Page 14 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘You’re a builder, Gran says.’
He nods. ‘I’m working at Brambleberry Manor at the moment. Renovatingan old barn as part of the artisan crafts community over there?’
‘Oh, yes. I know it. They’ve got gorgeous cakes in the caféthere.’
‘A girl after my own heart. Love a bit of cake, me.’
‘I’ve got some here, actually. Would you like to try some?It’s... a bit of an experiment.’
‘An experiment?’ He rubs his stomach uneasily.
‘It’s made with courgettes? Gran has such a glut of them, Ineeded to use them up. It tastes quite nice, though.’
‘I’ll pass if you don’t mind.’ He grins. ‘Sorry butvegetables belong with Sunday dinner, not in cakes.’ He shrugs apologetically.‘Always been a bit of a fussy eater. Chocolate cake’s the best and I don’t minda bit of fruit cake, as long as it doesn’t have that revolting mixed peel init. The stuff that makes you think you’re noshing on rabbit droppings.’
I smile up at him, rather admiring his honesty and the wayhis green eyes twinkle with humour when he’s talking. He’s quite handsome,really, with that smile and that thatch of blond hair that’s currently stickingup, like he’s just got out of bed.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, he runs a hand through hishair, smoothing it down, although not entirely successfully. ‘Sherlock Holmeswas doing some gardening and Watson asked what he’d planted.’
I look at him, perplexed.
‘What did he plant, Shaun?’ he says with exaggeratedpatience, circling his hand in expectation.
‘Ah. Yes.’ I smile, shaking my head. ‘So...what did Sherlock Holmes plant, Shaun?’
‘A lemon tree, my dear Watson.’ He crosses his eyes.
I burst out laughing. ‘Elementary, my dear...very good.’ His jokes aren’t the most original, but it’s the way he tells them.
He looks pleased that he’s made me laugh. ‘You’ve got alovely smile. I bet everyone tells you that.’
‘They don’t, actually,’ I say honestly, feeling myself flusha little. ‘But thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He looks at his watch. ‘I need to go. I’m workingthis afternoon. And anyway, I shouldn’t keep you. You’ve probably got loads moretelephone cables to pull up before teatime.’
I grin. ‘Hey, it’s no joke. Thanks for the tea. If you’renot around, I’ll put the mug by your front door.’
He waves away this suggestion. ‘I’ll get it back next time.’His eyes twinkle. ‘I hope thereisa next time.’
‘I’m sure there will be. I’ll be here most days until thisplace is shipshape.’ I raise my hand and smile as I walk away with my mug oftea, back to the strawberry bed.
‘Clara?’
‘Yes?’
‘I thought I saw Michael J Fox at the garden centre but Icouldn’t be sure. He had his back to the fuchsias.’
I snort with laughter. Grinning, he walks off, whistling.
‘Who was that?’ asks Bertie, running into the garden at thatmoment with Luke bringing up the rear, wheeling his bike through the gate.
‘That was Shaun, your gran’s next-door neighbour. He seemsnice. But he didn’t like the sound of my courgette cake. Would you like some?’
Bertie nods. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Come on, then. I’ve got some lemon squash as well, althoughyou should drink some water first.’ Smiling, I push the damp hair back from hisflushed forehead. ‘Come on, Luke,’ I call, and he drops his bike and runs overto join us.
It’s a relief to get into the cool shade of the cottage. Theboys tuck into some cake but I manage to resist.
