Ethan’s knuckles turned white and the wheel creaked. Richard having dinner? With a woman?
As the traffic jammed again, he risked glancing over. The girl seemed familiar, a little flamboyant for his employer…if he happened to be straight and interested in women at all. Hard to place her, and he didn’t want to stare.
Am I jealous? How fucked up. Richard was gay. There’d be more reason to feel jealous if the other person was male. Ethan blew out his tension along with a breath but remained curious. As he crawled into a gap almost in line with the restaurant’s now open entrance, Ethan leaned an elbow on the edge of the door, head on hand, and snuck a look from beneath his brow. A second later, the woman spun, talking, as she dipped under Richard’s raised arm.
Sapphire. Ethan chuckled. To think he was so upset over spotting Richard with his sister.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” The urge to thump the wheel made him grip it tighter. He should have realised, but she had coloured her hair since the funeral, making her difficult to recognise. Interesting. Why did she not stay at the house? Rosie must be expecting her.
Would she arrive tonight? Might be a simple case of Richard picking her up, the two deciding to eat a late lunch or early dinner. If they killed time before heading to the manor, he didn’t blame them. The traffic moved on and, having no choice, Ethan went with it, mind racing with possibilities, no more eager to return than Richard appeared to be.
Sapphire coming back to the house might complicate matters, which could explain Richard’s reason for acting so casual at the idea of calling things off. Course, it was possible the man ordered sex the way he purchased pizza, and there Ethan circled back to the rent boy scenario.
Except he had started this. Hard to blame the other man for putting him in this position when Ethan was responsible. Worse—he now suffered from unwanted feelings for a man unlikely to ever be seriously interested.
* * * *
The door of Ethan’s car clonked shut as Dan came marching up and snapping out, “There’s something wrong with some fruit trees.”
Huh? Now what? So much for a day off, and what was Dan doing here? Oh yes, the boy had asked to swap one of his week days for half a day on a couple of Sunday afternoons. Not caring why and happy to oblige, Ethan had agreed. Although not in the mood for work, still habit kicked in. “What’s the trouble?”
“The leaves.”
Like they dropped off, it being winter ‘n’ all? He managed to keep the sarcasm to himself. Unfair of him. Dan wasn’t stupid as so many of his predecessors turned out to be, younger gardeners who came and went with disturbing and surprising regularity. Not cos of laziness, either. Some never came back the moment they met Ruby Gardener. “Show me.”
The two men fell into step, Dan making Ethan feel old and not because of years but time served. Dan showed aptitude but disinterest, but then Ethan found it hard to recall what tweaked his enthusiasm at that age. Not gardening, though he’d learned from his father. Never his intention to carry on but…his dad’s health…If he hadn’t stepped up, his father would have carried on working too many hours. The extra work was a small price for all his father had done for him, bringing him up alone after Ethan’s mother died young, Ethan little more than an infant at the time. William Fields took the job at the Gardeners’ manor in part because it came with accommodation and therefore one less worry for them both.
“See.” Dan pointed and Ethan held back a curse word. This wasn’t Dan’s fault.
“Brown rot.” Spotted earlier in the season, he’d forgotten. Wasn’t only the leaves. Brown rot affected stems, flowers, and fruit. Apart from a few sharp days, they still experienced mild spells and so not all the leaves had fallen but those on the ground and on the plants, were all covered and the fruit had mummified.
“This one’s different.”
Holes in the leaves, new shoots. Ethan took hold of a branch and it snapped off. “Bacterial canker, usually more common in stone fruits and after frost.”
“It’s been cold some nights.”
Ethan snorted with derision. At the sight of Dan’s frown, he fell into an explanation. “This spot’s pretty sheltered and it’s not cold enough. This is through lack of care, mostly. And we don’t get winters the way we used to.”
“We had a dumping of snow a couple of years ago.”
Dan aged Ethan several years with the one sentence. If he had time and inclination, he’d dig out some of his father’s photos and show the lad some images of real snowfall, the type his father experienced as a boy.
“This is my fault. I should have done something sooner. All these need the dead and diseased parts cut away, pruned for more light and air circulation, and treated with a fungicide.” He shook his head. “They’ve been like this for weeks. Now…It’s the end of the season.” More dead bark came away at his touch. “Didn’t even pick the fruit.” What little the plants had produced was a poor crop and long since rotted on the ground or dried on the trees.
“Anything we can do?”
“Like I say, prune.” Ethan motioned to the plum trees above the apples. No doubt in his mind now. The care of the estate got away from them, despite the long days he put in trying to keep up. “Truth is, I neglected these. Just too much to do.” They needed more staff but he’d not felt able to ask Ruby Gardener so close to a funeral. Maybe he should swallow his pride and ask Richard.
“I-I guess I can do a bit more.”
Reluctant but offering Dan brought an abashed smile to Ethan’s face. “You’re still learning and aren’t as used to the graft as me.” He almost rolled his shoulder and stopped, remembering it hurt. As his father always said, it never did to show weakness to those younger.
The frown on Dan’s face tightened until Ethan wanted to tell him to stop or he’d develop wrinkles.
“I can graft.”
A sweet protest. If Ethan had a choice, he’d keep Dan on, but didn’t expect the young man to stay longer than he needed to. Part of Dan’s reason for taking the job was the boy’s girlfriend.
One warm day during Dan’s first week, when Ruby Gardener was absent, Ethan had pulled off his shirt, stifling a laugh when the boy gaped. The reaction made him wonder about Dan’s sexuality, but a few questions revealed the truth. Dan hoped some digging would bulk up his muscles to impress his girl. Alas, young Dan hadn’t realised how much shovelling it took to acquire a physique like Ethan’s.
“You do enough. More than. Get off now. I’ll see to this.”
“You’re sure? I should stay until five.”
“This is my doing. My lapse. And I’ve nothing else to take care of today. Go on. Don’t test my generosity.”
The boy scarpered and Ethan focused on his chore. Might as well make a plastic shield for the outdoor peaches to help protect against leaf curl as well. Another job neglected so far. Nothing drastic. If he trimmed the plants, treated them, made them ready for winter now, with some care they should grow back healthy the following spring. In an odd way, the work eased his mood. Nothing like old-fashioned slog to take his mind off things.
* * * *
“You work too much.”
With her arms folded across her chest and shaking her head, Rosie took on the appearance of a stern grandmother. Ethan carried on past her. “Isn’t it your day off?”
“Shopped my socks off and going back out later. Last I heard, you don’t work Sundays either.”
The woman’s gentle scolding warmed him. “Clearing up something I neglected.”
“You eaten?”
“When don’t I?”
Took a harder man than him for one of Rosie’s warm grins not to affect him. “Bet you done a heap of work since. There’s still some muffins and I’m about to make hot chocolate.”
He gave her a nod—a lesser but satisfactory way of saying please and thanks without falling to his knees and praising some deity. Rosie’s baking and hot chocolate resembled heaven. “Can you hold off for ten minutes while I grab a quick shower?” Not
only did he need a wash, a bone-deep chill made itself known the moment he stepped in from the cold.
“No problem. You didn’t work all day, I hope.”
“Nope.” He hung up his jacket and kicked off his boots. “Went out for lunch.”
“How’s Dan doing?”
“Mighty well.”
She raised a single eyebrow.
“Well, he’s trying.”
Rosie nodded as she disappeared into the kitchen, calling out. “You been to see your dad?”
“Did that, too.” Nothing got past Rosie and she would have picked up on his mood. Not wanting to answer any more questions, Ethan made a break for the shower.
* * * *
Rich sat tapping the steering wheel. No lights shone in the house. Either his mother had gone to bed or was out, but he couldn’t see her car so chances were she wasn’t home. Pity he couldn’t persuade Saffie to accompany him, though it would raise questions if their mother saw them turn up together. If he called his sister now, she would refuse. One look at the sprawling house and he was no longer sure she had it so wrong—the dusty ill-used room at the hotel a more inviting prospect.
Shouldn’t his time here grow easier? Shouldn’t each day passing make this less like a prison and more like home? Assumption and hope didn’t seem to be working.
His place of escape—the sauna—conjured images of Ethan. Light from the house beckoned as he drove up, but the problem was the car. Not even his father had bothered using the garage except in dreadful weather. Left out, his mother would spot Rich’s car when she returned, but if he parked up at the side, in the shadow of the house, she might not notice.
He started the engine and did his best to park so an approaching sweep of headlights when his mother arrived wouldn’t draw attention to his being home. He locked up, before walking off to the back of the house going the long way round to the staff quarters.
The easy-to-follow path made simple work of his longed-for invisibility and soon brought him in view of the window of Ethan’s room, where he stepped off on to the grass and moved under the trees. Something spiked him in the ankle and, as he did a little dance out of the way, a branch flicked into his face.
“Ow!” Irritated but amused, Rich gathered his wits.
The house twinkled in the night like some kind of chocolate box promise of Christmas. This year, he wanted a single present to unwrap.
Despite feeling foolish, Rich rapped on the glass, and changed his mind too late, as the curtain drew back. With a slight pause, Ethan opened up. Not knowing what else to do, Rich grinned and shrugged.
“You invited me to hop in over your windowsill, if you recall.”
Hard to tell whether the open request surprised, annoyed, or pleased Ethan, but the man stood back, making room for Rich to climb in. Easier considered than done. Never in his life had Rich tried for stealth and the sill proved to be higher than it looked.
“Come on, Romeo.”
The comment made Rich’s head snap up. Ethan’s gaze glittered but his expression proved impossible to read, and Rich still struggled. This looked easy in the movies. At last, Rich levered himself up, grunting when he ended up lying on his stomach over the ledge, the hard frame trying to crack his ribs. Shit. Now what? If he pitched in, he risked landing on his head. Maybe he should push back and try again…Nope. No easier. Feet kicking into the air, body immobile, the ground felt to be a whole lot further away than it should.
Hands grabbed hold and dragged him into the room, holding him horizontal until he managed to put one leg down. Ethan shoved him into a standing position and at once Rich rubbed an ankle, having taken a knock as Ethan hauled him over the window frame. Great. Spiked in one ankle by some plant—better be a plant or he’d been stung—and battered on the other trying to clamber into the house.
Rich brushed himself down, ignoring the temptation to check out his legs, not wanting to appear a complete wimp. He took in his surroundings to take his mind off his discomfort, not having noticed much the other day. First surprise—Ethan crammed too much into the room.
The bookshelves remained as did the books on them, and so, too, did the desk, but during his time away a chest of drawers and a bed, plus various other pieces of furniture found their way into the mix. What looked to be a stack of canvasses lined up in one corner. Did Ethan paint?
“Are these yours?”
“They are now.”
As Ethan seemed disinclined to explain, Rich returned to examining a room which seemed to convey at least two functions, unsuitable for each. Hesitant to ask why Ethan now used the study as his bedroom, Rich continued to gaze around. By then, Ethan had fetched a second glass and poured from an open bottle of wine without asking if Rich wanted a drink.
Wine? Ethan drank wine? No reason he shouldn’t but the sight of Ethan holding a wine glass looked odd. Sapphire was right. Rich really was a snob.
Reader of minds, Ethan raised a glass half full. No reason not to imbibe. “Wouldn’t say no.”
“Do you ever say no to anything?” Ethan handed over the alcohol.
Rich took hold. Now how should he answer such a question?
* * * *
They drank in silence. Able to stand it no longer, Ethan spoke first. “Your sister coming home soon?”
Richard jerked as if stung by a wasp. Not knowing why but wanting to ease his boss’s growing discomfort, Ethan shrugged off the importance of the question.
“Saw you both. I was driving along when the two of you went into the pizza place.”
“Remarkable coincidence.”
Something in his voice. Deep. Sardonic. Maybe mistrustful, and there Ethan was thinking he had the market on suspicion. “Not so much. I eat there, too. Your mother shops in Leatherhead.” He took a wild guess. “If Sapphire is trying to avoid her, she should pick a better place.”
“I’ll let her know.” Richard drained his glass in a couple of gulps so large they must hurt his throat. “She’ll be back any day now. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Good to hear.” How much more should he say? “I quite…like your sister. She’s easy to get along with.”
“And the rest of us aren’t?”
“Compared to your sister, you mean?”
Several muscles in Richard’s face twitched, settling on what appeared to be amusement. “Okay. I’m prepared to concede. Saffie is the most easy-going of us. And fun.”
Ethan had forgotten Richard called his sister that name until now. “Oh, she’s fun. She always was the one causing trouble.” They perhaps shared a rare moment of clarity; perfect understanding made Ethan uncomfortable. He cursed himself for a fool even as he coughed.
“Kind of stuffy in here.”
Impolite for a guest to say so but Richard wasn’t wrong. Unable to look the man in the eyes, Ethan stared into the burgundy depths of his wine. So like blood.
“Sorry. I meant—”
“You’re right. It is. I’m sick of you apologising when you say something true. The room needs airing more and there’s too much old stuff. I’m hardly here. Got a lot of things to sort through.”
His comments appeared to capture Richard’s attention. He anticipated the questions he’d waited so long to hear to come at last but they didn’t. Richard’s gaze wandered over the room, his brow creasing. Why puzzled? Richard of all people must understand, but if he didn’t want to talk, they might as well get to the point.
“Enough chitchat. I take it I know why you’re here.”
Richard stepped back, the movement fluid, nonchalant, but Ethan wasn’t stupid. Somehow, he offended his employer. The man’s drifting gaze, his search for somewhere to set his glass, was Richard’s way of adjusting. A strange sense overcame Ethan. Richard pushed down his disappointment, changing into the thing he believed Ethan expected. As he found a clear space amid all the clutter, Richard’s hand shook.
There was no need to seek an empty spot to put down his own glass. Despite the mess, Ethan knew where everything was. He’d had to.
He set down his glass with a steadiness he didn’t feel. What he wanted was to take back most of the words to fall from his lips that evening, but it was like someone pinned his tongue with a spike, locking it into his jaw. He could almost taste the rich copper flavour of blood as he swallowed. If he had no room to retreat, the only option was to press ahead.
“Let’s undress you.”
Rapid blinks were Richard’s only answer, but the familiar lost and vulnerable look fired Ethan’s blood. Unable to resist, he slid a hand around Richard’s neck, trapping Richard by the nape, planting a kiss on the man’s lips. Nothing more than pressure, no tongues, but all insistence. The wide-eyed gaze, searched Ethan’s face as he pulled back.
“If you can bear to stay,” Ethan murmured, wanting to apologise for the mustiness of the room, something he didn’t think about often. He shouldn’t have invited Richard here, now not able to let the man leave.
Without looking away, Ethan worked on buttons, opened garments, pulling or pushing where necessary, Richard a doll in his arms, letting Ethan unwrap Richard’s legs, arms, and torso. Something ripped as Ethan got out of his own clothes, but he met Richard’s sharp, surprised gaze with a grin. To his delight, Richard’s expression softened. Better yet, the keen gaze examined, making Ethan slow down as he gave Richard all the time required to look while Ethan stripped for their pleasure.
When he pushed Richard back on the bed, he couldn’t help thinking how Richard looked so lovely a little more messed, and tired. This time, he held Richard’s attention.
The less distracted gaze revealed such beautiful eyes. Clear, innocent, questioning. Crystalline. A frozen pool with many colours. Ethan traced a small scar on one of Richard’s shoulders. Where had that come from? Otherwise, Richard’s skin…unblemished, not a single callous. Smooth. Perfect. Annoyed with the differences of their bodies, Ethan’s imposed by gardening, still he wanted to savour. Lean. Muscled enough. Should he keep resenting or give thanks? A blessing came by way of a gasp from Richard’s lips as Ethan caressed him. He curbed his answering smile, taking pleasure from his ability to affect Richard.
Flowers for the Gardener Page 11
