Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
M arcus set off for home the following morning, after prolonged, fierce hugs from me and requests from him that I take care and not do anything risky.
It was as if he thought I was going to parade up and down Heather Moore with a placard around my neck, proclaiming, “I’m the Bollinger Babe”.
“I promise I’ll be careful,” I told him, with an eyeroll. “Now, go, and I’m always here if you need me.”
* * *
Saturday was my favourite day of the week in Flower Power because of the more relaxed atmosphere it brought with it. There were no trains to catch, no buses to flag down, and no congested roads to negotiate, so customers were free to spend quality time in my shop, savouring the delights of the flowers, browsing our arrangements, and losing themselves in the warm scents.
Amber and Rowan were both in a buoyant mood.
Rowan was gushing about my brother’s ideas for publicising her little side-hustle –a dog-walking business –which she’d discussed with him during his stay. “Marcus suggested giving new clients a ten per cent discount on their first two walks and offering a small range – at least to begin with – of A Walk in The Bark merchandise,” she explained, buzzing. “He thinks I should start off small with some mugs and keyrings featuring the image of my clients’ dogs. If it goes well, I could expand on it.” She clapped her hands together. “He’s so brilliant!”
I smiled at her, thinking it was typical of Marcus to deal with heartache by throwing himself into work – his and other people’s. He’d never been one to mope or sit around waiting for things to happen. Hell, he was even planning to enrol in an evening class, for heaven’s sake!
A flash of my own aggravating predicament appeared in my head, with Zach sneaking his way back into my thoughts. I’d been out of my mind to harbour attraction for some sleazy tabloid hack, though admittedly a very hot one, who could be on the verge of destroying the new life I was building for myself.
I felt a chill in my veins at the sensationalist news stories that would no doubt be splashed across the tabloids if my location was revealed. And I hoped that Caroline and Laura could continue to avoid Zach for a little longer, before he tracked them down.
I picked up my phone and navigated to my mother’s number. I was returning to Bannock House tomorrow to talk to her about Marcus and Jacob and wondered if I should let her know I was coming. Then again, turning up unannounced meant she would be thrown by my sudden arrival, and off-guard, with no prepared answers to my questions. She’d be more likely to be honest. I hoped.
As much as I wasn’t relishing the prospect of stepping back inside Bannock House again, it had to be done. I couldn’t hide from the ghost of Declan forever. I refused to let him win.
“Hi, Bailey.”
I jumped at the sound of Zach’s voice as he walked through the door and up to the counter. Of course, he looked amazing, in his thick navy polo neck, winter jacket, and dark jeans. My insides pirouetted, not just because he was undeniably gorgeous, but because every time I saw him, I expected those immortal words – Aha! I knew Declan’s former It-girl aristo was you all along!
I drank in his burning brown eyes, before recovering myself.
“Hi there. How are things?”
“Oh, ok thanks. On a late lunch break at the moment. Been busy asking around doing some important research.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I was damned if I was going to ask what about. Like I didn’t know. Instead, I plumped for something polite but vague. “Any luck?”
“Things are moving in the right direction. The good news is that I was called today by a guy who claims he does actually know who the Bollinger Babe is.”
My stomach lurched. It was happening. My past was catching up with me. It felt like Flower Power was beginning to spin.
Not appearing to notice my stricken expression, Zach’s bright, dark eyes shone out of his chiselled face as he went on. “He’s going to ring me back later this afternoon with more information. Sounds like our party princess is enjoying life tending the land.”
It took a few moments for me to process what Zach had just said. What? My throbbing heartbeat was pounding in my ears. “Sorry? What did you say?”
Zach glanced around him at my clusters of red and green plants and the twinkling Christmas lights. He lowered his deep rumble. “According to this caller – and he seemed very sure of himself – there’s a woman who owns some farmland just outside of Heather Moore. She’s blonde, well-educated and has a penchant for flashing her cash.” Zach looked like the more he considered this notion, the more the jigsaw pieces were slotting together. “I think she could well be our missing Lady Anastasia McLaren-Kerr. The description fits.”
I opened and closed my mouth, before ramming it shut. What was he talking about? Who was he talking about? Farmland? It took a few moments for me to join the mental dots. Oh God. No. It couldn’t be. Realisation dawned.
He was talking about Joan Webber, who lived up in McShand Lodge. I conjured up an image of Joan, with her long, hippie-style, dirty-blonde hair, sea shell necklaces, and penchant for chasing anyone from her property with a cocked shot gun.
I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, be pleased, or offended! Who the hell thought she could be me? That she was the so-called Bollinger Babe? Who was this guy who’d called him, convinced Joan Webber was the Bollinger Babe? Joan hadn’t been near a bar of soap for years. Why would someone think that?
My mouth formed a series of odd shapes. Talk about barking up the wrong tree. More like the whole forest. “That’s a good call,” I stuttered, fighting a sudden, relieved urge bubbling up inside me not to laugh. “I know you reporters don’t usually name your sources, but I wonder who called you about Joan?”
One of Zach’s black brows arched. “He told me he wouldn’t give me his real name. Scared of repercussions, he said. He told me to call him Mark Darcy.”
Mark Darcy? I didn’t know anybody of that name, apart from a character in Bridget Jones . My mouth did that weird, popping open thing again. Mark Darcy.
My eyes widened. No!
I almost laughed out loud, but managed to turn it into a cough when Zach slid me a curious look. Bloody hell! It couldn’t be. Could it? Marcus had rung Zach and deliberately set him on the path to Joan Webber?! The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like too much of a coincidence. Marcus’s favourite movies were the Bridget Jones ones and he’d always harboured a crush on Colin Firth.
Joan Webber was a bit of a mysterious, reclusive figure around these parts. I concealed an emotional smile as memories of the two of us being greeted by Joan, Hettie, her late father Sandy, and their two-family sheepdogs, Lachlan and Lauder, wavered in front of me.
As children, Marcus and I managed to endear ourselves to Hettie whenever we came to Heather Moore, even though they were a family who didn’t tend to mix with the rest of the locals and she would even let us assist Joan in pouring in the double cream when she was making her delicious golden butter.
A glow of emotion lit up inside me. Even though he had his own troubles at the moment, my big brother had made time to look out for me and throw Zach on a wild goose chase. It must be him. It all fitted together.
It wouldn’t deter Zach long-term –as soon as he found out that Joan had lived here all her life with her family, he’d know she wasn’t me –but maybe it would buy me a little more time, and take some of Zach’s attention away from Ezra and his long-lost daughters, and whatever scandal surrounded him.
“Can you excuse me for just a second please, Zach? I have to make a quick call to one of the suppliers. Then I’ll be with you.”
“Sure.”
Grabbing my phone, I darted up to my office and clattered the door shut behind me. I pulled up Marcus’s number. He barely had time to say hi. “Are you Mark Darcy?” I gushed.
There was a rumble of laughter down the line. “What do you think?”
I let out a gasp. “I knew it!”
“Has it worked?”
My head popped with thoughts. “Yes. Well, for now.”
Marcus dropped his voice. “Glad to help. But be careful, ok? Love you.”
Back on the shop floor, Zach’s voice broke through my thoughts. He looked a little awkward, which wasn’t like him at all. “I actually came by because I could do with your help.”
“Oh, yes?”
“I’m looking for a present for someone. A plant or bouquet.”
“Sure,” I replied. “Who’s it for?”
“A friend. She’s a special lady.”
She?
Astrid. Jealousy pierced me in the chest. I moved out from behind the counter towards him. I was fighting to look unphased. “Any preferences?”
Not that it was any of my business and I didn’t care either way.
“No. I was hoping you might have one or two suggestions.” Zach pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. “I read a while back that the Victorians were really keen on giving flowers that had a specific meaning.”
I strode over to a corner of one of my new winter displays, which housed a spray of cream and white tea roses, mingled with berries and twigs. I wished I could pass Zach over to one of the girls to deal with. This was excruciating. “That’s right. They were. All flowers have a specific meaning.” I straightened my back. “What flower you choose really depends on what she means to you and what message you’re trying to convey.”
Zach drew up beside me, his intent brown eyes scanning the blooms I was pointing at.
“I want to get her something a bit different. I’m not bothered about the cost.”
Ram it down my throat, why don’t you?!
I tossed a frosty glance at him. I felt childish, but couldn’t help myself. “I do everything I can to keep the prices of my stock at a reasonable level. I’m not in the habit of trying to rip off my customers.”
Zach blinked at me. “I’m sure you don’t.”
God, this is horrible .
A part of me was tempted to recommend something like yellow carnations, which signify rejection, but I reminded myself that I was a professional. Or at least, I was supposed to be.
In the end, my conscience took over. “If I were you, I’d go for something like this.” I picked out one of our frilly sugar-pink camellias and tried to conceal the pain in my voice. “They represent love and missing someone.” I cast a long look at Zach and buried a sudden ball of emotion. “I love the scalloped petals. They remind me of a rose but have a bit more attitude about them.”
I touched the petals, losing myself for a moment in their deep, riven shape.
I looked up and noticed Zach was staring down at me, an indecipherable expression on his face.
I was certain Astrid would love the camellia. It never failed to lift my spirits.
Zach gestured to the flower. “Thanks. It’s lovely. I’ll get this one then.”
He offered me an odd smile, but I struggled to return it. In the end, the smile I did finally manage to conjure up must have made me look like my bra was too tight.
I made my way back behind the counter, cradling the camellia in my arms and proceeded to put Zach’s purchase through the till.
He pointed over at a couple of our Christmas wreaths for sale, decorated with satin tartan ribbons. “I’d better not bring Astrid in here. I’d never get her out again!”
I snatched some pretty cerise ribbon from under the counter and tied it around the pot of the plant to dress it up a bit. “Oh, please do,” I said through bared teeth, not meaning a word of it. “The more custom, the better.”
“I guess that’s true,” he said, his eyes lingering on me. “Bailey, is everything ok?”
I pushed the credit card machine towards him. “Absolutely.” I gave a rictus grin. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Zach finished paying and returned his credit card to his leather wallet. I imagined Astrid to be some willowy Scandinavian goddess.
“Buying something for a seventy-year-old church elder is a bit of a minefield!”
My envious thoughts juddered to a halt. I gawped up at him. “Sorry?”
“Astrid,” he said, as though I should’ve known all along. “Astrid Connor. She’s a lovely woman. She’s staying in my hotel at the moment while her house is being redecorated. She’s lonely, poor thing, so she’s been popping to my suite to talk to me, mostly about her late husband, who was a Fleet Street reporter back in the day.”
I clutched at the edge of the counter, my horrified cheeks zinging with colour at Zach as he continued to explain. “She happened to pass by my hotel room when I was letting myself in,” Zach continued to explain. “I get occasional migraines and last nights was a real doozy. Astrid made sure I got into my room ok and proceeded to administer water and fetched me painkillers. Even when I started to feel a bit better and wanted to make a few calls, she insisted she stay a little longer to make sure I was all right. I suggested she stay and have a coffee with me.”
I listened, trying not to show my complete embarrassment at getting it so wrong.
“She said I remind her of her son, who lives in Texas,” Zach went on. He indicated the plant, now cradled in his muscular arms. “I just wanted to get her something to show my appreciation.”
I winced. What a lovely thing to do. I’d been marching around like a hormonal schoolgirl who’d just learnt her pop star crush had a girlfriend. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I’d been having murderous thoughts over a kind church elder?
I was fighting to bring myself to look Zach in the face. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” I croaked. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“Oh, I’m sure she will. Thanks again, Bailey, for your help.”
I gestured to the camellia, its scalloped petals waggling around in Zach’s arms. “Tell Astrid that camellias like acidic soil and partial shade. An area that gets morning shade is the best, as direct sunlight tends to dry out their petals.”
“Right. I will. Thanks.”
“They’re woodland plants,” I added, faffing around at the counter, red-faced.
I realised I was wittering on and stopped talking. Zach was studying me over the top of the frothy, bright pink plant.
“Ok. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”
He loitered for a few moments, as though he was debating something before giving a self-conscious wave that was at odds with his usual cool, controlled exterior.
My gaze followed him out of the shop. Then I dropped my head in shame onto the counter and pretended to thump it against the pink-painted wood.