lipped pool was in one corner, its surface as still as a mirror. Orange carp drifted through the water, providing sudden glimpses of color in the dark shadows.
The Japanese maple was a centerpiece, twisted artfully like a giant bonsai, and surrounded by a path made of square stones. Some reddish ground cover was coming to life around its roots. It was hard to believe that the garden had only been laid out the year before.
Phil definitely knew what she was doing.
He felt a surge of pride in her accomplishments, both this garden and undoubtedly many others. He stood and watched her, the weight of his worries sliding away.
Lucia wasn’t dead, he wasn’t wanted for murder, he didn’t have anything left to prove. He was man with a sizeable chunk of change, a lot of time on his hands and some living to make up.
He was going to do some of it with Phil. He was going to give his all to this measure of time they had, he would help her out, he would do his damnedest to persuade her family to see things her way.
He was going to have to get a suit for that dinner. It was about time he had a really good Italian one.
Meanwhile, Phil studied the almost nonexistent leaf buds while the anxious owner watched. She dug her fingers into the soil and tugged on the roots. She chose one branch and bent it carefully, then picked off a bud and unfurled it in her hand
“It’s certainly late,” she said finally. “But I don’t think it’s dead. See, this branch is green—otherwise it would have snapped easily. And the leaves inside the buds are green—see? It’s not sick, or at least there are no obvious signs of illness, and it’s steady in the ground.” She smiled for the woman. “I think it’s pouting.”
“You did warn us that a big tree like this wouldn’t like being moved.”
“Did you put that tarp over the bed for the winter?”
“Yes, we took it off yesterday.”
Phil nodded encouragingly. “Maybe we should spoil it a bit longer. The weather’s been a bit cooler this week than last. Why don’t we tuck it in again, say for another week? We’ll talk then about how it’s doing.”
The woman twisted her hands together. “Do you really think it will be fine?”
Phil surveyed the tree, then smiled confidently. “Yes, I do. You see—those crocuses in the bed beside it are a bit later than the ones beside your porch. Maybe the wind is chillier here or the sun doesn’t linger quite as long. Each garden has little microclimates, so conditions vary slightly all across the lot.”
“Do you think we should move it?”
Phil bit her lip, obviously choosing her words with care. “I’d be very reluctant to disturb it again. What difference if it’s a week or two later than expected? You’ll just have to be indulgent of it in the fall and spring.”
“Every year?” The woman grimaced. “That tarp is so ugly. It ruins the look of the garden. I don’t care when the snow is over it, but once it melts...” She made a face.
Phil’s smile didn’t waver. “One more week. It’s a small price to pay to ensure that this treasure is at its best.” She touched the tree with affection, almost as though she gave it an encouraging stroke. “It will probably be less sensitive next year once it digs its toes into the soil here.”
He helped spread the tarp per Phil’s instructions and weighted it down with a collection of stones. The client obviously thought he worked for Phil and Nick didn’t bother to correct her. The woman looked reassured by the time they left.
“You might have been a pediatrician calling on her sick child,” he commented once they were safely back in the car.
Phil shrugged. “Do you know how much that tree is worth?” When he shook his head, she told him and nearly stopped his heart.
“For a tree?”
“It’s old and beautiful and people are impatient. A smaller tree would have adjusted much better to the transplant but she had to have that one.” She cast him a glance. “Pray that I don’t have to replace the sucker.”
“Do you think you’ll have to?”
“No, not if she doesn’t whisk that tarp off as soon as we’re gone. She’s not the most patient soul in the world, unfortunately.” She made a little sound of frustration in her throat. “Honestly, what is someone doing in Massachusetts if they don’t want to put up with winter?”
Nick had no answer for that. He looked back as they pulled out from the curb, willing the tree to thrive.
Then he picked up Phil’s hand. It was time to make some things come right. “Why don’t you drop me off and I’ll take care of the Beast. I’ll meet you at the office later this afternoon, then maybe we can go visit Lucia.”
She smiled. “That’s a great idea. I don’t think she should be left to worry too long.”
“Sweet Phil.” Nick leaned across the small space and kissed her. “You’re better to all of us than we deserve.”
He watched her blush, very much enjoying the view.
“Are you going to cook tonight?”
“Of course. I’ve got to keep my strength up.” He flicked a fingertip across the tip of her nose and she swatted at him.
“I’m driving!”
“I know.” He sighed heavily. “And it leaves me with nothing to do with my hands.” He reached over and traced a circle on her thigh.
“Nick! Stop it.” He didn’t and she gritted her teeth. “I’ll get you for this.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mrs. H. wasn’t sure about the pink.
In fact, she’d decided that she so disliked the pink of my suggestion that she was questioning whether we were really simpatico at all.
She was having doubts.
TGIF. I danced as hard as I could and she finally seemed persuaded that it was just a suggestion. Hardly written in stone. Even if anything had been planted, I could have dug it up and changed it for her.
There might have been sweat on my brow when I hung up the phone but there is no rest for the wicked. It rang again right under my hand.
That gave me a bad feeling. I was pretty much convinced that my mother had somehow sensed my lapse in chastity and would want all the details.
But I still answered the phone. “Coxwell & Pope.”
“How many lawyer jokes are there?”
“Zach, this is really not a good time.”
“Three. The rest are all true.” He paused for a
heartbeat. “Cracking under the pressure, are you? Only one day left to admit the truth, Philippa. Tick tock.”
“I’ve told you the truth.”
“Right.” He laughed. “I’ve gotta tell you that you’ve stolen my thunder here. All they want to talk about is you. It’s weird not being the center of attention. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Get a pad,” I muttered. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
“Touchy, touchy, Philippa. Why don’t you spill the real story to ol’ Zach? By the way, who was calling at your door so late the other night?”
“Nick, of course. He wanted to talk to you but you’d hung up.”
Zach laughed and laughed. “Nice try, Philippa, but you’ll have to do better than that. Sure you don’t want to ’fess up?”
“Get lost, Zach.”
“I’ll take that as a no. Don’t sweat the heat too much though—I promise to make sure it won’t last long.”
“What are you up to?”
He chortled. “Oh, something really good.” Zach and his wild stunts. He was sure to do something to make the event memorable, especially if he felt his black sheep pre-eminence was in question.
I really didn’t want to know.
“But even with my intervention, it won’t be easy for you, Philippa. Sure you don’t want to come clean?”
I gritted my teeth. “I have.”
“So you say.”
“When was the last time I lied to you?”
He clicked his tongue. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
It was the first interesting thing he’d said, but of course, he was gone by the time I tried to ask.
Brothers. Grrr.
The phone rang again. It was seriously beginning to annoy me. I practically barked the name of the company into the receiver.
“Oh, bad time. Sorry, Phil, I won’t keep you.”
“That’s all right.” I put down my pencil and took a deep breath, just enjoying the soothing tones of Nick’s voice.
“No, it’s not. What’s wrong? Anything I can help with?”
I sighed, my little sucker heart warming that he’d asked. “I don’t think so. Mrs. H. doesn’t like my pink suggestions.” I realized that he of all people would understand the importance of this. “She might pull the contract.”
“Ouch.” I could practically hear him thinking. “That’s the one that would put you into the black, isn’t it?”
“Yes and I was hoping on referrals to some of her friends from this job. The worst thing is that I think she would like it once it was in. It’s not as though I can’t dig up a plant and change it, but she’s just not going to listen.”
Well, the floodgates were open. I ended up telling him a lot more about pink hellebores than he certainly needed to know, particularly about the subtlety of their shading. “And she loves subtle, I just know she’d adore them, but she’s not listening to me. And I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Feel better?”
I smiled despite my woes. “Yes. Thanks for listening.”
“Least I could do.” He thought for a minute. “So, why don’t you send her one? Maybe the pictures don’t do them justice.”
It was such a good idea that I felt like a dope for not thinking of it before. “I don’t have a car. Maybe I can find a courier...”
He interrupted me crisply. “Consider one found. Where do I get a pink hellebore, how do I know it when I see it, and what’s her address?”
It took me a minute to make any sound at all. “I think I love you.”
Then I clapped my hand over my mouth.
But Nick’s rich chuckle echoed down the phone lines. “You’re just saying that so I really do it,” he said, his velvety voice giving me goose pimples.
Saved by the bell.
I told him what he needed to know, plus a lot of instruction on choosing a plant, then remembered that he had called me. “Oh, what did you call about?”
“Right.” I heard him snap his fingers. “Pick a color.”
“Why?”
Nick made an exasperated sound. “Phil, you’ve got to be the most suspicious woman I’ve ever known. Pick.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
He didn’t even answer that.
But then, I didn’t expect much different. “Okay, blue.”
“Mmm, Mediterranean azure or twilight navy?”
He sounded like he was reading them off a card or something. “What are you up to?”
“Pick.”
“The twilighty one. It makes me think of sunsets and stars coming out.”
There was a smile in his voice. “Bright stars.”
“I guess. What...”
“Gotta go, Phil. See you later.”
And I got the dial tone. Men, men, men. They could be an awful lot of trouble, even if they were cute. I must have muttered something to that effect, because Elaine looked up from her drawings.
“Philippa, whenever a man asks, your favorite color should be clear.”
“What?”
She smiled. “A little something that cuts glass matches everything.”
“Elaine!”
“Hey, if he’s buying gifts, it might as well be something you like.”
* * *
You’re probably thinking that Elaine is a calculating little piece of baggage. Mostly she talks tougher than she is, not that I have any experience of that. I respect her, though.
You see, she really came from nothing. Absolutely nothing. Her father doesn’t know she’s alive because her mother wasn’t sure which of her customers he was, and her mother, well, her mother worked the streets until she died with her black patent leather stiletto heeled boots on.
Elaine’s mother worked the hotels and the upscale crowd, which I guess is how Elaine got her clothes sense. She also ended up with a nice nest egg, courtesy of Mom’s stock picks. She might have been one of the only hookers who didn’t do any drugs or drink, but that might have been the issue in the end. They found her dead in a dumpster when Elaine was twelve years old.
Elaine doesn’t talk about it much. She doesn’t talk about her mother’s family, who shunned her because of her mother’s occupation. Imagine, effectively being on your own at twelve. Elaine does talk about the parochial school where her mother sent her, that woman having saved every buck she could toward the tuition.
She told me one that her mother had never set foot on the school grounds, because she didn’t want Elaine “tainted”.
I guess it was easy to tell what Mom did for a living.
After her mother’s death, Elaine went on through private schools, then to art school, working like a little demon even as Mom’s capital was whittled away. She was determined that the rest of her family never saw a dime of it—and they were probably glad enough to have her stay away from them to cut loose the cash to a minor.
In the end, her mother gave Elaine got the start she had never had, making sure her beautiful daughter had better choices in life. Elaine made good ones. She got top grades, she worked harder than anyone I’ve ever met. She met all the right people and learned how to mingle amongst them, her roots undetected.
She told me once that it was the very least she owed her mother.
She probably also owed her affection for men to her mother, not to mention her blunt assessments. There were no illusions with Elaine, but that never seemed to affect her popularity. Men came out of the woodwork, like bees to honey, when Elaine entered a room. It was amazing to watch. But Elaine only entered relationships as an equal, with terms stated plainly up front. It might not be a cash transaction, but it sure as heck wasn’t going to be love.
Though she never admitted it to me, I know she was crazy about her mother. So, she’d been there and done that as far as getting her heart involved, and she wasn’t going back.
We met at a chamber of commerce mixer, when I was thinking of starting my own company. Networking intimidated me to death, so I thought I’d star
t somewhere where no one was likely to bite. Elaine was a revelation. She worked that room front and back, then went back and did it side to side. She talked to everyone, she laughed and she sparkled, and half the place had one of her cards within forty-five minutes.
I caught up to her in the parking lot and asked her to teach me how to do that. It wasn’t long until we were friends, and right around the same time, we became partners.
I still enjoyed watching her chat up society matrons, wondering what they would think if they knew where she had come from. Truth be told, I’ve seen more than one husband do a double-take when he first glimpsed Elaine.
I always wonder whether those men are remembering someone else.
* * *
I hit Elaine up that afternoon for an explanation about Jeffrey, but she stonewalled me.
“You don’t fool me,” I finally told her. “That one got away. That one mattered, or you wouldn’t be nearly so annoyed with him.”
I didn’t think she’d emerge from under the cone of silence, but I was wrong.
“Okay, you want the story? Here it is.” She flung down her marker and stared at me, antagonistic now that she had to surrender a secret. “We went out for a while. We hit my six date maximum and I told him that was it. He was persistent and I finally caved.”
“Why? Because he made you a present you couldn’t refuse?”
“No, that’s what was weird about it. I liked him. He was sexy.” She looked at her desk. “He was a bit uptight in public, but he was smart and sometimes funny. We had a good time together.”
“We are talking about Jeffrey McAllister here, aren’t we?”
“Don’t give me that, Philippa. He looks good. He didn’t always walk with a telephone pole up his ass.”
“Ah, I’m sensing my father’s influence here.”
“Maybe. Anyway, he kept breaking my six date barriers. I don’t even know how long we’d been going out when I decided to trust him.”
“Big mistake?”
“Go with your gut, Philippa. My mother told me never to trust a man with the truth, and she was right. That was the end of it.” Her features tightened and she picked up her marker, savagely untwisting the cap.
Third Time Lucky: Volume 1 (The Coxwells) Page 24
