Once more he would throw himself into jobs in the hope it would block out the rest of his life.
The attempt lasted for the first half hour before the recollection of Richard flat on his back, sensations wrought upon the man’s body by Ethan, wormed its way back into Ethan’s mind and heart. He took a short break to eat one of the stored peaches to help silence the grumbles of an empty belly, although, if the bitch up at the house saw, she’d likely accuse him of stealing. The sweetness did nothing to pacify. If anything, the flavour embittered his mind.
The land must be cursed, for it made his thoughts rancid. His future here looked bleak. Years of working on the Gardener estate with the chance he might end up like his father were a bad enough prospect, but to work here and watch Richard from afar…how to stomach it? He’d never wanted ‘just sex’. The lie managed to manoeuvre Richard into his bed, which was fine for a first time. Meaningless sex was like a purposeless job. Fine for a while, but not long term. Ethan had about done with his insignificant existence. More years of the same was for shit and if he could be honest with himself he’d known from the day his father went into a home.
For a man like William Fields, one might as well have sent him to prison. Ethan had spent too long watching his father disappear day by day, not from dementia but because the once strong man didn’t know how to cope when illness turned his body against him. Made him too weak to do more than stand some days. Some people didn’t know how to give up work. Labour had given his whole life purpose.
No. Ethan had given his father purpose, especially after his mother died so young, so long ago. His father worked hard to provide for Ethan, saved, hoping whether his son chose to stay on and work for the Gardeners’ or move on, he’d be able to make a choice what to do with his life. If his father had known every penny he’d saved would one day go on paying for a care home, it would have crippled him faster. His father’s needs made a liar of Ethan.
“Never a liar or a lender be,” his father admonished.
“Sorry, Dad.” His father didn’t need to be around for Ethan to hear his voice. “Yeah, I know. Don’t nag. Get back to work.”
A few crops still needed harvesting. Ethan stabbed the fork into the ground, barely penetrating the topsoil. For the first time he didn’t care if he left the vegetables to rot. Ruby Gardener had forced him to lie to his father and he’d as soon as dig her burial plot than her garden.
The memory of the day he’d gone to her for help made his eyes burn. She hadn’t given him as much as an extra week’s wages to help towards his father’s care.
“Maybe Richard doesn’t know.”
Were all his thoughts going to whisper in his father’s voice? While it may be true Richard was unaware of Ethan’s finances—possible if his remark of the previous night was any way to judge—what Ethan could not forgive was Richard not once mentioning his father, only talking about his own.
The next thrust of the fork went deep into the earth.
* * * *
“Richard.”
“Christopher.”
The two men nodded, shook hands, and sat down at the table.
“I took the liberty of ordering a pitcher of iced water as we’re both driving.”
Rich nodded. He no more drank when driving than Christopher did. As the man’s sister had been injured several years back in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, Rich wouldn’t have insulted the man by doing so in front of him in any case.
“Shall we order first?”
As Christopher didn’t object, Rich flipped open the menu. He saw what he wanted though dithered over whether to choose the scallops or butternut and red pepper soup to begin with. In the end, he went for the soup. The dish sounded more warming and homely.
Christopher opened the conversation. “Forgive me for pointing this out but though I agreed to meet, this does rather present me with a difficult decision.”
Rich sipped from his glass before answering. “Granted mother owns shares in the firm but it’s a minor interest compared to me.”
Christopher was nodding. “Fifty-two percent to you. There are those on the board who never quite understood your father’s thinking.”
Upon his father’s death, Rich inherited the man’s share, his original share passing to his sister. Everyone involved had signed papers years before allowing his wishes to be fulfilled. None of this was what Christopher referred to. His mother’s share had always remained more in line with her children. Some would say a disproportionate share for a spouse.
“My mother’s never been interested. She feels a woman’s place is…elsewhere.” Rich shrugged, uncertain how much to confess. It sat uneasy with him to admit his mother existed in another period in time where women’s rights were concerned.
“Your mother’s never been captivated with business dealings. Not during the time I’ve known her.” Christopher broke off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth, head cocking to one side. “Odd when she’s so good at scheming.”
Hard not to smile at that. “The funny thing is, if she overheard you say so, she’d most likely thank you.” Her scheming tended towards relationships and others making their way in business but Christopher wasn’t mistaken.
“I take it she isn’t aware we’re meeting.” The other man studied his knife, rotated it so a captured spot of light dazzled Rich a couple of times.
“You would be right.” Rich sipped at his water—a moment of calm to organise his thoughts. Though he’d considered various ways to handle the situation, depending on Christopher’s reaction, the choice proved difficult. The vibe Rich picked up amounted to nothing more than warm curiosity. “I’ve no real experience with the company and seek your advice.”
The statement received a blink and well it might. Rich’s confession, though not a straightforward statement of truth, was no lie. He put his best gambit into play.
“Any particular details concern you?” The question was no sooner out of Christopher’s mouth than their first course arrived and distracted him. Both men set to their meals.
After two spoonfuls of the excellent soup, Rich buttered a roll, and chose to be truthful. “My father undertook the roles of CEO and chairman combined.”
Christopher nodded. “It’s believed it has the effect of reducing accountability—”
“Yes, I’m aware. Fewer checks etcetera when there’s one job instead of two. But I don’t wish to oversee both.”
“Well…” Christopher studied the tableware. “I don’t foresee it would be a problem. We can hire…”
Rich waved Christopher to silence. “I’m sure and I’ll take your advisement and get on board supervising the selection myself.” Any new personnel they took on at top level placement was something with which he did want to be involved. He wanted no one in a prominent position hired without his giving the go-ahead. “However…” The word trailed off. How honest should he be? “Off the record?”
Christopher gave him a hesitant nod.
“I can step into my father’s shoes, or at least in their wake, and I have the capability and education to learn what I don’t already know. We can also hire others and delegate some of my duties. What I want to make myself aware of is all our options.” Rich reached into his briefcase and took out a file. He pushed it over. “Care to explain?”
Christopher wiped his mouth with his napkin. Although he probably didn’t need to, he flicked open the file. “Speaks for itself.” The man stared across the table before pushing the file back. “Did your mother not…?”
“Speak to me about this? No.”
“Ah…” Christopher attacked his meal, chewing a couple of mouthfuls before speaking again. A meeting over food allowed for organising one’s thoughts. Rich should have learned of the trick sooner.
A sip of water followed before Christopher resettled his napkin in his lap and met Rich’s gaze. “It’s a good offer, one your father contemplated by reason of ill health. He improved and decided to wait. Things, of course, didn’t go
the way he hoped.”
“So the offer is real?”
Christopher nodded.
“And still stands?”
“It…does.”
He sounded less decided. Rich narrowed his gaze.
“You have to understand they may play hardball now your father has gone. The stock value did drop…”
“And rose again.”
“Granted. When people saw the firm wouldn’t fall apart overnight.”
“I take it my mother didn’t want to sell.”
“No, she didn’t. Doesn’t, I should say.” Christopher toyed with the food on his plate, gaze distant. “Your father believed it more of a possibility. He…doubted whether you wanted the company.”
News to Rich but…“He wasn’t wrong.” When had his father realised? Intuition or a mere guess?
Something which might be surprise or amusement, or both, now shone out of Christopher Talbot’s eyes. Both men finished their starters so the waiter came to remove their plates.
“I’ll be honest. I have next to no interest in the company, which is ungrateful when it pays the bills. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about its success, about the people who have worked so hard for us all these years. I am debating whether to see what kind of price we might get for the firm, though.”
“And you’ve not told your mother?”
“Not yet. I wanted to speak with you and to have you list my alternatives. Whatever decision I make, I want to be well-informed.”
“You could be a non-executive director.”
“A figurehead.”
“In a sense. A public relations exercise to keep the investors happy. But I’ll be honest…” Christopher leaned forward. “I think you’re underselling yourself.” He held up a hand. “There’s no rush. You can step up for now and step down later. My advice…we can discuss options. I can find if the buyers are still interested and put out feelers for other interested parties, but I wouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Come on board. Get a feel for the job.”
Something in Christopher’s manner…Rich didn’t know why, but it bothered him. He cocked his head to one side, frowned a little and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“I can’t imagine the business without a Gardener at the helm. And while I think you can sell the company almost overnight, I’m used to a capable captain steering us in rough waters. I liked your father and some of his business acumen must have rubbed off on you.”
Nice sentiment. “There’s one other possibility, but I need your word this will go no further. It’s only an idea at present.”
The other man took a few seconds, calculations running through his eyes. “Sounds cloak and dagger enough to be interesting.”
“Not very, but for the sake of peace in my family I do need your discretion.”
“Still sounds interesting.” Christopher gave him a nod. “You have my word.”
* * * *
Lunch took longer than anticipated during which the traffic built up. Ten minutes short of reaching the manor, the line of vehicles crawled to a standstill. The delay meant less time spent wandering around the mausoleum. If anything, the holdup improved Rich’s mood.
When he at last pulled up in front, got out, and walked into the house, he discovered a bounce in his step and felt like whistling. He managed to tune up with a couple of notes…which slivered away on a hiss. Sapphire’s bags stood in the hallway, her arrival a little earlier than he expected. Without him there to act as a bulwark there was no knowing—
“I’m not gonna stay where I’m not wanted.”
“Sapphire, get back here this instant!”
A door banged overhead. Sapphire came clattering along the gallery, head high, making the old-fashioned elegance of the dark wood a surreal contrast to the bright shirt she wore and her violet hair. The style sat piled high on her head in a semi-elegant tousled manner, twisted with ribbons. She might have looked like some eccentric mental patient if she weren’t…well, Saffie. Sapphire carried her confidence as a physical aura, and her pixie-like features made the hairstyle adorable.
She caught sight of him as she reached the top of the stairs, big round-eyed gaze flicking to his face, back to the steps as she started down them.
“I swear I don’t know why I bother.” Ruby Gardener’s footsteps thundered along the upper gallery.
“Bother? Bother?” Saffie sounded both shocked and choked.
Their mother appeared. The sound of her voice echoed around the hall.
“Why the hell do I bother with you, young lady?”
Saffie spun on the stairs. “Excellent question. I’m amazed you didn’t abort.” She continued her descent.
“Get back here!” Ruby Gardener came down at a more sedate pace, though still faster than normal. Rich stepped forward, fearing she might take a tumble. Saffie got in his way.
“Do you know what this woman said to me?”
As he wasn’t psychic and had just walked through the front door, Rich shook his head. Over Saffie’s shoulder the pinched expression on his mother’s face twisted something inside him. She hadn’t looked this devastated at his father’s funeral. How often did people never mean what they uttered, but by the time they realised their terrible mistake, it was too late?
Apologise, mother. Say sorry or live to regret it.
“What do you expect?” Their mother came to a halt at the foot of the stairs, clutching the handrail. “Turning up late, looking like an old bag lady.”
“She does not.” The protest left his lips before he even considered the consequences. Felt good, though. Sticking up for his sister in a direct manner was a new, surprising, and interesting development.
“Late! Late! Turning up late!” His mother’s hand curled around the bannister like a claw.
“Is it any reason to insult her appearance?”
She glared but really, what else did she expect him to say?
“Is it any wonder she’s still single, looking as she does?”
One thing his sister did not suffer was a lack of male companionship. Not that she wanted the attention or took much notice of it, but she was single through choice at this point. Was their mother upset because she believed Sapphire would end up some kind of old maid? If she didn’t marry it was her decision to make and—looking at Saffie, bent over, busy stuffing things back into her bag—couldn’t Ruby see how adorably cute her own daughter was? How funny she could be? Didn’t Ruby notice her intelligence?
“Are you seriously complaining because Sapphire isn’t married yet?” He met his mother’s gaze. “How Dickensian.”
“Trust you to gang up with her. You’re not much better. Your father’s already gone. Am I to go, too, before I see grandchildren?”
Saffie stopped packing, straightened up. Her eyes sparkled but not from tears. With her back to their mother, only Rich could see her face. Her lips twitched, started to curl. Saffie was laughing. “I thought it was only me.” She wiped a finger at the corner of one eye, dashing away a tear. Her shoulders shook.
“There’s no reason to be upset,” his mother said.
Did their mother think Saffie cried? If so, she didn’t know her own daughter at all.
“Typical overreaction.” Ruby Gardener spat out the words as though disgusted.
The idiocy at last bested his sister. She let out a wild cackle as she faced their mother. “Upset? Overreaction? Telling your daughter she’s the waste of an egg because she hasn’t fertilised her own is what I call an overreaction. Hmm? Don’t you think?”
Ouch. Rich winced. No wonder Saffie packed to leave. He was ready to go with her.
“Apologise, Mother.” Ruby stared at him like he must be joking. “Damn well apologise or I will walk out with her.”
Rather than spend nights in the kind of hotel Saffie frequented, they should move into the staff house. The errant notion led to ideas of spending the night in Ethan’s bed. Time for a chat with Saffie. Rich wanted to tell her she wasn’t the only odd one out in the family.
For several seconds, Ruby didn’t believe him. He witnessed the moment doubt slid into her expression. She pressed her lips together and rocked on her heels. Her grip on the handrail tightened. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Of course I didn’t. I…worry.”
Saffie ran fingers through her hair, somehow managing to avoid getting caught up in the ribbons. “About what? I’ll end up alone? If that’s what you think is the worst thing to happen to a woman, you’ve pottered around inside these walls far too long. It’s not like we’ll ever be broke and I’ll find myself on the street. Amazing as it may seem, I don’t need a man to complete me.”
“You mean, you don’t…ever…?” Ruby fisted her free hand.
“Stop assuming. I’m not against love, marriage, kids, or any of it, but it’s not a necessity for my wellbeing. If all you want me to be is a breeder so you can have grandchildren then, no, I don’t ever want. And why should I stay under the same roof as someone who views me as no more than an incubator?”
Rich’s gaze flicked between Saffie and his mother. Should he say something? Interrupt? He didn’t want Sapphire to say too much. To make the situation worse. To show her hand too soon. They’d talked over his sister’s options and future plans. Following on from the meeting he’d had earlier, they needed to talk more. There was much to discuss before they dragged their mother into the decision process. Because whichever way they went, it wouldn’t be a discussion. They fought a war.
“Don’t leave.” Rich took a step to grab Saffie’s attention. “I want a chance to catch up.” With luck, she’d get his meaning. “And the house is big enough to stay out of each other’s way. We can all sleep on it. Maybe make up in the morning.” If his mother objected to the suggestion, she said nothing.
“I’ll stay because you asked me so nicely, brother bug. But only if you’ll help me carry this bag upstairs.” Saffie marched back to the stairs without giving the woman standing at the bottom so much as a glance. Rich grabbed the suitcase and grunted, not because the bag was heavy, but the opposite. Saffie travelled light. An illuminating idea came to mind. If their mother ever hoped to pin Sapphire down…he might be the one with the solution.
Flowers for the Gardener Page 13
