Blind Date Rivals

by Nina Harrington

  This report was going to have to be spectacular.

  He was going to show Paolo Rizzi that he had made the mistake of his life when he had disowned his own daughter and her children.

  It was time to show the old man that his grandson was a total professional and that Arabella Rizzi had made the right decision all of those years ago. And Kingsmede Manor was going to be the stage for the big event.

  And he was going to be wearing the wedding ring his beloved mother had placed on his father’s hand. Oh, yes.

  Which brought him right back to the first task of the day.

  Leo lifted his head and slid his sunglasses onto his nose.

  Time to face the music and find out if Sara Fenchurch had found his father’s ring in her bathroom that morning. And eat some humble pie—his least favourite dish.

  Drat Caspar for setting him up for a blind date in the first place.

  Sara had been an astonishing delight until he had opened his big mouth and put his foot in it. Surprising and intriguing and more than just attractive. She had a certain unique quality about her that Leo could not put his finger on and he was kicking himself for being so insensitive.

  She certainly would not be hard to find.

  The previous evening he had only moonlight and a few fairy lights to guide his way, but this morning he could see that the small wooden gate they’d slipped through the night before was in fact part of a tall red brick wall which formed the boundary to one side of the hotel.

  Drawing the gate forward, he stepped through and was immediately on a small lane facing a long low cottage with a red tile roof, square mullioned windows and a low beech hedge providing a barrier to the lane. It was the kind of cottage which would have had a thatched roof when it was built. Flowers spilled out of window boxes, softening the black and white framework and timbered construction.

  In the other direction the lane stopped abruptly at a long wooden gate leading to a long orchard. He recognised apples and pears and cherry trees heavy with large red fruits ready to be picked.

  But what really caught his attention were the buildings that lay beyond the fruit trees. He had not been able to see them the previous evening but now, rearing up at the end of the cottage garden and extending the full length of the orchard he saw three remarkable ornate glass structures. The closest comparison he could make was to the elaborate hotel palm houses and conservatories he had seen in warmer countries.

  Instead of steel structures with thousands of glass panes, these no doubt Victorian designs were white painted wood with ornately carved roof decorations resembling church spires and mediaeval cloisters. These were not greenhouses—these were architectural works of art which called out to his passion for fine design and crafts man ship.

  He loved them.

  Slightly stunned, Leo strolled across the lane to the gate leading to the painted wooden front entrance of the cottage only a few yards away, complete with pink roses around the door. The picture could have come from a postcard of a classic English scene.

  In front of the cottage was a small flower garden about the same size as his car. What it lacked in space it made up for in the exuberance of plants and flowers of every different hue and colour, size and shape which burst out of the small area, creating a riot of pinks and yellows, purples and blues. It was a startling combination and so different in every way from the formal landscaping of the hotel grounds that he could not help but smile. Perhaps this was the precise effect that Sara wanted to create?

  Leo stretched out to press the doorbell just as he noticed that a piece of pink fluorescent paper had been taped onto the door. Someone had written in large letters: ‘Direct sales to the public. Buy your orchids straight from the greenhouse. Turn right for Cottage Orchids.’

  The notice had not been there last night!

  Caspar had told him that Sara grew orchids, but he was not expecting her to grow them at the bottom of her garden! Surely orchids were imported from tropical countries and she would simply have a wholesale warehouse?

  Following the instructions, Leo strolled around the corner, followed the length of the cottage wall and directly in front of him was the first of the ornate conservatory greenhouses with a totally charming wooden chalet guarding the entrance. A white hand-painted sign on the wall of the log cabin told him that he had reached Cottage Orchids, Kingsmede Manor. The door was locked but in front of him was the entrance to the greenhouses and as he peered through the glass he saw a hint of movement inside. The door was slightly ajar and, with a small tap on the frame, Leo opened the door and slipped inside the most remarkable room he had ever been in.

  Stretched out in long rows were waist-high wooden racks covered with plants, not in a random pattern, but in strict order by colour and size. Directly in front of him and along one side of the building were pale colours. White, ivory, cream and every shade of gold and yellow. As he stepped closer he realised that all of the plants in this room had the same kind of leaf and flower. The flower shapes and types of blossom were all the same, no matter what colour they were.

  So this was a specialist nursery! Niche marketing. Clever. Someone had done their homework. He liked that.

  A narrow footpath the width of one paving slab separated those plants from the middle row, where the colours were pinks, oranges and stunning apricots. Young plants, old plants, small plants and tall plants were arranged in strict order with scarcely space between them for the tiny transparent plastic plant pots holding their roots, which spilled out in green and grey tendrils over the surface of each container.

  He looked over to the other side of the greenhouse to what must be a nursery area with baby plants in tiny pots as well as plants with stubby sticks sticking out from the compost. It seemed as though every inch of racking space was covered with orchid plants of one type or another.

  A distinctive sound caught his ears. Somewhere a girl was singing along in snatches to a pop song with a very sweet voice.

  Leo looked around the edge of the staging and shook his head, scarcely believing what he was looking at, and smiled across at Sara Fenchurch. It was the first time that he had smiled that day—but he had good reason.

  Sara was nodding her head from side to side as she sang to herself. And it looked as if she was giving a plant a sponge bath.

  It was probably the biggest orchid plant he had ever seen, with long thick green fleshy leaves. And she was sponging each leaf in turn underneath and on top. Her hands moved in slow languorous strokes, sensually caressing the leaves one after another with infinite care and with such loving attention that Leo’s blood pounded just a little hotter.

  At her feet a golden-coloured cat was stretched out so that the sun could warm his tummy on the bright sunlit floor. The cat’s eyes were closed but as Leo stepped forward he raised his head just enough to look at him, yawned, stretched out a little longer, then went back to sleep again.

  The radio was blasting out modern pop music, lively and fun, so that it was not surprising that Sara had not heard him come into the room, offering him the opportunity to observe her at close range.

  Of course he could have interrupted her—but this was a totally self indulgent pleasure he wanted to stretch out for as long as he could. Especially when their next conversation might not be so cordial.

  Sara was wearing a yellow T-shirt advertising a brand of orchid compost, green capri pants and spotty fabric plimsolls.

  It was strange how this colourful and totally unlikely ensemble only seemed to make her lovely figure even more attractive.

  This version of Sara was a revelation. Entrancing and natural.

  As he watched in silence and appreciation, she gently lifted the orchid plant away onto a draining board and popped a collection of what looked to Leo like clear plastic food tubs into her sink. Her hands were in constant motion scrubbing and washing the tiny containers as she focused her total attention on the simple task.

  An orange baseball cap covered her short brown hair and shaded her eye
s from the light streaming in from the long window in front of the sink but he could see a sprinkle of freckles across her lightly tanned nose and cheeks.

  The elegant woman he had met the previous evening was gone, replaced by a slim girl in working clothes who seemed to take great delight in scrubbing out plant pots on a hot Sunday morning. She did not need make-up or expensive clothing or accessories to look stunning—she was lovely just as she was.

  The smart city girl in the slick black costume he had met last night he could deal with, but this version of Sara Fenchurch was far more unexpected.

  Helen and Caspar were wealthy and successful, with lives in the fast lane of London society. That was the world where Leo had made his business—so who was this girl who chose to spend a hot Sunday morning washing plant pots? Was this her plant nursery? Was she an employee of some bigger company? He should have asked Caspar a lot more questions before they’d left this morning—background information was always useful for negotiations, and suddenly he felt out of place. This was Sara’s territory—not his. The pretty girl in a T-shirt who looked absurdly cute might not be so generous when she remembered how he had slighted her the night before.

  Either way, he was standing here in a black business suit and black shirt on a summer day, feeling completely overdressed, while she was comfortable and cool in her work clothes. He had rarely felt so out of his depth, or so attracted to a girl who was totally natural and comfortable in her own skin—and what skin!

  That kind of combination would spell trouble if he stayed around long enough to get to know her better—she was dynamite with a slow burning fuse.

  Leo was still trying to formulate some way of introducing himself without looking like a complete idiot when she turned around, saw him and dropped the pots back into the sink with a clatter and then a splosh when they hit the water.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Fenchurch,’ he announced calmly with a half smile on his face. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you but there was no answer at the cabin.’

  She looked up at him wide-eyed, then turned away and rested her hand against the sink. ‘Not a problem, Mr Grainger. No problem at all. Are you interested in buying an orchid?’ She gestured over one shoulder. ‘As you can see, I have a wide selection in an assortment of colours.’

  And then she looked up at him through her eyelashes and, as their eyes met, he knew that she was already two steps ahead of him. She knew who he was, why he was there and had absolutely no intention of letting him get away with anything.

  He paused and nodded. ‘Actually, I have come to apologise for ruining our pleasant evening—then I’m going to buy an orchid. Is that better?’

  Sara twitched her lips and tilted her head slightly in his direction but turned back to her pots and kept on scrubbing and rinsing and scrubbing. Only when she had drained every single one of the pots did she slip off her rubber gloves and turn fully towards him with her back against the sink.

  Leo braced himself. He deserved whatever was coming his way. Which was why when she did speak what she said knocked him more than he could have imagined.

  ‘Is that why you recommended me to the hotel? To make up for your comments about the blind date you were so pleased to have escaped?’

  He winced and gave her a brief nod. There was no point in denying it. ‘Partly that,’ he admitted, ‘and I do apologise for insulting you in any way. I really did have no idea that you were the girl that Helen had asked me to meet.’

  And then he took a breath. He had indulged himself far too long—time was money. Down to business. ‘But there is something else. I believe I left my ring in your bathroom last night and I would like to have it back, please. That ring means a lot to me.’

  ‘Of course. I understand,’ she said and opened her mouth to say something else, then hesitated and seemed to change her mind and simply shook her head. ‘And I do appreciate what you did for me. Thank you. It’s a great opportunity and I have every intention of taking up the offer. I want you to know that the Manor can rely on me completely. Even if there is a slight delay while I make alternative arrangements. But I will do it. I will find a way of making it possible. It simply will take longer than I had expected. That’s all.’

  Leo was close enough to hear the trembling in her voice and he took a step forward, his hand resting gently on one edge of the wooden staging.

  ‘A delay?’ he asked and glanced around. ‘The hotel manager was very interested and you certainly seem to have plenty of plants to sell. Assuming that these are your plants.’

  She gave a half chuckle. ‘Oh, yes. All mine. And there are two more greenhouses this size outside. I may have plants at the moment, but…’ And then she swallowed and seemed to struggle with the words. Then she really did have problems talking and turned away from him and rested her hands on the edge of the sink so tightly that her knuckles were white but the stress was only too obvious in the tone of her voice.

  ‘I heard the bad news about the hotel expansion plans this morning,’ she went on as though she were talking to some imaginary figure on the other side of the glass, then gave a half smile as the radio belted out a lively dance track. ‘So I have been trying to cheer myself up. Without much success. At this precise moment I am…going through my options but, rest assured, the Rizzi Hotel group will have my proposals on Friday as promised.’

  Leo covered the few steps that separated them so that he was standing next to her, looking into her face. She was blinking hard and clearly distressed about something.

  ‘A luxury spa will create jobs for local people, and bring new investment into Kingsmede,’ he replied in the low consolatory voice he had perfected for speeches where he had to spell out the hard facts. ‘It could bring a lot more guests to the hotel, which means more opportunity for you to sell your flowers. I’m not sure how that equates to bad news.’

  Instantly her shoulders dropped back and she turned her head around and looked straight into his eyes.

  ‘In that case you clearly do not have even the remotest idea what this spa extension means to my business,’ she said in a low calm voice, but her gaze stayed fixed, her eyes locked onto his.

  Until now he had thought that her eyes were brown but in the warm sunlight he was so captivated by a pair of dark green eyes flecked with amber and milk chocolate flakes that he had to blink several times and break their connection so that he could focus on what had shaken her so very badly.

  ‘Then tell me,’ he replied with a slight nod in her direction, his upper body leaning slightly forward in en couragement.

  Sara gave a brief nod. ‘Okay. I will. Look around, Mr Grainger. What do you see?’

  Leo glanced from side to side. ‘A stunning glasshouse full of orchids?’ Then he smiled back at her. ‘And it’s Leo. Please.’

  Sara lifted her chin. ‘Very well. Leo. You’re right. It is stunning and I am lucky to have it. The floor we are standing on and this beautiful greenhouse came with the cottage.’ Then she turned away from him again and looked out of the window before she continued. ‘My grandmother also left me the other two greenhouses but they stand on a piece of land I rent from my neighbour.’

  She waved her hand towards the high red brick wall to her right. ‘All of this area as far as the wall used to be the kitchen gardens of the house. The high wall was the south-facing boundary of the gardens. My grandmother had to sell this land to pay to repair the roof about ten years ago and had always intended to buy it back again, but it never happened and she died before she could do anything about it.’

  A long slow sigh was followed by a sharp intake of breath before she was ready to carry on, as though she had to prepare herself to say the words. ‘I found out this morning that the organic farmer who bought the land all of those years ago has just received an offer from the hotel which will make it possible for him to retire. He can’t afford to turn it down but was sworn to secrecy until the hotel was ready to go public. And now they have.’

  Sara reached into the pocket of her trous
ers and pulled out a slim brown envelope. ‘The official notice was waiting for me in the post.’ Then she pressed her lips together and shrugged. ‘You are probably used to seeing small businesses go to the wall for the sake of increased profits for the Rizzi Hotel chain but you’ll excuse me if I take a more selfish view.’

  Leo looked at her for a few seconds and recognised that look on her face only too well. He had seen it on the faces of his clients too many times not to know what shock and dismay looked like. The last thing this girl needed was some foolish man asking about a ring left in her bathroom.

  Then he gave himself a mental shake. Snap out of it! His dad’s ring was the only thing that he was interested in. That was why he was here. Wasn’t it?

  Then his brain caught up with what she had said. And he almost winced in recognition that she was right about that, if nothing else. There were countless small suppliers and support staff that were casualties of the big company mergers and acquisitions he advised on every day of the week. But they were not his problem and never could be.

  His clients paid him very well to give them an objective assessment of what needed to be done to increase company profitability. That was his speciality. Not sentimental consideration of the individual business owners who would have to go through what Sara was about to face. That was not his job.

  Of course he never got to meet the many small businesses face to face or even know their names. Why should he? Unlike now, when the girl he had been dancing with the night before was fighting to hold back tears, with an uncertain future ahead of her. And all because of his aunt’s drive to increase turnover at the Manor.

  Suddenly the collar of his black fitted shirt felt tight on his neck, and he shuffled uncomfortably inside his summer-weight cashmere wool jacket. Sun was streaming into the hot and humid orchid house and he had rarely felt so awkward or out of his comfort zone. This was one spot where he did not have the clothing or the attitude to fit the environment. A hostile takeover of two international companies was nothing compared to actually being in the same small space as someone who was reeling from the impact of a chain of events set in motion by Rizzi management months earlier, someone who owned a business his aunt would never have even heard of.