Leaning forward, Iggy stretched her hand across the desk towards him. ‘It’s the right thing to do. Tristan will tell you the exact same thing.’
Arthur sighed. ‘I know, but it’s going to break Lucie’s heart.’ He closed his eyes for one long moment before sitting up straight and taking her hand. ‘It can’t be helped, and she’d leave me for good, I reckon, if I tried to hang onto the damn thing for her sake.’
Iggy gave his fingers a sympathetic squeeze before sitting back. ‘So, is that what you wanted to tell me? That the pressure is off with the bank?’
‘It’s more than off, they’re very much on board with our plans to secure the future of the castle and have extended me a decent line of credit.’ Folding his arms, Arthur rested them against the desk, hazel eyes a match for hers twinkling. ‘Tell me what you need.’
Taken aback by the question, Iggy frowned. ‘In terms of what?’
‘In terms of getting the gardens into shape. You’re the one with the vision, so tell me what you need to bring it to life.’
Vision? Ha! At the moment it felt like there were so many ideas competing in her head, she was stumbling around in circles and getting precisely nowhere. Lucie had uncovered some of the original plans from when the gardens had been laid out in the eighteenth century. Rather than adding the clarity Iggy had hoped they would, they’d only added to her confusion as it had become clear to her that subsequent generations had altered many of the original set pieces. Trying to recreate the original plans on a shoestring would be next to impossible so she’d been straggling from one part of the garden to the next, tidying some bits but ignoring the later alterations because she might decide to dig them up later. She wasn’t a designer, or a visionary-Tristan had got all the creative genes. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ she confessed. It was a horribly deflating admission, but one she’d been hiding from for too long.
Surprise widened Arthur’s hazel gaze. ‘I thought you had it all in hand, you always act as though you’ve got everything under control.’
She screwed up her nose. ‘When it comes to the land management stuff, I can do that standing on my head. I assumed sorting out the gardens would be easy, but it’s such a bloody mess and I’m terrified I’ll change the wrong thing and ruin it. There’s so much riding on it …’
‘Why the hell didn’t you say something? You’re not alone in this, Iggy, we succeed or fail together.’ Arthur’s admonishment stung all the more because it was the very same words she’d said to him not six months ago flying back in the other direction.
‘God, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ She was laughing as she said it, rubbing her chest to acknowledge the accuracy of his verbal strike.
His grin was unrepentant. ‘I did, rather.’ He grew serious. ‘Look, if you’re worried about the money, don’t be. When I felt overwhelmed with everything after Dad died, I found the only way to get through it was to finish a single task on the to-do list. Forget the big picture. Stop panicking about what you might or might not get wrong and tell me one thing right now that will make a real difference.’
He was probably expecting her to request a fancy piece of equipment, but there was really only one answer. Iggy might not have the vision to turn the gardens at Bluebell Castle from their current disaster zone to a visitor’s paradise, but someone did. ‘I need Will Talbot.’
Chapter 2
‘You’re on the wrong side again,’ Melody Atkins hissed at Will Talbot as he reached down to help her out of the back of the white stretch limousine their talent agency had sent to collect them for yet another interminable evening out. Film premiere, nightclub opening, reality TV show party, after a while they all blurred into the same old bollocks. A scrum in front of the banks of paparazzi, warm alcohol and half-hearted attempts at conversation shouted over too-loud music. This was their third outing in four nights, and he’d lost track of what this evening’s event was supposed to be celebrating. He’d been told to wear a tuxedo tonight, so probably a film premiere. Once the lights went down, he might even manage to fall asleep during the movie and catch up on some rest.
‘Sorry.’ Trying to rein his temper, Will stepped to the other side of the door and offered Melody his left arm. Melody hated the scar on the right side of his face, and had visibly shuddered in the past when she’d felt the puckered skin brush against her own. It was why she always insisted she stand on his left, why she’d made him practise the correct angle to pose at when they faced the banks of cameras outside these events.
At the first click of a camera shutter, her scowl of impatience shifted to a beaming smile that displayed her laser-whitened teeth. The brace she’d worn to straighten some non-existent imperfection had been removed a few days ago, leaving her free to dazzle the press pack with her brand new smile. Knowing the effort it’d taken her to get into the limo in the skintight gold sheath dress, Will braced his feet and gave her a good pull so she could propel herself upright without bending her legs too much.
‘Hold on a minute.’ Melody turned into him, lifting a hand brushing away a non-existent speck of dust from the satin lapel of his black dinner jacket. A solicitous gesture, the kind any girlfriend might make. Taking his cue, Will bent to kiss her cheek, making sure his left cheek touched hers. A barrage of camera flashes exploded, and he held himself in position a few extra moments as he waited for the shadows across his eyes from exposure to the harsh white light to fade.
Melody beamed up at him as though he held all the answers to her prayers. She might have started out on a reality show, but there was no sign these days of the sweet, pretty girl who’d won the nation’s admiration and first prize in last season’s series of Bootcamp Babes. Her naturally wavy blonde hair had been dyed a dazzling platinum almost as white as her shiny new smile and there was not so much as a hint of curl in the sleek curtain it had been ironed flat into. ‘Ready?’ he whispered, and when she nodded, he hooked his hand around her waist and steered her towards the waiting cameras.
When she’d signed with the same talent agency as him six months ago, Will had been happy to accept his manager’s suggestion that he escort Melody to a couple of events until she found her feet. Having her on his arm had proved a welcome buffer against the scores of girls who tried to pick him up-not that Will was averse to the attentions of a pretty girl-especially after a couple had sold lurid stories to the papers about him.
Once they’d got chatting, Will had discovered for himself that the smart, funny person who’d been such a hit with the public was very much the real Melody. The outside might have changed, but that was all, and in a world where appearance was everything he couldn’t blame her for submitting to the stylists’ pressures to change up her look for something sexier.
In an effort to gain control of the narrative, they’d hatched a plan one night and decided to pose as a couple. Will could keep the trophy-hunters at bay, and at the same time offer some protection to Melody from the more persistent types who wanted a favour in return for promising to assist her career. They’d let their manager in on the secret, and he’d been over the moon with the plan. They got on well enough together-he just wished she didn’t make such a big deal about the scar on his cheek.
The camera flashes were starting to give him a headache. In a practised gesture, Will turned his face as though pressing a kiss to Melody’s temple. ‘Enough, yeah?’ he murmured, low enough for her ears only.
Leaning back a little more into him, Melody spoke through her unshifting grin with a skill that any ventriloquist would be proud of, ‘A few moments more.’
Will flexed his fingers on her hip but didn’t protest as he straightened up and resumed his supporting man pose. Melody had mentioned on the way there that she had a couple of auditions lined up, so he stood his ground and gave the cameras a moody glare. It was the kind of stuff they lapped up. According to the press, Melody was the girl next door who’d tamed Will’s wild lad-about-town ways.
It was true, to some extent, but not in the way the press
imagined. When he’d first got a taste of fame it had gone to Will’s head somewhat, and the gossip columns had been full of pictures of him stumbling out of nightclubs. There was even one notorious shot of him snarling at a photographer who’d shoved a camera in his face and nearly blinded him. With his scar twisting his angry expression into something fierce and ugly, he’d looked like the archetypal thug they liked to infer he was. He’d been moaning about the press hassling him that night when he and Melody had hatched their plan.
‘Stop giving them what they want, then,’ she’d said, rolling her eyes at him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
‘What I want is for them to leave me the hell alone,’ he’d muttered into his vodka and coke.
‘You’re in the limelight now, so that’s not going to happen. Not unless you become a hermit and stay home every night, and you can’t afford that when you’re building your brand.’
‘You make it sound like I’m selling myself, but I’m just out to have a good time.’
The pitying look she’d given him had fairly withered him on the spot. It shouldn’t be possible for a woman who barely reached his shoulder to look down on him, but she’d done a bloody good impression of it. ‘You’re an idiot, then.’ With a quick move she’d switched their glasses around. ‘Take a sip.’
When he did, he’d realised she was drinking straight coke. ‘But you always act like the life and soul of the party.’
‘Exactly,’ she’d retorted. ‘It’s all an act. Nobody here cares about the real me. They want a certain image and so that’s what I give them-but I do it on my terms, enough to catch their interest, but nothing scandalous.’
She was right. He was an idiot. ‘And it’s as easy as that, is it?’
‘You know it’s not. I can’t do anything about it if some ex of mine decides to make a few quid by selling some holiday snaps, but I can manage my response to it.’ Reaching for the glass she’d swapped, she took a big gulp of his vodka and coke. ‘I won’t say it doesn’t hurt getting betrayed like that, but now I know not to trust anyone.’
‘You’re trusting me, though.’
She laughed. ‘The way I see it, this is about mutual risk. What do either of us gain out of betraying the other over this arrangement? However we spin it, people will be mad because we’re basically setting out to manipulate them.’
She had a point. ‘So, how do we play this?’
They’d laid down a set of basic ground rules, and so far it’d worked to their mutual benefit. The press loved the idea of them together, and Will had got his act together regarding drinking in public. His reputation had improved, and people had started to pay more attention to his work and less to his personal escapades. The relentless merry-go-round was growing tiresome now, and Will had started to wonder about whether it was time for him to get off the publicity ride completely. He had a good stable of clients, and several of his projects had been featured in the weekend supplements. Their order book was full for the next twelve months, with enquiries coming in daily. The balance of those enquiries had also shifted from people attracted to his celebrity, to word-of-mouth recommendations from previous clients.
Melody placed her hand over his where it rested on her hip-their agreed signal to move on-and he turned her away from the bank of cameras to the small flight of steps leading into the Leicester Square cinema. Releasing her hip, he climbed the first couple before turning back to offer his hand. Cameras flashed once more, and he urged her up the stairs, keen to be out of the glare of the spotlight for a bit.
Once inside, he left Melody chatting to a television producer she’d worked with on Bootcamp Babes and edged his way through the packed crowd towards the bar. There were servers circulating with tray of drinks, but he preferred to know exactly what went into his glass these days. Having secured two sparkling mineral waters, he wove back to where he’d left Melody in time to hear her saying. ‘Yes, Chris has mentioned the project to us, and it sounds like a lot of fun.’
The word ‘us’ had Will on immediate alert. If Melody was talking about what he thought she was, he’d wring her bloody neck. Handing her one of the glasses, he flashed her a look of warning behind the producer’s back, adding a brief shake of his head for emphasis. Blithely ignoring him, Melody took a sip of her water before continuing. ‘I think Digging Deep could be the perfect daytime show, a combination of This Morning and those garden makeover shows.’
Will downed half his drink as he counted silently to ten in an effort to hang onto his temper. Their manager had come up with a ridiculous idea for a combination gardening and chat show which Will and Melody would co-host. Whilst he showed some random celebrity or another how to make the most of their gardens, Melody would chat to them about their life and career. Although he could see the appeal of the show, Will had zero interest in expanding his current celebrity status any further. He already spent far less time than he wanted to with his hands in the dirt, it was just another distraction he didn’t need right now.
The producer nodded along with every word. ‘Right, right, that’s exactly the positioning crying out for something new.’ She glanced between the two of them. ‘And you’re such an attractive couple. The public can’t seem to get enough of real-life partnerships on screen together.’
Curling his arm around Melody’s waist, Will stared down into her eyes simultaneously hating and admiring the seeming love in her returning gaze. ‘It’s a shame I’m far too busy with my existing workload to consider taking on anything new right now, because I know Melody is just the kind of person to put others at their ease.’ Turning away from the tightness in her expression, he cast a deprecating smile at the producer. ‘Besides, I haven’t exactly got the right kind of face for television.’ He tilted his head, making sure the light would catch the thick scar across his cheek.
The producer’s smile wavered for a second. ‘I was under the impression you were fully on board with the project.’
Will shrugged. ‘Like I said, it sounds like a lot of fun. Maybe we can revisit it further down the road, but I’m still establishing my business and that’s my absolute priority for now.’
‘Yes, of course. Well, it was lovely to catch up, Melody. Speak soon!’ With a flurry of air kisses, the woman melted into the crowd.
Melody rounded on him the moment they were alone. ‘What the hell was that?’
Leaning close, he brushed the side of his face she hated against her cheek. ‘That was me refusing to be railroaded, darling. If you’re going to break the rules of our deal, I’ll push back.’
He felt her twitch against him before tilting her head back to meet his eyes. Through another brilliant smile she hissed. ‘Fine. But remember that goes both ways.’
*
Those warning words were still ringing in his ears the next morning as Will scrambled around his flat, trying to field a phone call from his assistant, Anna, while he got himself ready for the day.
‘But I thought they’d signed off the design a week ago?’ His left hand clenched around his phone. This was not what he needed to hear when he was running on empty. The film premiere they’d attended had been for the latest instalment of a high-octane blockbuster crash and smash franchise, so his chances of catching a nap during the show had been nil. Melody had insisted on them going to the after-party, a punishment for him shutting down her conversation with the producer, he was sure. Not wanting to risk a public row with her, he’d gritted his teeth and gone along, but things were going to have to change. He was not a lapdog, and he would not be treated as one, especially when all these late nights left him feeling bad-tempered in the morning.
Trying to rub his forehead to ward off the headache he could already feel threatening to build, he almost whacked himself in the eye with the training shoe clutched in his right hand. ‘Bollocks, hold on a minute,’ he said into the phone.
Sinking down on the bottom step of the floating staircase that dominated the sleek, minimalist open plan-lower floor of his two-st
orey apartment, he flicked on the loud speaker on the phone before placing it beside him. He was already running late and as if falling into bed after 1 a.m. wasn’t bad enough, he’d woken up on the hour, every hour, only to finally tumble into a deep sleep about forty minutes before his alarm went off.
To add insult to injury, one of the pods for his supposedly top-of-the-range coffee machine had burst, leaving him with a mug full of undrinkable brown sludge. And it had been the last pod in the box, of course. Exhausted and un-caffeinated was a dangerous combination first thing in the morning. He would have to make an emergency stop at a coffee shop on his way to his first appointment. ‘Sorry, you were saying …’ He aimed the comment towards his phone, bending over to put on his trainers at the same time.
‘They did. I had written confirmation from their PA that both Tony and Phillipa were thrilled with the design.’ Anna, his genius assistant and all-round saver of his sanity, sighed, the sound the perfect counterpoint to the frustration bubbling inside him. ‘Unfortunately, Phillipa showed the plans to her spiritual advisor who is concerned the positioning of the meditation area will generate negative energy.’
‘Oh, for fu-’
‘You already owe twenty quid to the swear jar,’ Anna cut in. He could picture the neat rows of tally bars marching across the top of her jotter pad. Will had always had a foul mouth. Growing up on an inner-city council estate it’d been a part of the daily lexicon for the residents. His manager, Chris, claimed it was part of his edgy charm, and always seemed delighted when one of the tabloids featured a bleep clip on their website of Will telling one of their cameramen where to stick their equipment. When a meme of Will’s swearing highlights had gone viral on social media, it had almost been enough for Will to vow he’d stop swearing on the spot. Almost.
He swallowed a sigh. Getting involved with Chris Maddison was just one of the many missteps Will had made in the whirlwind of the past couple of years since he’d gone from struggling landscaper to darling of the rich and famous thanks to an unexpected Best Show Garden award from the RHS at the Chelsea Flower Show.
Sunshine Over Bluebell Castle Page 2
