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Charity Brown had never married, but she had been a teacher for forty-five years before she’d retired, and she’d known children. She’d liked them... and they’d liked her.
Laura had loved her.
Now, as she drank in the sight of the stuccoed cottage with its weathered shake roof, she felt a growing and very deep sense of coming home. And, as she paused to inhale the perfume drifting from a bushy yellow plant, Laura felt the tension that had been with her so long begin to slacken—though the confrontation with Nicholas Diamond had, she admitted ruefully, jarred her more than a little. Especially his parting shot.
When he’d told her who he was, when he’d looked at her the way he had—so snide, so superior, so downright nasty!—she had desperately wanted to say something that would take him down a peg or three. She grimaced as she walked on. It had been unfortunate, meeting him today, but with a bit of luck she’d never bump into him again. And, though he had ruined Juniper Ridge, Sweet Briar itself was still rooted where it had always been. Only...
She halted, frowning. Though her great-aunt’s picket fence still separated her front drive from the one next door to the west, the low hedge that had divided the back gardens had been replaced by a high wall of the same creamy stone as the mansion towering beyond it. Laura raised her eyes ... and felt them widen in dismay; the second story of the monster house had huge windows-and they all looked down into Sweet Briar’s backyard.
Swiveling, Laura glanced to the east, and breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw that the forest she remembered was still intact; no looming edifice stood there, with its windows impinging on her privacy. Spruce and hemlock, fir and pine stood straight and tall, flourishing in the mild Pacific air.
Thank heavens for that. Though the new housing complex covered almost every inch of the mountain slope around her, on this one side, at least, there still remained virgin forest-thirty acres of it, if she remembered rightly. She would be able to wander in that quiet green sanctuary, as she had so often yearned to do...
Coming to Sweet Briar Cottage was the one thing that had kept her going since Jason’s death, and today was a day she had looked forward to with a feeling that had been akin to desperation. A day of new beginnings. But so much had changed. And if the forest had been gone...
But it wasn’t. So she would still have it ... and the cottage. Everything else—all the changes—she would try to ignore.
Just as she had ignored the estate lawyer’s repeated requests to have her look at the many offers he’d had on the property since her great-aunt’s death.
“I don’t want to sell,” Laura had declared, over and over and over again. “Not now, not ever.”
“But I’ve been approached by a client who is willing to pay you ten times what the place is worth!” The lawyer’s tone had indicated that he’d thought she was out of her mind. “If you agree to sell, you’ll be able to use the money to buy a very impressive house in the best area of the city!”
I already own a very impressive house in the best area of Toronto, she’d almost said. But she hadn’t. She had just repeated, firmly, that she had made up her mind.
Now, as she turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside, she felt her heartbeats accelerate in anticipation.
The first thing she noticed was that the interior of the cottage was still as bright as she had remembered itbright and inviting, because at the end of the lobby leading to the rear of the simple house was the drawing-room, with its wall of windows overlooking the back garden.
The second thing Laura noticed was the smell—not a damp smell, as she might have expected, but a dry one, edged with the fragrance of cedar logs, pine cones and lavender. A nostalgic scent...and one that made her want to sneeze.
The first thing she must do, she decided as she moved along the lobby, was open some windows.
But as she paused in the open doorway of the living-room she felt memories come rushing back with such force that her legs threatened to give way under her. Stumbling to the nearest sofa, she sank down on the overstuffed cushions and looked around her, with tears burning her eyes. It was just as beautiful... just as perfect ... as she had remembered.
Mellow sunshine slanted through open venetian blinds, painting the room’s uneven whitewashed walls with slats of butter-gold. Dust danced and hovered in the air, and lay thick on every surface, though Laura barely saw it, or the dried leaves that had fallen from a dead plant onto the Indian rug. What she saw were the chintzcovered sofas and armchairs, the antique lamps with their pink bead-fringed shades, the silver-framed photographs, the crammed walnut bookcases, the windowseat with its cabbage rose cushions...
And beyond, outside, the garden...
Pushing herself to her feet again, Laura crossed to the French doors, and, after a struggle with the lock, managed to open them. Dropping her backpack, she stepped out onto the brick patio and, raising her face to the sun, drew in breath after breath of the richly scented, salt-laden air.
This was why she had come back—for this peace, this isolation, this close communion with nature. If any place on earth could heal her, it was this one.
Eyes still blurred, she gazed around the garden, with the eglantine hedge at the bottom—the sweet briar from which the cottage had got its name—the burbling creek behind it, and the sloping lawn with its beds of flowers. The azaleas were just beginning to bloom, as was the clematis climbing over the weathered trellis by the patio...
And weeds, Laura noticed, flourished everywhere. She would begin tackling them tomorrow, if the weather stayed nice. Wet days would be for working indoors, sunny days would be devoted to the garden. She hugged her arms around herself with a feeling of joyful anticipation—and noticed, with vague surprise, how thin she had become.
She would start looking after herself, she promised. Surely her appetite would begin to pick up, and she would start eating regularly again, start exercising again.
The very notion seemed to charge her with energy. She moved around the house, her steps suddenly so light she was almost dancing, and as she touched one familiar object after another she found herself smiling through her tears. It was so good, so very good to be here.
But a few minutes later, as she threw herself down on one of the sofas, she noticed that the surge of energy had burned itself out, leaving her utterly drained. Kicking off her sandals, she tucked her legs under her, and, reaching for the crocheted afghan draped over the back of the couch, she pulled it loosely over herself.
She wouldn’t sleep, she knew that—she was far too excited. But she’d rest awhile, and then she’d get up, take some food from her backpack and have a snack.
In the meantime ...
CHAPTER TWO
“NICK...?”
“Mmm?” Nicholas Diamond looked up from his desk as his sister, tying the belt of her maternity dressing-gown around her bulky waist, came into his study. “Good lord, Sally—” he glanced at his watch “—I thought you went to bed ages ago. It’s after midnight, honey—should you be—?”
“I was in bed. I woke up a few minutes ago and had to go to the bathroom...” Sally Peterson paused, nibbling her lower lip worriedly, and Nick raised his eyebrows.
“Not edgy, are you, without James? But that’s why I suggested you come and stay here while he’s away! I know what a Nervous Nellie you are—”
“I think someone has broken in next door.”
“At Sweet Briar?” Nick frowned. “Who on earth would want to break in there? Surely there’d be nothing worth stealing in that old cottage.”
“Nevertheless, when I passed by my bedroom window the moon slipped out from behind the clouds for just a moment, and when I looked into the back garden I could have sworn the patio doors were open. Wide open.”
“Probably a trick of the light.” Nick glanced at the work on his desk. He really had to get these figures worked out before the meeting with his lawyer in the morning. “Don’t you think you should just go back to bed and-?”
“Nicholas, if—as you suggest—there’s nothing worth stealing there, won’t the burglar decide to try somewhere else?” She stared at him meaningfully. Like here, was the implication.
With a resigned sigh, Nicholas pushed back his chair. “Okay. James has left you in my care, so I’ll go and scout around.” He glowered at her teasingly. “But if I’m not back in half an hour, phone 911.”
“Thanks, Nicky.”
“Now, you scoot off to bed. The babes asleep?”
“Mmm, sound. Lucky, aren’t they, to be too young to worry about burglars and break-ins and murders and—?”
Nicholas touched a finger to her lips. “Enough,” he said softly. “This house, as you well know, has a very sophisticated alarm system. I’m going to investigate only to put your mind at rest.” He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her from the room. “Off you go to bed now, and stop worrying. I’ve got everything under control.”
Good Lord, Nick thought a few minutes later, Sally was right.
Stealthily he moved across Sweet Briar’s back patio toward the cottage’s French doors—which were, indeed, open. Just as he got there, however, a cloud floated over the moon, plunging him into darkness. Cursing under his breath, he glided through the doorway, straining to pick up any sounds, but the only noises came from outside—the rustle of the breeze in the bushes, the hum of traffic from the highway below, the distant bark of a dog.
So intent was he in his listening that he stepped forward too carelessly, and his foot caught against a soft, bulky object on the floor. With a startled exclamation he pitched forward, to sprawl over a heavy, upholstered piece of furniture.. In all probability, he decided, a couch. The sound had jerked from his throat before he could stifle it, and as it echoed in the night-hush he grimaced.
At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud, and as he straightened he saw, on the couch, hiding beneath an afghan, the figure of a youth. Sally’s burglar. He must, Nick surmised, have heard him coming and darted for cover... And the object he, Nick, had tripped over in the doorway was probably the bag used for the booty.
Thieving little punk!
“Get up!” Nick’s snarled command reverberated back from the walls of the room, and as it did the figure jerked spasmodically, a white face appeared above the blanket, and a pair of dark eyes gleamed up at him in fright.
Laura had thought, when she’d heard the harsh voice, that she must be dreaming. But as her eyes flew open, and she flinched back from the huge figure looming threateningly over her, she smelled the scents of summer dust, firewood and lavender, and knew that she wasn’t dreaming after all.
She was at Sweet Briar. She had lain down on the sofa and must have fallen into a deep sleep—a sleep that had lasted for hours. She could see moonlight filtering in through the windows, silvering the walls and furniture... and outlining the wide-shouldered frame of the man poised over her, his back to the door, his face shadowed.
“Get up!” The stranger barked out the command again. “And watch how you move, you thieving little lowlife... I pack a mean punch!”
Laura cringed as he made a sweeping gesture in her direction, but even as the breath caught in her throat she realized that he wasn’t going to hit her. All he meant to do was snatch up the crocheted blanket half covering her... which he proceeded to do before flinging it away to the floor. The movement swiveled him sideways for just a second, and during that fleeting second his profile was painted ink-black against the silver light from the moon...
And, during that fleeting second, the sight of him, and the sound of his harsh voice echoing in her ears, came together in Laura’s mind with the firm, undeniable click of computerized facts meshing into place.
This man was no stranger.
Slowly she uncurled herself from the fetal position she’d adopted while she slept. What Nicholas Diamond was doing here she wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the man was quite mad. He thought she was the intruder, not he; and he was in no mood to listen to her explanations.
The sooner she got out of his way the better.
At that moment a cloud floated across the moon, and the room became instantly as black as pitch. Rolling off the sofa, she moved furtively, with her breath sucked into her throat, toward the French doors. If she could get outside, she could hide in the garden till-A rough hand grasped her arm, making her gasp. “Trying to get away?” The voice rasped in her ears mockingly. “Too bad you didn’t eat your carrots when you were a boy—you’d be better able to see in the dark!”
Laura resisted the urge to try to tug her arm free, knowing full well that his grip was inescapable. “Look, you—” her voice was breathless but cold “—I don’t know who you think I am, or what you think I’m doing here, but my name is Laura Grant and this cottage belongs to me. Now, if it’s not asking too much, would you please let me go?” She noticed with grim pleasure that his grasp had slackened at her words, and she jerked her arm free. “And get out of my house!”
For a moment that seemed to stretch forever there was silence in the room, punctuated only by Laura’s rough, erratic breathing. Finally, when she’d thought the man was never going to respond to her words, he said, in a voice that was husky and edged with self-deprecatory humor, “Miss Grant, please accept my apologies. I thought that—”
“I’m not the least interested in your apologies,” she snapped, “and I am even less interested in your thoughts. All I want is for you to leave, and to keep out of my way so I need never set eyes on you again. Do you think,” she added sarcastically, “that you could possibly arrange that?”
“If you really are the new owner of Sweet Briar, then I’m afraid that’s something I can’t promise to arrange.”
“And why not?” she demanded icily.
“Because,” he replied, “I am your next door neighbor. And you and I shall probably be seeing a great deal of each other in the future ... whether you like it or not.”
She heard him walking toward the French doors, and then she heard a scuffling sound, and realized that he must be pushing her backpack into the room. A second later she heard the sharp click as he pushed the French doors into place, and then, as the cloud slid past the moon and once again the garden was painted in silver, she saw him walk by the windows, his hands rammed into the pockets of his jeans.
And she also saw, with a flare of anger and resentment, that his lips were slanted in a smile.
Amazingly, she slept again after he’d left.
She hadn’t expected to. The encounter had left her trembling with frustration, and she had curled up on the couch again—promising herself that she’d get up and make some coffee once she’d stopped shaking—and next thing she knew, sunshine was tickling her eyelids, inviting her to waken up. When she looked at her watch, she saw that it was nine o’clock.
She stretched and yawned... and her stomach gave a plaintive rumble. Getting up, she scooped her backpack from the carpet and made for the bathroom.
She gave herself a cursory wash, deciding to have a shower later, after she had done some preliminary cleaning. In the meantime, after brushing it, she fashioned her hair in a ponytail and tethered it with a leather thong.
About to turn away, she stopped to examine her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror above the sink. Lord, what a wan, unattractive creature she was. Not only was her long brown hair limp, it had no highlights; her skin, though flawless and clear, as it had been all her life, was pale, and drawn too tightly across her neat, straight nose and high cheekbones. Even her lips were pale. And as for her eyes... She shook her head; her eyes-blue as the Nordic sky under which her maternal ancestors had been born—were dulled and flat, mirroring the soul they windowed.
She sighed wistfully as she tucked the tail of her beige shirt into the waistband of her jeans. Where had she gone, that vivacious teenager who had been whirled into a “fairytale” marriage by one of Toronto’s most eligible bachelors? Was she lost forever? Or was she still there-somewhere?
She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, as an odd thought flew into her head. She had decided, after Jason’s death, that she would revert to her maiden name—Laura Grant. Why, then, last night, had it been on the tip of her tongue to tell Nicholas Diamond that her name was Mrs Thorne? Was it because she’d felt she had needed protection from him, and had thought she’d be safe if he believed her to be married? But safe from what?
Oh, it was too early in the day to be puzzling about such abstract problems! Pulling open the bathroom door, she made her way to the kitchen.
It was a small, cozy room, with white walls, green linoleum, birch-veneered cupboards and ancient avocado appliances. The window faced east, toward the forest, and Laura could see the sun peeping over the jagged silhouette of the treetops. The sky was cloudless, and a pale gray-blue. Later in the day she would walk among the trees—the first, she hoped, of many, many such walks.
A coffee-maker stood on the formica countertop, and, after rinsing it out, Laura opened the package of freshly ground coffee-beans she’d brought with her. Within minutes the air was scented by the aroma of the filtering brew.
As it dripped into the pot Laura took a small loaf from her backpack, and moments later the smell of toasting bread was added to the fragrance of the coffee. Humming under her breath, she energetically wiped off the surface of the table, the countertop and one of the chairs. By the time she had cleaned them to her satisfaction her breakfast was ready, but she had just sat down, and was savoring her first sip of coffee, when she heard the doorbell chime.
She blinked. Who on earth could be coming to call? No one but Nicholas Diamond and Marvin Twigg, the estate lawyer who now handled her affairs, knew she had moved in.
Putting her mug down on the table, she got up and walked through to the hall. The front door was oak, with a window at eye-level-a window veiled with a lace curtain.
Through the curtain she could see that the person outside was a striking brunette, with strong, attractive features and curly black hair tumbling to her shoulders.
Laura unlocked the door and pulled it slightly open, and as she peeped around the edge she saw immediately that the stranger was pregnant. Very pregnant. Her maternity dress billowed out around her like a vast scarlet tent.
“Yes?” Laura’s voice was wary.
The woman’s gray eyes were friendly, her smile pleasant but rueful. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sally Peterson from next door. I’ve ... come to apologize about last night.”
Laura shifted her weight to the other foot, and waited for the woman to go on.
“You see,” Sally explained, “what happened was all my fault. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I saw your patio doors were open I thought someone had broken in, so I asked Nick to go over and have a look.” She grimaced. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
This pleasant, friendly woman lived with Nicholas Diamond? Their surnames were different, so they weren’t married... Or maybe they were. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman, nowadays, to cling to her maiden name instead of assuming the surname of the man she had married. And she was expecting a child. His child, of course. She couldn’t imagine a man like Nick Diamond tolerating any other kind of situation. But the woman seemed so nice; why on earth would she have let herself get involved with a tyrant such as—?
“He’s my brother. My twin, actually. Nicky, I mean.”
She was his sister, not his wife. Laura was taken aback by the odd little quiver that trembled through her heart as the other woman imparted the piece of information. What on earth did it matter to her if Nicholas Diamond was married or not? And just because this woman wasn’t married to him, it didn’t mean that some other woman wasn’t ...
Good Lord, her mind was driveling on as if it assumed she had some interest in the man! Perhaps she was still suffering from jet lag; that could be the only explanation.
She realized, suddenly, that the woman was staring at her, waiting. Waiting for what? Had she spoken?
“Er ... sorry,” Laura murmured. “Did you ...?”
“If you’ve just moved in, you’re probably going to be busy cleaning this morning, but ... in the afternoon, would you like to come next door for awhile? Nick has a pool, and we could have a swim, or just have a coffee and chat.”
Laura had thought it would be easy to slip into her new home-easy to keep to herself, easy to avoid getting involved with neighbors. She had reckoned without meeting such a friendly, open person as this Sally Peterson.
“Thanks, but i...er...have to go out this afternoon.”
“Some other time, then.” Sally’s smile was cheery. “Give me a call when you’re free—the number’s in the book. Nick’s number, that is. I’m not getting around much—my baby’s due in three weeks—so I’d really appreciate some company. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” She turned to go, and then swiveled back. “I almost forgot—” she held out a paper bag “—these are for you. Some blueberry muffins—they’re still warm from the oven.”
After a brief hesitation, Laura took the bag. “Thanks,” she said, and for the first time managed a smile. “Thanks very much.” And, with that, she withdrew into the cottage again, and locked the door.
When Laura had flown to Vancouver, she had left behind-in the triple garage of her Toronto suburban house—her cream Volvo, Jason’s scarlet Ferrari and the antique silver Rolls that had been kept for attending special functions. She could have had one of those vehicles delivered to her at Sweet Briar, but she wanted to get back to basics—wanted a simple home and a simple way of life... And, for the moment anyway, that included a simple mode of transportation.
Curled up on the windowseat in the living-room just before noon, Laura stared out at the back garden. She had spent the morning scouring the kitchen, until every surface, every corner was gleaming. Now, nibbling the last crumbs of one of Sally’s muffins, she thought about the things she needed to buy when she went shopping.
First on the list was a bicycle.
