‘Yeah, you and Tony are like that.’ Will crossed his fingers and held them up before realising the gesture was wasted as she couldn’t see what he was doing.
Anna got the point, though, from the way she started laughing. ‘Best mates, that’s me and Tone. Talk to you in a bit.’ She was still giggling as she rang off.
*
As he rode down from the twentieth floor, Will contemplated what he might say to alleviate his new clients. Young and old alike adored Tony, and from what Will could tell he seemed like a genuinely decent bloke. According to the numerous features written about him over the years, Tony and Phillipa had met and fallen in love whilst rehearsing for a Royal Shakespeare Company production of Romeo and Juliet in the mid-Eighties when they’d both been 21. Unlike those ill-fated young lovers, their story had a happy ending, as Tony was often quoted as saying.
Phillipa’s star had also been on the rise until they’d decided to have a family and she’d stepped somewhat out of the limelight, choosing to stay at home from where she ran a hugely popular website dispensing advice and no-nonsense guidance on everything from child-rearing to fashion and healthy-eating. Her Life is for Living brand had branched out into a series of successful best-selling books and was always featuring in Top Ten lists in the media.
If he hadn’t already been aware of the honour the golden couple were bestowing upon him when they’d selected Will to design a luxury outdoor space on the roof of their Hampstead home, his manager had driven the point home. Sledgehammered the point home. The moment he’d caught wind of their interest, Chris had insisted Will drop everything. He’d arranged an expensive meal out, pouring praise and champagne in equal measures until Will had been all but squirming with embarrassment over the fawning display. Tony, seeming to take it all in his stride, had cut through the nonsense and answered Will’s questions with the easy charm that had made so much of the British public take him into their hearts.
A home consultation had followed-without Chris, much to Will’s relief-and he’d thrown himself into designing a garden that would work for the multiple purposes the Cornwalls needed it to. With a combination of carefully positioned planters and eye-catching set pieces like an infinity-edged water feature, Will had divided the large area into a mixture of entertainment, family and contemplation spaces.
He’d been really pleased with it, could already picture in his mind’s eye the family sitting around the rustic wooden table he’d selected for the dining area beneath a simple grid pagoda draped in fragrant strands of climbing honeysuckle, or Phillipa doing some morning yoga as the sun reflected off the still water of the infinity pool and the white rocks laid in spirals and swirls to create a zen space. And negative energy, apparently. With a snort of disgust and the hope he could keep from laughing, or losing his temper, Will exited into the underground garage and jogged towards his hybrid flatbed truck.
Chris had been appalled at his choice, telling Will he needed something sexy and sporty in line with the bad boy image his manager had cultivated for him in the press. But sexy and sporty was crap when it came to storage and Will had stuck to his guns. Wincing as he reversed out of his space, barely missing one of the many concrete pillars in the underground structure, Will considered the only thing one of the stupid sports cars Chris had pushed him towards might have had going for it was the ease of parking it.
He was just waiting for a gap in the traffic when his phone started ringing. Flicking the screen without taking his eyes off the queue of cars, he instantly regretted it when his manager’s familiar voice boomed over the car speakers. ‘Will, mate! How’s it hanging this fine morning?’
Will cringed. Was there anything worse than a fifty-something bloke trying to be ‘down wiv da kids’ as Chris liked to put it. Double cringe. Spotting half a gap in front of a shiny, silver Mercedes, Will nudged his big truck into the traffic stream, reasoning that the owner of the Merc cared more about his lovely shiny bumpers than Will did. ‘Morning, Chris. I’m a bit busy, actually, can I call you later?’
‘Sure, sure! I get it, mate, no hassles from my end,’ Chris started laughing as though he’d said something hilarious. ‘But seriously, I’ve scored you a primo invite for this evening. You and Melody are attending the album launch for Clay Givens. He’s making some noises about wanting her to appear in one of his videos.’
Unable to believe what he was hearing, Will lost concentration for a moment. The rear-end of a red hatchback loomed before him and he slammed on his brakes just in time. ‘Christ!’
Clearly mistaking Will’s exclamation of dismay for delight, Chris burbled on. ‘I know, it’s epic, right? Her profile is off the charts right now, “BB” is getting some fantastic repeat ratings now it’s available on streaming services. Maybe we can get Clay to a guest on Digging Deep! What a coup that would be.’
‘I’ve already told you I’m not doing that stupid bloody show!’ Will yelled, but he was shouting at himself as Chris had already hung up. ‘Shit!’ he banged his hands in frustration on the steering wheel, startling himself when the horn blared loudly. The driver of the hatchback in front flicked him a rude hand gesture, assuming Will was honking at him. Bloody hell. Raising his hand in apology, Will was grateful when the sat nav directed him to turn off at the next junction. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse …
Chapter 3
Phillipa Cornwall hadn’t seemed that bothered about the plans for the roof terrace. They’d barely spent five minutes discussing her concerns with the design before she’d left him alone up there to fetch them both a drink. She’d returned with a pot of very strong Turkish coffee and two tiny cups, only to disappear shortly afterwards with a promise she’d be back. He was starting to feel like she was jerking his chain, that this whole thing was some kind of power play. When you were as famous as she was, perhaps it became second nature to assume everyone was at your beck and call. Whatever the reason, he was starting to resent her for wasting his time about something that could’ve been addressed via a couple of swapped emails.
He was about ready to gather his things and make his excuses when her familiar, breathy voice came from behind him. ‘If you’re finished with those designs, there’s something else I’d like your assistance with.’
Jaw dropping was something he’d previously assumed was an acting exaggeration, and not something real people did until the moment he turned in his seat and saw her. Closing his eyes at the same time as he shut his gaping mouth, Will hoped perhaps he was hallucinating after the second very strong coffee he’d recently finished on a still empty stomach. He cracked open a lid and was once more greeted with the sight of his client posing against the doorway leading from the roof terrace back into the house. He might have been able to dismiss the flirty pose she’d adopted-hands clasping the frame behind her, back arched, one knee softly bent-if it wasn’t for the fact the stylish navy dress she’d been wearing when she’d greeted him at the door not half an hour previously was now pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in nothing more than a tiny, sheer black nightgown thing. Nope, not the coffee.
Clamping his mouth tight against a litany of swear words that would earn Anna a full body massage at her dream spa weekend, Will urged his addled brain to think. When he was finally sure he could speak without cursing, he opened his lips. The sound he made was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, the kind of noise he’d only ever heard a cartoon character make and he quickly shut his mouth again.
‘I didn’t think you’d be shy, William,’ Phillipa stretched his name into a purr, which he supposed she thought was sexy, but only made him want to take a flying leap over the low parapet running around the edge of the roof terrace.
Not knowing what else to do, Will decided his only cause of action was to ignore it and try and stick to business. He bent to retrieve the sketchpad which had slipped from his fingers the moment she’d reappeared. ‘I … I think I might have found a solution to the issue for the zen space. We can turn the angle of the pool by forty-five degre
es, so the water runs from east to west. You’ll be able to align your exercise mat in the same direction then, which I think was one of the main problems?’ He offered her the sketchpad, making sure to keep his eyes fixed above her chin.
With a quirk of her lips, Phillipa took the pad from him and turned into the house. He almost sighed with relief, thinking he’d found a way to navigate free of the nightmare, until she paused to cast a knowing look over one shoulder. ‘It’s too bright outside to see this properly, come in and show me what you want to do.’
There was no mistaking the message behind those words, and as Will watched her slink inside with an exaggerated sway of her hips, he wondered how the hell he was going to extricate himself from this mess. It wasn’t the first time a client had made a pass at him, though he had to hand Phillipa the prize for the most blatant seduction attempt to date.
Will blamed it on the ridiculous ‘bad boy of gardening’ image Chris had created for him. Eager, naïve, and somewhat blinded by his first taste of the spotlight, Will had allowed himself to be persuaded to play the part. It worked for chefs, after all, his manager had argued, so why not for a gardener? Embarrassing crap like this was the downside he hadn’t banked upon when agreeing to it. Taking a deep breath, he followed in Phillipa’s wake. If she persisted, he’d have to put her straight.
Somehow.
The contrast between the bright sunshine outside and the much darker interior left him disorientated for a moment. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, Will felt his heart sink as he saw the double doors leading to the master bedroom had been flung wide. Tony Cornwall had pointed it out on Will’s previous visit, saying how as soon as he’d seen the fabulous views he’d refitted what had originally been staff quarters into a luxury suite. The door had remained closed so Will hadn’t seen inside.
Right now, he wished he still hadn’t. Perching on the edge of an enormous bed, Phillipa tossed his sketchpad down and patted a spot on the quilt next to her. Will didn’t know what the term was for something larger than a super king, but this vast expanse of crisp white bedding could probably accommodate half a dozen people with room to spare. Even if she was sitting at the far edge of the bed, it will still be too close for comfort. The hounds of hell couldn’t drag him over the threshold. ‘Mrs Cornwall …’
‘Call me Pippa. All my very good friends call me Pippa.’ She patted the bed once more.
Keeping his feet firmly in place, Will crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Mrs Cornwall.’ He didn’t like the way her confident smile wavered into an expression of confusion when he stressed her formal title once more, but it couldn’t be helped. ‘The sketches are pretty self-explanatory. Why don’t you talk them over with your husband?’ Subtle, Will. ‘You can let my assistant know in due course.’
She seemed to crumple in upon herself, as though each word was sucking the confidence and vivacity out of her. How come doing the right and honourable thing could make him feel so awful? He checked his watch-not that he cared what the time was, he just needed an excuse to look away. ‘I really should be going …’
‘Are you sure you can’t stay?’ She sounded less seductive and more desperate now, and although he felt sorry for her, he couldn’t help a tinge of anger that she’d been the cause of her own embarrassment.
Fumbling for what else to say, he was saved by the bell-literally-when his phone starting ringing. He snatched it from his pocket, barely giving the unknown number a glance before he answered it. Even a marketing call would be a welcome reprieve. ‘Will Talbot.’
‘Mr Talbot? Iggy Ludworth, here. I’d like to discuss a job with you, if you’re not busy.’
He didn’t recognise the rather odd name, nor the forthright tones of the woman. His diary was blocked solid for the foreseeable future, and one half of Britain’s golden couple was currently attempting to seduce him so no, he wasn’t busy at all. Turning away from the scene before him, he lowered his voice in the hope Phillipa Cornwall wouldn’t overhear him. ‘It’s not a great time, if I’m honest. Why don’t you call my office and we can set up an appointment?’
‘I’ve already spoken to your assistant; she was the one who gave me your number. Told me to give you a call straightaway, but perhaps I misunderstood her. I’ve sent through a few sample photographs as she suggested, but I’m under a bit of a time crunch so if you’re too busy I’d rather you came out and said it straight.’
She had the clipped accents of a member of the upper class, and her forthright manner made him feel a bit like a stroppy teenager being scolded by a teacher. Patience already on a knife’s edge, he was on the verge of telling her what she could do with her time crunch when a thought occurred to him. Why had Anna passed his private number on instead of dealing with it the way she did all the other enquiries that came into the business? Intrigued, he swallowed his snap of temper and asked, ‘What’s the job?’
A soft exhalation filled his ear. A sigh of … relief? Perhaps Ms Iggy Ludworth wasn’t quite as sure of herself as she sounded. And what the hell kind of name was Iggy, anyway? ‘My brother owns an estate in Derbyshire and we’re planning to open up to the public. I need your assistance to restore the formal gardens here at Ludworth Castle in time for the August bank holiday.’
Castle? Will gave a mental whistle. Upper class, indeed, he thought, picturing towering battlements looming over rolling acres of green. It’d be a hell of a challenge, too, something on a scale he’d never tackled before. Trying to contain the little buzz of excitement, he made a mental count of the months in his head. It was already the beginning of May … He’d have to shuffle a few projects around, leave Nick and Anna to run things here and source a local work crew of his own. ‘Sixteen months sounds doable, what’s the budget?’
A throaty laugh echoed over the phone, so at odds with her frosty speaking voice. Deep, rich and wildly filthy, it shot straight to his groin. ‘You’ve misunderstood me, Mr Talbot, I was referring to this bank holiday, not next year.’
The jolt of insta-lust withered in astonishment, and Will couldn’t help his own shout of laughter. ‘Is this a wind-up? You’re taking the piss if you think I can pull something like that off in four months. I’m good, Ms Ludworth, but I’m not that bloody good. What you’re suggesting isn’t just ridiculous, it’s fucking impossible! The planning alone would take more time than you have left.’
There was no humour in her next words. ‘Oh, it can be done, Mr Talbot, and it will be done. I thought you might be up to the challenge, but apparently not. I thought you were more than your sordid reputation, but clearly I was wrong if you think it appropriate to swear at a potential client. I’m sorry I’ve wasted my time believing otherwise.’
The phone went dead, leaving Will gawping. Wasted her time? ‘Has the whole world gone bloody crazy?’ he muttered to himself.
A soft sniffle came from behind him. Forgetting snooty Ms Ludworth and her ludicrous expectations, Will spun on his heel. To his horror, tears were pouring down Phillipa’s face, streaking her make-up and turning her already sheer nightdress even more see-through. Spotting a box of tissues on a dressing table across the room, he broke his cardinal rule of remaining on his side of the threshold to grab them. Not wanting to get too close to her, he proffered the box awkwardly from arm’s length, taking a precautionary step backwards as soon as she took it.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, God, you must think me such a stupid fool.’ Phillipa began to sob in earnest, like her heart was breaking into pieces.
Embarrassment and guilt made him squirm. Instinct made him want to comfort her, but how could he when she was dressed like that? Wishing like hell he’d made a run for it when he’d the chance, he glanced towards the exit. His eyes alighted on a scrap of material poking around from behind the door. Reaching out he snagged the white towelling dressing gown with one hand. It was shorter than he would’ve preferred it to be, but at least it would cover everything that needed to be covered.
Moving gingerly towards the bed, he draped the rob
e around her shoulders and did his best to pull it around her without touching anything his hands had no business being anywhere near. Snatching at the material, Phillipa gripped it closed beneath her throat. The look she gave him, so full of shame and misery cut him off at the knees and he found himself sinking down beside her. ‘It’s all right. Please don’t cry.’ He patted her shoulder.
Before he could withdraw his hand, she turned and buried her face in his chest, leaving him no choice but to give her an awkward one-armed hug. ‘You’re a very attractive woman, Mrs Cornwall. It’s just … you’re married … and what with Tony being such a decent guy and everything, it just isn’t right, you know?’
A bitter laugh broke through her tears. ‘Oh, yes, Tony’s such a decent guy. Isn’t it marvellous the way he takes beautiful young actresses under his wing and offers them the benefit of his experience?’
Shocked to the core by what she was suggesting, Will pulled back to stare down at her. ‘He’s cheated on you?’
Shuddering, Phillipa swallowed back more tears and straightened up. ‘Cheating,’ she corrected. ‘Present tense. He left yesterday with his latest paramour. Rehearsing for their new film, apparently.’ She didn’t need to make the gesture for him to hear the quotation marks around the word ‘rehearsing’.
‘I’m sorry, I thought you guys were rock solid.’ Everything he’d ever seen or read about them implied a strong and happy relationship. Then again, everything she’d probably read about Will had made Phillipa think he’d be up for it. If the stuff in the papers about him was a combination of managed spin and made-up rubbish, wouldn’t it be even more so for a couple infinitely more famous? ‘So, this-’ he gestured between the two of them ‘-was supposed to be a way to get your own back at him?’
She shrugged. ‘What’s good for the gander is good for the goose, and all that.’ Using the crumpled tissue in her hand, she wiped at the streaks of mascara on her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Will, you must think I’m ridiculous.’
The Bluebell Castle Collection Page 27
