by Joan Kilby
One thing was certain; while Maeve was gardener, there would be no green cement or plastic trees in Will’s garden.
Will and Ida’s garden, that is.
ON SATURDAY MORNING Will was yanked from dreamland by the roar of a chainsaw starting up. The high-pitched whine that followed brought him upright in bed to check the bedside clock. For crying out loud, it was only 8:05.
Ordinarily, he awoke at dawn. Weekends, he’d be in the surf by seven and on his way home for breakfast by ten. But last night he’d gone to the Surf Lifesaving Club for a beer, sort of an impromptu, single-handed buck’s night. He’d had the idea he would test his reaction to relinquishing his bachelorhood. And women.
In the moment of heightened lucidity brought on by a couple of beers, he’d realized he felt no pain over giving up his freedom. What hurt was giving up Maeve before he’d had a chance to try to win her. The sense of lost opportunities had sparked a kind of grief, and he’d drunk more than his usual limit.
This morning, he was paying the price with a dry mouth and pounding head as the ear-splitting roar of another machine of destruction joined the whine of the chainsaw. The racket sounded close enough to be in his own backyard. Bleary-eyed, Will dragged himself out of bed to close the window.
What the hell…!
The chainsaw-wielding demon was on the roof of his bungalow! His back to Will, he sliced through the limbs of the gum tree before dropping them into a mulching machine, which vibrated and screamed as it chewed the wood into sawdust.
Will hadn’t authorized this. He hadn’t even had a chance to call the landscaper Maeve had recommended. She must have called herself, but the guy had a nerve starting work without Will’s say-so.
Will rubbed his eyes and looked again. The fellow was wearing khaki cargo pants, work boots and a black crop top over a strong tanned back and gently muscular arms that gleamed with perspiration. He was a she. And although her long dark hair was nowhere in evidence, he could tell by the figure and stance that she was Maeve Arden.
He hardly knew what he felt as he drew back from the window. Elation—that she’d come to restore his garden. Annoyance—that she’d chosen to start first thing in the morning with the chainsaw. Irritation—that she hadn’t informed him she’d decided to honor her contract.
Anticipation—at the thought of seeing her again.
Will popped a couple of headache tablets, showered and shaved, then stepped outside in shorts and a loose cotton shirt, ready to tell her off. Because her back was to him and the noise was so great, he had to walk around to the other side of the bungalow to get her attention. “Hello. Hello.”
She didn’t hear. Of course, she didn’t hear. She wore protective earmuffs as well as plastic safety glasses. Her mouth tight with concentration, she guided the heavy chainsaw through the trunk of the gum tree. With an expert flick of her strong wrists, she twisted the chainsaw so that the branchless top of the tree dropped neatly into the gaping maw of the mulcher. She paused to scratch her nose with the back of a gloved hand. And saw him.
Frowning, she shut off the chainsaw. Will waited until the mulcher had pulverized its latest victim and the noise had dropped, before he shouted, “I thought you couldn’t bring yourself to work for me.”
She removed her hat to wipe the perspiration from her forehead, and her long braid, tucked under the brim, snaked over her shoulder. “I changed my mind.”
She changed her mind. “How very…female of you.”
On second thought, this conversation could wait until he’d had breakfast. He started to leave.
“A cold drink would be nice,” she called after him.
The sound of the chainsaw accompanied his retreat to the house. There he slammed an ice tray onto the bench top to loosen the cubes, and dumped the ice into a glass pitcher. He filled the pitcher with cranberry juice, then toasted and buttered a stack of raisin bread and carried everything to the patio table. He ate half the raisin toast, drank two glasses of juice, and finally began to feel a little better.
More than capable of tackling Mary, Mary, quite contrary.
But when she stepped onto the patio, her tanned skin glistening beneath the crop top, he forgot what his problem was. She tilted a glass of juice to her lips and drank it down in one gulp, exposing her slender throat.
She reached for the toast. Before she could pick up a piece, he pushed the plate toward her. “Care for some toast?”
Her lips curled upward in a closemouthed smile of seemingly incredible sweetness that nevertheless made him think of a mischievous imp. “Thank you, I would.”
“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “are you here because I offered you double the pay?”
“I’m here because I signed a contract. I honor my promises. And for some strange reason, my father thinks the world of you. He might fret himself into another heart attack if I let you down.” She bit into her toast and chewed forcefully. “And because Ida came to see me.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say on the subject of Ida. But it didn’t matter, because Maeve had already moved on.
“I expect only the money I quoted on my estimate…”
He nodded. He was getting off cheap. In more ways than one.
“Plus, you’ll find my father another job—not in Indonesia.”
He was shocked into silence. Which she obviously took as acquiescence, for she grabbed another piece of toast and got up to leave. “Thanks for breakfast.”
The last time she’d been here, he hadn’t been able to get her to stop asking questions; now she wouldn’t spare him an extra word. “Is this going to be a habit?” he asked, following her off the patio. “Working on Saturday mornings, I mean. I’d like to know so I can put my earplugs in the night before.”
“Sorry about the noise,” she said cheerfully. “I’m making up for lost time. I’ll have to work a few weekends if I want to get your place finished before the end of summer. Don’t worry. Once the lopping and pruning are done, it won’t be so noisy.”
“I thought you had an assistant for the heavy work.”
“Tony helps out on his family vineyard on weekends.” She tucked a wisp of dark hair behind her ear. The movement released a scent of clean sweat and warm skin.
Suddenly, Will didn’t want to leave her. “I’ll get changed into something less comfortable and give you a hand.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, coiling her braid on the crown of her head and jamming her hat on top.
“Maybe it is. You see—” His brain stalled while trying to come up with a plausible reason to help her do the job he was paying her for. “Ida and I are getting married in a couple of months and I want the garden looking nice for the ceremony,” he said at last.
Maeve stared at him. “So what were you about, asking me out to dinner and jazz concerts?”
“That was before Ida and I decided to marry.” He would have explained further, but what could he add that wouldn’t in some way diminish Ida?
“Okay you can help. I want to get it done, too. I may be going out of town at the end of the summer.” She whirled around and strode off across the lawn.
Will went back into the house and put on long pants and boots. In the laundry room, he clapped on a hat, picked up his secateurs and gloves and joined Maeve out by the rhododendrons. She was armed with a saw and a pair of lethal-looking, long-handled clippers.
She glanced at his garden shears and offered him the saw. “I’ll do the fine pruning. You can remove the dead branches. See, like this one—no green leaves, twigs snap instead of bend.”
“I may not know a sepal from a stamen, but I know a dead branch when I see it.” He took the saw and set to work.
Twenty minutes later, he’d removed half the deadwood in the stand, and sweat was dripping between his shoulder blades. Pausing to wipe the moisture from his forehead, he said, “Are you going on holiday at the end of summer?” A thought struck, making him add, “With your ex-husband?�
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She gazed at him through the rhododendrons, her face half obscured by the long glossy leaves. “He wants me to sail to Fiji with him.”
A jolt of jealousy and loss went through Will. She looked like a—what were those wood nymph things—dryads? Yes, a dryad, with her smooth olive complexion, mahogany eyes and ebony hair. If he leaned a smidgen closer, he could kiss her. Not that he would, of course.
“What does he do for a living?” Will asked, needing to stay with rational, ordinary topics.
“Graham’s a doctor,” she said slowly. “When our dau—When our marriage broke up, he quit his medical practice, and now he spends most of his time sailing around the South Pacific, going from island to island.”
“How does he survive financially?”
“He works locum for a few months, then takes off on his boat till the money runs out. You don’t need much to live on with that kind of lifestyle.”
“And now he wants you back,” Will said, guessing. “Are you going to sail with him?”
Her dark eyes held his. “I’m beginning to think I should.”
He was wrong, surely, about the attraction he thought he’d glimpsed just now in her eyes. And the double meaning underlying her words. But he couldn’t mistake his reaction to her—the pulsing blood and the shortness of breath. It was only physical, he told himself. Doubtless, if he got to know Maeve he would discover all sorts of faults and weaknesses. Yeah, like he really believed that. “I’ll just take these branches over to the mulcher.”
By the time he’d done that, she had the electric hedge trimmer out and was starting to clip a smooth surface across the box hedge. “Get me the ladder from the back of the ute, please,” she said, any trace of intimacy gone. “Then rake up the trimmings as they come down.”
She was enjoying this. “Yes, sir, Boss.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “You said you wanted to help.”
“I had in mind something a little less menial.”
“Huh! You haven’t seen menial till you’ve spread manure.”
He grinned and went to fetch the ladder.
WILL COULDN’T REMEMBER ever enjoying yard work before. He’d definitely never lain in bed two nights afterward recalling the fun time he’d had ripping out diseased plants and throwing them in the back of a utility truck. Of course, some of that enjoyment could have come from spending time with Maeve.
Correction. All the pleasure derived from being with Maeve. Even though she’d barely unbent the whole time.
So where did that leave him and Ida?
He couldn’t go through with the wedding. It wasn’t fair to Ida. It wasn’t fair to him.
Who knows, maybe Ida, too, had had second thoughts about marrying. He could still donate sperm, if that was what she wanted. He’d even go to prenatal classes with her. He would help her in every way he could, short of making her Mrs. Will Beaumont.
On Monday after work, instead of heading down the peninsula to Sorrento, he crossed the highway and started the crawl down Mornington’s main street. Ida’s law office was located at the end of the street, just before the park. Great when he was meeting her for an impromptu lunch on the beach, but hellacious when he was snared in bumper-to-bumper summer tourist traffic and trying to catch her before she shot past in the other direction.
He was in luck, though. When he walked through the door into the air-conditioned office, Ida’s secretary, Sally, glanced up and smiled. “You’re just in time.”
Ida emerged from her office, her purse in one hand and a soft-sided leather case bulging with briefs in the other.
“Will!” Her face lit, then she did something she’d never done before at the sight of him: she blushed.
Okay, that settled it. This arrangement was a mistake. It was affecting a lifetime friendship. Thank goodness, they weren’t too far down the road toward matrimony and could still turn back.
“Hi,” he said, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Got time for a drink? I need to talk to you.”
She glanced at her briefcase and grimaced, however, the excited smile she turned on him told another story. “I’ve got heaps of work, but, yes, you can buy me a drink. There’s something I want to talk to you about, too.”
“What is it?” He wondered if he should offer to carry her briefcase. It looked heavy, but he’d never done anything like that before, mainly because he hadn’t thought she’d let him.
“Wait till we get to the restaurant. ’Bye, Sally,” she called to her secretary. “See you tomorrow.” Ida struggled to hold both briefcase and purse in one hand as she opened the door.
“Here, let me take that.” Will made a grab for the briefcase, but she yanked it out of his reach.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s only in the third trimester that I shouldn’t lift heavy objects.”
“Huh?”
But she’d hurried ahead, through the lane to the all-day car park where she had a reserved spot for her BMW. There, she dropped her case in the boot and twirled to him, smiling and unencumbered. “Shall we go to the Seahorse? I’m starving.”
“Sure.”
They strolled down the street toward the water-front bistro that served Mediterranean food. “You’re in a good mood,” he commented a few minutes later, as they seated themselves at an outdoor table shaded by a market umbrella.
Ida smiled hugely. “I’ve got good news.”
“Did Rick call?” He couldn’t think what else would engender such elation, although he felt a little guilty at the forceful wave of relief that flowed over him at the thought of Rick back on the scene; it would let Will off the hook.
“No, silly.” Ida batted away the notion with her hand and spoke to a passing waiter. “A large lemonade, please.”
“Lemonade?” Will’s eyebrows rose.
Ida just smiled smugly and picked up a menu.
“I’ll have a Tuborg,” Will said to the waiter. “And an order of calamari for two, to start.” As the waiter walked away, he turned to Ida, “So, what’s your news?”
“You first. You had something to tell me.”
He took in her smiling face. This wasn’t going to be easy. Not just because of Ida’s potential reaction might be, but because, suddenly, not having a family to look forward to filled him with an enormous sense of loss. “Ladies first.”
“No, you go ahead.”
“I insist.”
“Oh, all right. I’m going to have a baby.”
Will swallowed. She was still set on the idea. “Yeah, we already talked about that.”
Ida laughed. “No, I mean, I’m going to have a baby.”
He gazed at her blankly.
“I went to the doctor at lunchtime today. I’m pregnant!”
“Pregnant! How did that happen? We haven’t even kissed!”
“Quit looking like a stunned mullet,” Ida said, laughing. “It wasn’t an immaculate conception, you idiot.”
“Then whose is it?”
Her smile faltered. “Rick’s, of course. There hasn’t been anyone else for a long time.”
“Hell, Ida, have you told him?”
The waiter brought their drinks and the plate of calamari, took their dinner orders and left.
Ida nibbled on a crispy ring of fried squid. “I called him,” she said, equivocating.
“Did you let him know he was going to be a father?”
Her hazel eyes widened. “Yes.”
“Really?” Will said skeptically. He couldn’t believe Rick would deny his own child. Or leave Ida in the lurch. “What did he say, exactly?”
“He’s been very busy, he’s sorry he hasn’t called, he hopes I’ll visit him someday—”
“What did he say about the baby?”
Twirling her straw in her glass, Ida stared across the bay. When she spoke at last she was quietly resigned. “He’s not ready for children.”
Will swore under his breath. “Give me his phone number. I’ll talk to him.”
Ida’s gaze sn
apped back. “Don’t you dare!”
Taken aback at her vehemence, Will sputtered, “Why not?”
“I…I will not be further humiliated.” She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “Oh, Will, thank goodness I have you. I never realized just how much I value your friendship. And now that I know I’m pregnant, now that a real live baby is growing inside me, I realize how right you are about a child needing a mother and a father. There’s no way I’d want to raise one alone.” Tears welled. “I’m so happy and grateful we’re going to get married. Please tell me it’s okay that the first baby won’t be yours.”
What could he say? It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might have changed his mind about marrying her. And what kind of jerk proposed, then backed out almost immediately? He put aside his doubts. Ida needed him. And she was right; they were no longer talking hypothetically. There was a baby on the way who also needed him.
“Of course, it’s okay,” he said, squeezing her hand in return. “I’m going to love that baby.”
He truly believed he spoke the truth. A relationship with Maeve, even if he pursued her, even if she were interested, would undoubtedly be as short-lived as all his others. He was ready for something lasting. Ida and her baby—their baby—would give him what he wanted out of life.
The relief on Ida’s face was palpable. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Oh, Will, we’ll have fun, you’ll see. A brand-new adventure.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “At least, now I know why I’ve been so emotional lately…” She paused to blow her nose. “Hormones.”
“How far along are you?”
“Six weeks. When I missed my last period I didn’t think anything of it. Rick and I were using protection, and my periods are irregular, anyway.”
“So what made you suspect you were pregnant?”
“When I threw up at work for the third day in a row, Sally bought a pregnancy test and insisted I take it. The test turned out positive, and today the doctor confirmed it. I’m going to be a mother.” She shook her head in wonderment. “I’m so thrilled. I wake up grinning and go to sleep with a smile on my face.”
Will smiled, too, just to see her so happy.
