A Silken Seduction. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.
gardener was busy already, thinning out the spent roses, and Avery could already see the progress he’d made on the weeds that tenaciously asserted their presence. Seeing her father’s favorite garden being restored to its former glory filled her with happiness although, even here, he hadn’t allowed Avery too close.
She didn’t remember her mother ever working out here—she’d died when Avery was only five. But her father had told her of her mother’s joy in planning the garden, how hands-on she’d been in its planting, how closely she’d supervised the garden staff to ensure her precious plants received the care she knew they deserved. Those memories had driven him out here again and again, striving perhaps to rediscover the closeness he’d shared with his dead wife for far too short a time.
Avery’s favorite memories of this garden had included a small but perfect marble-angel statue—one to which she’d poured her child’s heart out to as her mother grew less and less accessible. Diagnosed with cancer during her pregnancy with Avery, Sybil Cullen had eschewed treatment until her baby girl had been born, only then embracing all that the medical professionals could offer her. It had given her five years with her treasured daughter and Avery had always associated the statue with her mother. She’d been devastated to come to the garden a few weeks after her mother’s funeral to find the statue gone.
Apparently, deeply depressed after his wife’s death, Forrest Cullen had found its presence to be an angelic reminder of his own personal tragedy and that nothing ever remained the same. He’d sold it with no compunction. On finding his daughter desolately sobbing in the garden when she should have been safely tucked up in bed, he had been shaken to learn just how fond of the statue Avery had been. He’d done his best to buy it back but had eventually given up as it appeared to have disappeared from the art world without a trace. Avery had recently set up a message board on the internet to try to discover the statue. She was prepared to pay just about anything to get it back where it belonged.
Strangely enough that had been how she’d met her new gardener—through the forum, created specifically for tracing art and antiquities, where she’d established her message board. When he’d first made contact with her, he’d apparently been working on a ranch back in the States. It was only after she’d posted photos of the garden from her mother’s time, and then from today, that he’d mentioned he was planning to travel to London and offered a few weeks of his time to help her get the garden back in order.
Frustrated by her own lack of progress in the garden, Avery had gone out on a limb and hired him as a casual gardener without checking references or credentials or anything. From what she could tell so far, his only fault was the fact he was a bit of a drifter, but then establishing a home and hearth wasn’t for everyone. Being a homebody herself, she couldn’t imagine a life like his. She shook her head and wondered how strange it would feel to come from all that glorious space on a ranch to something as enclosed as a Kensington garden. Either way, she was grateful he’d made the transition. He’d already made great inroads.
She set up her easel and set to work, humming a tune while she did so.
“You sound happy,” a deep male voice drawled from the shrubbery. “Always good to hear.”
Avery watched as her newest employee straightened from beneath the foliage and rose to his full height. Astonishing clear blue eyes met hers out from under a thoroughly disreputable hat that should probably have been confiscated by border control. He looked to be in his sixties and his rangy, fit build spoke of a man who’d done some hard physical labor in his time.
He wiped one hand on a pair of well-worn denims and tipped his hat to her.
“Good morning, Miss Cullen. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Wells. It looks as if it will be a lovely day. I see you’ve been busy already.”
“Please, call me Ted,” he corrected her with a smile that made her suddenly think of silver-screen stars from the fifties. Persuasive, perfectly handsome, yet with that edge of devil-may-care lurking about the edges. “So,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “are you always this happy when you work?”
She felt the uncomfortable heat of a blush stain her cheeks. It really was none of his business but for some reason she felt compelled to confide in him. Goodness knew she didn’t really have anyone else. She didn’t want to impose on Macy, who was busy planning her wedding and, with renovations on the inn she’d converted into a drama school complete, she was now looking at opening the school. Macy’s days were busy enough without being worried by what might or might not happen between Avery and Marcus. Avery’s only other potential confidante, Mrs. Jackson, was so protective of her she was just as likely to scold Avery for even thinking of spending time with Marcus, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for that.
From their first meeting online in the art forum and during their subsequent discussions over the past couple of months, and then in person a few days ago when he’d arrived for his first day of work, he’d struck her as the type of guy who’d hold a confidence close to his chest.
“I’ve met someone,” she said, almost shyly. “I don’t really know if it’ll go anywhere.”
“What’s he like? Do you trust him?”
She shrugged. “Good question. I barely know him except for the fact he’s tenacious.”
“That can be a good thing.”
“And a bad one, too. He wants to represent my father’s art collection at sale, and he won’t listen when I say it’s definitely not for sale.”
“You have your father’s collection here?” Ted asked, tilting his hat back a bit off his forehead.
“No, it’s back in L.A.”
“Any particular reason you don’t want to sell it? Don’t you think he’ll do a good enough job?”
Avery pressed her lips together before answering. Why did everyone think she should just let the collection go? Didn’t they understand what it had meant to her dad?
“He’s with Waverly’s. I don’t doubt they’d do a very professional job, but as to my reason for not wanting to sell, it’s personal,” she answered, not bothering to hide the note of irritation that tainted her words.
Ted Wells cracked a half smile and nodded. “Personal is good enough. I’ve heard of Waverly’s, they seem to know their stuff. You know, if this guy is with them, maybe you should ask him to help you track down that statue you’ve been looking for. With his contacts he might be able to succeed where you’ve struggled to find information in the past. Plus, if he’s willing to help you, it might show whether his character is true.”
Avery considered his words. As old-fashioned as the term character was, Ted very well might be right. She suddenly felt churlish for sounding so annoyed just a moment ago.
“Look, I’m sorry if I sounded rude.”
“No problem, you don’t want to let the collection go. That’s fine.”
“Sometimes I feel like it’s all I have left of my father, y’know? He loved it so much,” she found herself blurting out.
Compassion filled the older man’s eyes. “You think he didn’t love you as much?”
His words pulled no punches, they forced Avery to search deep into her heart for the truth. Sure, there’d been times when she’d felt unloved, what child didn’t at one stage or another? Perhaps her father hadn’t been as demonstrative as she would have liked, perhaps he’d been distant but he’d still been her father. Deep down, she knew he had loved her.
Ted bent to clear a section of weeds that poked through a herbaceous border and continued talking without waiting for her reply. “Paintings are only things. I’m pretty sure that your dad’s love for you was more than just a thing. I was never lucky enough to have kids, but I’d hope that if I had they’d know that no matter what, my love was something they could hold in their hearts and minds forever. Love’s like that,