“What would you like to do today?” Luc asked as he sliced a mushroom on his plate. “I have some work to attend to this morning, but we can do whatever you like for the rest of the day.”
“If you’re going to work, I’ll spend some time in the garden. I’ve missed getting my hands dirty.” She smiled.
“You don’t need to get your hands dirty. We have staff for that.”
“But, Luc, it’s something I enjoy, something I love.”
Luc reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. Sunlight caught the blue diamond of her engagement ring, refracting light across the white linen tablecloth like blue fire. For all they were dining al fresco, everything was still five-star. Whatever they promised their clientele, it was obvious that this was a way of life Luc lived, as well. He offered perfection and expected it in return.
He rubbed her fingers between his. “Just make sure you wear gloves. You don’t want to ruin your beautiful hands.”
There was a note in his voice that set Belinda’s spine straight, made her feel prickly and defensive. She pushed the thought aside. He only cared for her welfare, she told herself.
“Sure, if it’ll make you happy.”
“Having you as my wife makes me happy,” he replied, lifting her fingers to his lips and licking lightly between the knuckles.
Again, that frisson of discomfort trickled down her back, raising a question in her mind. Was it having her, or having her as his wife that made him happy? The question bothered her and she absentmindedly spread marmalade over her toast as she tried to figure out why.
She felt as if she’d truly come home when she entered this part of the gardens. To one side of the shade house stood a shed, lined with shelves filled with terra-cotta pots of all sizes and shapes and with bags of potting mix stacked against one wall. Just outside the shed a pink-veined marble replica of Venus de Milo stood in lonely splendor.
Belinda trailed her hand along the line of the statue’s shoulder. She could sympathise with Aphrodite on this score, she thought, as her hand dropped past where the statue’s right arm would have finished. It seemed as if nothing was complete in her world right now, either—at least not in her memory. There were still vast tracts of emptiness, gaps splintered by sudden glimpses of the past.
She sighed and looked around her. So much here was familiar, comforting in a way. It would be good to be busy doing something she loved again.
Much later that morning Manu brought her a phone as she worked on repotting some cuttings she’d found in an overgrown mass in a shade house around the side of the herb garden. Obviously, she’d been experimenting with cuttings and grafting prior to their marriage. Those that had taken were strong and healthy, if not a little unruly. Unfortunately, just as many plants had shrivelled up and died. She hoped that wasn’t symbolic.
Manu stepped through the doorway with a big smile, and Belinda dusted off her hands on her jeans, having long since discarded the unwieldy gardening gloves she’d donned purely because Luc had requested it.
“Enjoying yourself?” Manu asked, with a twinkle in his deep-set brown eyes.
Laughter bubbled from her throat. “Oh, yes! Definitely.”
“That’s good. We’ve missed your smiles around here, you know. Here—” he passed her the cordless phone “—there’s a call for you from Auckland. Someone at Pounamu Productions.”
“Really, what on earth could they want?”
“Take it and see.”
Belinda inspected her hands quickly before accepting the cordless phone and put the phone to her ear.
“Hello? This is Belinda Wal—Tanner.” She grimaced comically at Manu at her slip. She’d automatically gone to use her maiden name. Mind you, that wasn’t so surprising considering that she still couldn’t even remember her wedding.
“Belinda, still not used to being a married woman, eh? Look, it’s Jane Sinclair from Pounamu Productions. Do you remember that series we were discussing before your wedding, the half hour per week gardening show? The money men have given us the go-ahead and the powers-that-be love the stills we took of you in your family gardens. They think you’re a natural for the job, and the fact you’re so gorgeous will widen our audience appeal. When can you come up to Auckland to discuss it further?”
Belinda absorbed Jane’s words in stunned silence. Television series? Weekly gardening show? How on earth was she supposed to tell Jane she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Disregarding Belinda’s lack of response Jane carried on talking about plans for the series, production schedules and all manner of things.
“So, how about next week? Does that suit?” she finished.
“Look, I’ll need to get back to you to confirm, but that should be fine,” Belinda hedged. “Give me your number.”
She scrabbled around on her workbench. She knew she’d seen a marker pen somewhere. A pen and paper appeared in front of her and she flung Manu a grateful look as she rapidly copied down Jane’s contact details. By the time she pressed the off button on the phone, she felt as if she’d run a marathon. She looked at Manu in puzzlement, briefly outlining the call.
“Do you know what she was talking about?”
His normally open face assumed a set expression, his eyes giving nothing away. “You’ll have to talk to Luc about that. He’s still in his office. Do you want me to call him for you?”
“No, that’s okay. No need to disturb him. I’ll see him at lunchtime. We can talk about it then.”
“No worries.” He turned to leave, then hesitated in the doorway. “How do you feel about it? That’s some opportunity you have there.”
“Yeah, it is.” She sank onto a stool behind her and met his gaze full-on. “I would have jumped at this opportunity before, I just know it, but something’s telling me not to. That it’s not right.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Seems life would be a whole lot easier if I could just remember everything.”
“Ah, well, as my tipuna would say, don’t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you. Sometimes it’s just as well to leave well enough alone.”
“Your grandmother was a wise woman. Thanks, Manu.”
As he left the shade house, she pondered his words, and the almost cautionary tone in which he’d delivered them. Was it best for her not to keep pushing to remember? She doubted that very much. If her marriage was going to be fulfilling, she had to be able to come to it a whole woman with a whole mind, not, she smiled to herself, one with holes in her mind.
“What’s so funny?”
Luc’s voice from the doorway made her start.
“Manu said you were still working.” She reached up and kissed the cleft in his chin. “Is it time for lunch already?”
Luc picked up her hands in his and gave her a stern look. “Whether it’s lunchtime or not, I think it’s time you took a break. Look at you.”
Belinda ruefully examined her hands. “They’ll scrub up okay. Besides, it’s not as if I’m on show or anything, is it?” She strived to keep her tone light, but the command in Luc’s voice was unmistakeable—and she didn’t like it one bit.
“I wouldn’t call it ‘on show,’ exactly, but we’re expecting more guests in the next few days and will have near full capacity over the next six weeks. You know I need you by my side, looking beautiful.”
Belinda forced a laugh. “You make me sound like an ornament. Surely I’m more important than just that.”
“Endlessly.” Luc scooped one arm around Belinda’s waist and pulled her to him. “You’re the most important thing in my world. Is it any wonder I just want to keep you near me as much as I can?”
She was saved from responding as Luc bent his head and kissed her, his tongue stroking her lower lip lightly, coaxing her to open her mouth and allow him entry. Her body flamed to instant aching life. It seemed she couldn’t get enough of him—of his taste, his strength—all of him. Whether it had been his intention to thoroughly distract her or not, it worked supremely well and by the time Luc coaxed her from her potting mix and pots, she was looking forward to the afternoon they were to spend together.
Back up in their suite she took a quick shower and changed into clean jeans and a long-sleeved white linen blouse over a soft blue silk chemise. Luc hadn’t told her exactly what they’d be doing but had intimated she’d need to dress casual and to bear in mind protection from the sun.
As she picked up her gardening clothes to put them in the laundry hamper, a slip of paper poked out from a pocket. She snagged it between her fingers, looking at the name and number she’d scrawled so hurriedly. She thought about Luc’s forewarning that they’d be a full house with guests in the next week. She’d have to check with him when would be a good time to go to Auckland for her meetings.
She stroked the paper between her fingers, staring at the name—willing something, anything, to spring into her mind about the proposed television series. Suddenly a picture burst in her mind, of Jane Sinclair in the gardens at Baxter Wallace’s Devonport-based boutique hotel for a wedding. The woman had enthused for ages about the beauty of the old roses, the arbours, the scented plantings Belinda had bordered the property with. When she’d heard Belinda was responsible for that and many of the other Wallace hotel-chain gardens she’d simply gushed with ideas.
Belinda had been hugely excited. Working with her father over the past few years—acting as his right hand as her mother had begun to find the task increasingly wearying—had always been more of a duty than a pleasure. While she did it, as she did everything, with the utmost confidence and competence, gardens were where her heart lay. She loved every part of it. The planning, selecting the plantings, overseeing the work—every stage had its rewards right through to completion.
She’d worked for years, albeit part-time, trying to build a portfolio from which to grow her fledgling design business and now, finally, she was being given the platform from which to launch—to soar and fly and achieve her dreams.
Belinda shoved the small sheet of paper into the pocket of her jeans and rushed through to the dining room where Luc waited for her. She couldn’t wait to tell him about Jane’s call—and better yet, that she remembered the reasons why.
It didn’t for a minute occur to her that he’d object.
“It’s impossible. Give me the Sinclair woman’s number and I’ll let her know you won’t be participating.”
Belinda dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter.
“I beg your pardon?” She was incredulous. “Why ever not?”
“I told you. I need you here. This is our livelihood. Our guests expect a host and a hostess, with all the trimmings. It’s what you do best, so let’s hear no more of this television show.”
“What I do best? But, Luc, this is an opportunity I can’t turn away. Just think of the commissions I could get for doing gardens like our herb garden. Even Hank wants me to design something for him.”
Across the intimately set table in their dining room, Luc stilled. “Hank Walker? No.”
“Okay, I agree that working for him would be difficult with Demi and everything. Still, a trip to Texas would’ve been fun, wouldn’t it?”
“That trip is never going to happen, just like you hosting this TV show isn’t going to happen, either.”
Belinda’s spine stiffened as she looked at him. Had he gone completely mad?
“What do you mean, never?”
“Your place is here. By my side.”
“By your side? But what of my work, Luc. I have a business to rebuild.”
“No, you don’t.”
Luc watched Belinda carefully from across the table. It had been only a matter of time. His greatest fears were coming to life as her memory returned. He could feel himself losing her already, and the sensation struck dread deep into his heart. Was it so wrong to want to keep her here, by his side? He pushed himself to his feet and walked around to her. He reached for her hand, clenched in a tight fist in her lap, and pulled her up against him. Her eyes looked more grey than blue—cold, defensive—as if he’d suddenly grown horns from his forehead. And maybe to all intents and purposes he had—because the devil would take him before he’d let her go. Under his gaze she paled, her lips fading to the palest of pink, her cheeks totally devoid of colour.
He bent his head to kiss her, to kiss away the anger and fear that reverberated from her like a tangible force, but she turned her head away. Damn, he didn’t like the way this was heading, or the sudden sensation of vulnerability that sliced through him.
“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”
She brushed a hand across her forehead, rubbing across the line of her brow as if to coax something from her mind. Luc remained silent, watchful. He recognised the signs now. She was getting a headache, a precursor to her remembering something that distressed her and that invariably led to a loss of consciousness. He tightened his hold on her, only to have her pull free and step away from the safety of his arms.
Lord, it was only yesterday that she’d remembered the accident. The memories were coming thicker and faster than before. And he, damnably, had no control over them.
Sudden awareness shot through her features.
“We have.” Her voice rose, a thread of anger running like a vein of steel through it. “It was straight after the wedding.”
“Go on,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. Fighting back the words of denial that he knew were a lie.
She blinked a few times in quick succession, her brow furrowing as she appeared to sort through the vagaries of her mind. When she lifted her head, her eyes were bright with anger and something else he couldn’t immediately identify.
Pain.
It was pain. Pure and simple and wrenching in its presence. Emotional pain of a type he’d never permitted himself to acknowledge. Yet seeing Belinda so stricken sent a piercing arrow of empathy deep inside to the dark place he kept hidden from everyone. Even himself.
Luc reached for her, again but Belinda was quicker. She stepped out of his reach, shaking her head, her voice low.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Belinda, stop.”
“Stop? Stop what, Luc? Stop remembering that you only married me because I was the best applicant for the job? Stop remembering that you deliberately wooed me here to Tautara and then wooed me into your bed?” She slammed her hand on the table beside them, making the plates and cutlery jump. A glass toppled and rolled off the edge and onto the tiled dining-room floor, shattering into pieces. “Tell me, am I on track? Is there anything in particular I might have left out?”
She stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. Inside he felt as if a tenuous link had begun to break apart.
“I never lied to you, Belinda.”
“No, you didn’t. And you never loved me, either.”
The tears finally spilled over her lower lashes, tracking in lines of silver down her cheeks.
“And that’s a crime? Love is for fools. What we have is—”
“What we had.” She interrupted him with a finality in her voice that froze him where he stood.
“Had?”
“You don’t expect me to stay here now I know, do you? I was leaving you the night of the accident. The night we were supposed to be celebrating our marriage. How could you keep that from me and expect me never to remember—never to want to leave you again? I hate you for what you did to me, what you’ve done to me now.”
She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Stop. Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his hands knotted into fists of frustration at his side. No matter what the provocation he would not let go of his anger. He was not like his father, but he would not let Belinda go. Not when she was the centre of his world. He could not.
“I’m leaving. Leaving Tautara and leaving you. You can’t stop me.”
Her hand was on the doorknob, turning the polished brass and releasing the catch.
“You’re right. I can’t stop you.” He struggled to inject the right note of nonchalance in his tone. As he’d hoped she hesitated and turned at his words.
“Is this some kind of trick?”
“Trick? No, I’m not into games. Never have been.” There’d been no games in his childhood. Life had been serious from the get-go, deathly so. He slowly walked toward his wife; noted the way her fingers tightened nervously on the doorknob. “I certainly can’t stop you leaving, but you might like to consider the effect of your doing so on your parents.”
“On my parents? They wouldn’t want me to stay in this…this…‘relationship’ any longer than I have already. If Dad had any idea of how cold-bloodedly you married me, he’d be helping me out this door as fast as he could.”
“Are you so certain of that? Perhaps you should speak to your father before you leave. Make sure you’ll be welcome home.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m their youngest child. I’ve worked at my father’s side for years, helped my mother in every way I can. Of course I’d be welcome home.” Twin spots of colour appeared in her cheeks, bright in the porcelain pale of her skin.
“Then perhaps he won’t mind so much when I call in my loan. Of course, it’ll mean that your mother will have to cease the treatment she’s just started in America, and your father’s hotels, well, they’ll no doubt be sold to defray some of those costs. It’s even possible your sisters’ husbands will lose their positions managing their hotels. Maybe they’ll find other work to sustain the lifestyles they’re all accustomed to, maybe not. But it’ll all be worth it in the name of love, won’t it?”
He stepped past her and opened the door of their suite. “You’re free to go anytime you want. Just be sure that you can live with the consequences.”