Blind Date Rivals Read online

And even as he typed up the final recommendation he could not help thinking about Sara and her situation. Now that. Was annoying.

  Helen and Caspar’s friend was in trouble because of a business decision made by the one member of the Rizzi family that he respected. That did not oblige him to help her—he knew that. And yet? There was something about Sara Fenchurch that made it impossible for him to walk away from her.

  Helen or his sister would probably tell him that he was using the ring as an excuse to see her again. And even the suspicion that they could be right made his hackles rise.

  She had somehow managed to squeeze under his radar and make him feel the kind of connection that he’d thought he had buried long ago.

  And he had to block that out. Starting right now. Two tasks. Get in, give his advice. Ask for the inside information he needed. Then get out. Simple.

  A few minutes later, after he had tried knocking on the door of her cottage, Leo gave up on that and headed back to the log cabin.

  This time the door was slightly ajar and it looked as if Cottage Orchids might be open. He peered through the smeared and dusty window and, after a tentative knock brought no response, he turned the handle just as Sara strolled out of the nearest greenhouse with two children by her side. The boy was probably about eleven and he was clutching the hand of a little girl as he smiled at some thing Sara was saying.

  Leo could not see what the girl looked like because her other arm was wrapped tightly around a single pot with an orchid plant in it which was so large that her head was totally obscured by the leaves. The flowers were tiny, bright orange with streamers of purple and red leaves coming out from each blossom. It was like a flower crossed with a bag of party streamers.

  Sara smiled up at Leo with a tilt of her head. He noticed for the first time that, without her baseball cap, the corners of her eyes had fine white crease lines on smooth, gently tanned skin. She actually looked genuinely happy to see him.

  And what made it worse was that he felt happy to see her!

  Would she still be smiling if she knew how dishonest he was being? A cold, sick feeling of discomfort coiled around his gut at her misplaced trust and innocent welcoming smile.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Fenchurch. New customers?’ he asked.

  ‘Actually, two of my best customers,’ Sara replied, and then turned back to the boy. ‘Now don’t forget, Freddy. Tell your grandma that she only needs to water it once a week. Not once a day, like the one you gave her for Christmas.’

  Freddy replied with vigorous nodding, then released his sister’s hand and reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.

  ‘Oh, no. This is a replacement plant, remember? And I hope she likes it, but just bring it back if she doesn’t. Now, go straight home. Bye for now. Bye.’

  Leo stood next to Sara as they watched the unlikely pair stroll down the path towards the lane. The little girl had her thumb in her mouth, but wrinkled her nose at Leo and waved with her free hand before taking the boy’s hand.

  For one mad moment he was tempted to wrinkle his nose back at her.

  ‘They only live in the first house down the lane,’ Sara said. ‘I’ve known the family all my life, but their grandma still doesn’t know how to keep their orchids alive.’

  Sara swung around on one heel. ‘Good morning to you too, Mr Grainger. Ready to get to work? And, before you ask, no, I don’t charge. They are my neighbours and the price list does not apply.’

  She pointed in the direction of the cabin. ‘I’ve made a start on finding the lease, but nothing so far. So I could use some help. Shall we go into the office?’

  Leo replied with a tilt of his head and gestured for her to go ahead. She was wearing navy trousers today and a white blouse with little flowers embroidered on it. On any other woman it would look ridiculous and childlike and yet it somehow worked on Sara.

  He enjoyed the view for a few seconds, and then stepped into the cabin behind her.

  And stopped dead at the door, his brain scarcely able to take in what he was seeing.

  In front of him was a scene of total disruption and what counted in his world as absolute chaos.

  Two metal filing cabinets lay along one wall and on top of each were piled mountains of paperwork and folders and boxes, all bulging with sheets of paper and, as Leo walked forward, he could see most of them were invoices and receipts. More stuck out from the over-crammed drawers inside the cabinets.

  The main part of the room was taken up by a long pine table—or at least he thought that it was pine, but it was difficult to make out the nature of the wood since every square inch of the surface was covered with bundles of paperwork, catalogues and unopened mail.

  Peering over the top, he could see that a very ancient office chair was marooned in a sea of large sacks whose labels showed they had contained compost and fertiliser of various sorts.

  That probably accounted for the very special odour in the room.

  The last time he had smelt anything this bad was when the drains had been blocked for several days in his aunt’s hotel and the waste disposal backed up. If Sara worked in here she must be accustomed to it, but it was making his eyes water.

  ‘Have you been burgled?’ He gagged and looked at Sara in disbelief as she rummaged around inside a large cardboard box overflowing with brown envelopes, then dropped it to the floor, revealing a very old wooden chair.

  ‘Burgled? No,’ she replied, her eyebrows squeezed together. And then she dropped her head back and shrugged. ‘Oh, I see. Sorry. I suppose it has got a bit messy in here.’

  He shook his head from side to side slowly in disbelief. ‘This is not good, Sara. There is no way you can run an efficient business surrounded by this chaos.’

  She sighed out loud and looked around as though seeing it for the first time. ‘I know. There used to be a time when I knew where things were, even if they weren’t filed away. But now?’ Sara took a firm grip of the back of the chair. ‘This is why I need help, Leo. The more I think about it, the more I realise just how much of a mess I am in. Thank goodness you turned up just in time.’

  Several hours later, Sara stood next to her kitchen window and slipped Leo’s ring onto her thumb, stretched out her hand and waggled it from side to side so that she could admire the sparkling diamond in all of its glory.

  Helen had told her that he was single, but perhaps Leo had been married once and was widowed? Or maybe this was a treasured family heirloom only to be passed from father to son?

  Whatever the reason, she had no right to keep it. Agreement or not, she should have returned it when she had the chance. But it was not too late—Leo was making an effort to sort through her documents and keep his side of their bargain.

  Right on cue, there was a great crash and a deep groan from the direction of her log cabin office and Sara flinched with guilt. After forty minutes of frantic searching involving much grimacing and huffing and puffing, they had finally found the folder he needed on her lease, stuffed between a bundle of holiday brochures for orchid enthusiasts.

  They had been in there for almost an hour when, after several attempts to work in the same room had resulted in document avalanches and an unfortunate incident with a sample of especially pungent organic fertiliser and Leo’s lap, she had finally offered to make them some coffee and leave him in peace.

  How had she let the paperwork and her office space deteriorate so badly?

  She had planned to have a complete clean-up during the long winter months, but somehow it had never happened. Crisis had followed crisis and, before she knew it, the demand for orchids for autumn weddings had become Christmas gift specials, then Valentine’s Day and then back to the spring wedding season, and now she was busier than ever.

  Normally, she felt happy and warm and comforted to be in her messy place, like a little nest she had made, but she had been so ashamed to show Leo her office that morning and to see it through his eyes.

  She glanced though the kitchen window towards th
e cabin.

  Yesterday he had refused to go away and had spent a good few hours of his precious Sunday reading and learning more about the plant ranges and the most popular lines.

  He had even looked interested now and again. Either that or he had been more than just polite. Perhaps he wanted to get to know her better?

  Silly girl! Why should a man like Leo be interested in her? That sort of thinking would lead to even more disappointment and pain. Her mother was right—she was never going to be good enough for any man to care about her without an aristocratic name to attract them. And the sooner she accepted that fact the better.

  She pushed herself upright and blinked away tears of self-pity, then quickly slipped his ring from her thumb.

  There was a rustle of activity at the kitchen door and Sara quickly wrapped the ring and popped it back into her purse.

  A tall slim man dressed in black was standing at her kitchen door, brushing away the dust from his clothing with his fingers. Leo!

  ‘Oh, hello. Do you need anything? The coffee will be ready in a few minutes.’

  ‘I need somewhere to work. I am really sorry, Sara, but that…’ He opened his mouth to describe her potting shed and seemed to give up, so she stepped in for him.

  ‘Garden office?’ she suggested and was rewarded with a scowl.

  ‘Glorified garden shed. Is driving me mad. I don’t know how you can work in there,’ he added and gestured towards the door. ‘No filing system, no chance of finding anything. It is impossible.’

  Sara checked her watch. ‘You’ve lasted well over an hour, which is about forty minutes longer than I expected, so well done for that. Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.’

  Leo crossed her living room in what seemed like two strides, looked around the kitchen for somewhere to sit that was not already occupied by piles of junk and leant against the wood-burning stove instead. Sara frantically tried to find a second clean mug, gave up and started the washing-up from her hasty breakfast, before she’d had to make the early morning deliveries to the local florists.

  The kitchen had rarely looked so messy. The old pine dresser which ran the whole length of the wall was loaded up with all of the bits and pieces she would find homes for. One day. Except that day never arrived and suddenly every piece of junk mail, orchid catalogues, cat toys and stray pieces of string sprang out at her. It was a mess.

  Well, at least she had cleared away the underwear from the bathroom. With a bit of luck, he would have forgotten all about that.

  ‘I have instant coffee or builder’s tea. Any preference?’ she asked casually and was rewarded with a snort and a definite twist of one lip from the handsome man in black who had found a clear spot by moving one cat and several bundles of old newspapers and was now reclining gracefully on her rickety old wooden chair as though he was lounging on a cruise ship.

  Her heart clenched. The last man who had sat in that chair had been her ex-boyfriend, and he had asked for a clean towel before he sat down so that he would not dirty his suit.

  She instantly sniffed away a musty smell of goodbye and good riddance to bad rubbish, and replaced it with the lemon balm tang of hello, Leo Grainger.

  ‘What? No cappuccino machine? Ah, the delights of country living. No false airs and graces here.’ And then he grinned. ‘Only teasing. Tea would be great, thank you. Strong as you like. Milk, no sugar.’

  She cringed inside as she caught him staring at the old pine dresser with its simple wooden shelves. Her collection of unmatched blue and white plates and bunches of keys of all shapes and sizes hanging from cup hooks screamed out in all of their unkempt glory.

  If he hated the office she could hardly wait to hear his reaction to her kitchen.

  ‘This is a lovely room,’ he said without a hint of irony.

  Sara dropped the teaspoon she was drying in surprise and had to start again. ‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘Not perhaps the neatest kitchen in the world, but it has everything I need.’

  She risked a glance at him as she got the tea ready. ‘You really are the most contrary person, Mr Grainger. One minute you are complaining about the state of my office and the next you are enjoying my messy kitchen. It is most confusing.’

  His face wrinkled up into a wide grin and Sara’s heart gave an annoying blip in appreciation. He was handsome at the best of times but, at that moment, in his trademark immaculate black trousers and fitted shirt, he was positively the best-looking man she had ever met in her life. She had thought her ex-boyfriend handsome in an obvious, booted and city-suited slick way, but this was another level completely. The kind of charm and deep attraction that could easily lead a girl into deep waters if she did not take care. Pity that her poor tender heart did not want to take care, no matter what her head might say.

  His body seemed to fill the space in the small, low ceilinged room, squeezing her into a small corner.

  ‘Then my work is done.’ He laughed and stretched his legs out even farther. ‘This is your room where you relax and enjoy yourself. That—’ and he pointed with one finger out of the open window towards the shed and the greenhouse only a few feet away ‘—is where you have to work and make a business for yourself.’

  He sniffed and sat back, making the chair creak alarmingly. ‘Big difference. And, as much as I appreciate your…let’s say…Bohemian lifestyle, I don’t think that it is helping your finances in any way.’

  She passed him his tea and a plate loaded with buns and muffins. ‘Please help yourself. I traded a small desk orchid for a supply of cakes first thing this morning and the village baker loved it so much she went a bit mad. And I don’t have a huge freezer so…enjoy.’

  ‘Bartering,’ he whispered. ‘Ah. That might explain a few things about the cash flow. That and the fact you actually give your plants away to the neighbours.’

  ‘Do not mock,’ Sara replied and sipped her tea. ‘Bartering is quite a family tradition in our house, although—’ and she smiled ‘—I suppose my grandmother did go over the top sometimes. Her accumulation of salvaged and bartered treasures was legendary. It used to drive my mum totally mad.’

  Sara shuffled over to the dresser and picked up a wooden picture frame and handed it to Leo and watched in delight as his eyes widened. ‘Yes, that is what it looks like. A two-woman bicycle. That’s my mum on the right and grandmother on the left. Apparently, she traded a pewter teapot for a tandem bicycle so that they could cycle around the countryside in glorious splendour. She fell off the first time we tried and never rode it again. But that was her. Incorrigible.’

  Leo held the photograph in silence for a few minutes, then passed it back to Sara with a quick nod. ‘I never knew my maternal grandparents until a few years ago and my dad was an only child without any family to speak of. But it must have been fun living with those two ladies.’

  She cocked her head and pursed her lips. ‘Good times and bad. My mother hated moving back here after she got divorced. She hated the isolation and she truly hated the chaotic lifestyle my eccentric grandmother had created for herself. But she didn’t have anywhere else to go and I needed a permanent home. It wasn’t the best situation for either of them but it was either that or face a horrible custody battle with my dad.’

  Sara smiled and cradled the mug of tea between her hands. ‘And whenever the arguments got too bad, I always knew that I had somewhere calm and beautiful to escape to. The orchid houses. They were my sanctuary in the tough times and I suppose they still are now.’

  She blinked away a burning in her eyes, then passed the plate back to Leo as she shuffled on her hard seat. ‘Little wonder my mother has a stunning all-white modern flat in London with not one cluttered surface in sight. And that is just the way she likes it.’

  Sara shook her head and shrugged at Leo, who was just finishing off his bun. ‘And I have been blabbering far too long about myself. So tell me about your kitchen at home. Let me guess. Granite? Stainless steel? I want to know every detail of your designer dream.’

>   ‘Well, this is going to be fast,’ he replied. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t own a kitchen.’

  She put down the muffin that was halfway to her lips. ‘No kitchen?’ she whispered in a shock.

  ‘I don’t need one,’ he replied, picking up another piece of bun. ‘At the moment I live in a hotel suite with full room service twenty-four hours a day. And I don’t miss the washing-up one little bit.’

  Leo bit into the delicious soft hot cross bun, savouring its sweet and spicy flavours. It had been so long since he had enjoyed good ordinary baked goods, although it was ironic that it should be in this cramped and crazy little kitchen, instead of the swish elegant hotels and restaurants that were part of his life of international travel.

  ‘This is good,’ he said between bites, and sipped down some of his tea. Scalding hot, just how he liked it. He was just about to take another bite when he realised that Sara had stopped talking for the first time that morning, and he looked up into her face.

  What he saw there surprised and astonished him. She was looking at him—not glancing, smiling, but with a face full of sadness and pity—for him.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘You are living out of a hotel room,’ she murmured, and her sad voice was almost breaking with emotion. Instinctively, she reached out towards him, placing a hand on top of his as though she was comforting him after some terrible grief.

  Leo faltered, not knowing quite how to respond. He had a complicated relationship with the hotel trade at the best of times, but he could hardly explain that to a girl he had only just met without exposing part of himself that he did not talk to anyone about.

  The fact that she had recognised something deeper in what he had said was quite remarkable. It struck him that in his daily work he met so many people but felt no connection to them.

  Yet here was this girl, living in this tiny cottage, who was trying to reach out to him and comforting him for a wrong that she knew nothing about.

  The silence of the moment stretched out, broken only by the birdsong on the other side of the kitchen window and the faint hiss of the kettle as it cooled.