All They Need

“In every way. I heard her dress was transparent, and that her husband marched her off and then spent the next month apologizing for her to anyone who is anyone.”

Flynn frowned. “She was trying to help. It’s not like she leaped into the fountain for kicks.”

Hayley held up a hand. “Whoa there. I didn’t mean to step on any toes. I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

Her gaze was searching, questioning, and he realized he’d spoken a little too heatedly.

“We’re not. I hardly know her. But that fountain thing was blown way out of proportion. Gabrielle Holland needs to get a life.”

“That’s true. She dined out on that story for a very long time.” She sounded amused, but she’d always been far more tolerant of the social piranhas amongst their circle than he had.

He checked his watch. “We should get going.”

“Let me grab my bag.”

She was back in a minute with her sunglasses and handbag. He backed his vintage Aston Martin out and cruised up the driveway. They were nearing the main house when Mel appeared around the corner, lugging a tall ladder. She leaned it against the back of the house beneath one of the sash windows before looking over her shoulder toward them. She gave a small acknowledging smile then turned to her task.

He hit the brakes and wound down the window.

“Hey. It’s been a few years since I’ve been down on the peninsula and old Gertie here doesn’t have GPS.” He patted the Aston Martin’s dash. “Do I turn left or right onto the Nepean Highway if I want to go to Summerlea estate?”

Mel approached the car, bending so she could see in the window. “You take a left. Then it’s the first street on your left, and the estate is at the end of the road.”

Her T-shirt sagged as she leaned down. It took more willpower than he cared to admit to stop himself from taking a good long look at what he suspected was a pretty spectacular view.

He was only human, after all, and she was built on very generous lines. “Great, thanks.”

“I guess it’s true then, huh? It’s up for sale? I heard a rumor but I didn’t believe it.”

“The owners have gone into a retirement home, according to the estate agent.”

“Really? That’s so sad. They both loved that place so much. It must be hell to have to give it over to someone else.”

“You know them?”

“Oh, no. Not personally.” She tucked a long, dark curl behind her ear. “I used to go to Summerlea when it was part of the Open Garden tour, and Brian and Grace were always there, talking to everyone. It’s been years since they last let the public in, but I can still remember how beautiful the gardens were. I’ve never seen flame azaleas like theirs anywhere else. And the roses… Mind-blowing.”

She had a far-off look in her eyes. Then she seemed to recall herself. “Sorry. I’m holding you up.” She straightened and stepped back from the car, waving a hand to indicate he should go.

“Thanks for the directions.”

She gave an awkward little shrug. He drove out into the street.

“If you’re feeling guilty about looking, don’t,” Hayley said after a few seconds. “I looked. Couldn’t help myself. She has amazing breasts.” She sounded wistful.

Flynn glanced at her briefly before concentrating on the road. “I didn’t look.”

“Flynn. Come on. This is me. A blind man would have looked.”

“I didn’t look,” he repeated. He glanced at her again as he signaled to pull onto the highway.

She looked bemused. “Why on earth not?”

“Because I’m with you,” he said simply.

A slow smile curled Hayley’s mouth. “Sometimes I think you’re too good to be true, you know that?”

“If you believe that, I’ve got some swamp land to sell you.”

“I think I just might buy some swamp land if you were selling it.”

The real estate agent was already waiting for them when they parked in front of Summerlea’s familiar white fence. He scrambled out of his Mercedes as Flynn cut the engine.

“Flynn Randall? Spencer Knox. Pleased to meet you.” His eyes were assessing as they exchanged greetings.

One problem with being a Randall—everyone knew your net worth before you walked through the door.

“We really appreciate you moving the viewing time for us,” Flynn said.

“Not a problem, and it’s great to meet you both.” Spencer paused a moment before offering Flynn a shrewd smile. “We can talk about the weather a little if you like, but you’re a busy man and I suspect you’re keen to cut to the main event. So shall we?” He gestured toward the gate.

“Absolutely,” Flynn said, appreciating the other man’s bluntness.

Spencer walked ahead of them to the pedestrian entrance, situated to the right of the main gate. The paint was peeling off the wood and streaks of rust ran down from the lock. The main gate wasn’t in much better shape and Flynn took a step back to assess the fence line itself.

“As I mentioned on the phone, the old place has been a bit neglected in recent years,” Spencer said. “A combination of old age and money issues, I gather. So things might not be quite as you remember them.”

“Sure.”

The other man struggled with the latch for a moment before the gate swung open with a painful screech.

Hayley gave a nervous laugh. “That sounds a little ominous, doesn’t it?”

Flynn murmured something noncommittal, his focus on what he was about to discover on the other side of the gate. Adrenaline had his heart racing as he stepped into the grounds.

In many ways, Summerlea was where he’d first discovered his love of gardening. He could still remember dragging his feet as his mother led him into the grounds as an eight-year-old, past the crowds of tourists milling about the entrance. He’d been bitching and moaning all the way from the city, sure that he was missing out on doing something cool with his friends. The moment he’d gotten his first look at the garden his complaints had blown away like dust.

Rolling lawns, archways heavy with roses, whimsical benches made out of gnarled local tea-tree branches, copses of birch trees, their trunks silver-white in the sun… He’d been roped into helping his mother in the garden often enough by then to understand that he was looking at something special. A living treasure.

Twenty-six years later, he looked at the same view and saw that the rose arbor was rotted and falling down, the lawns patchy and overgrown, and the benches absent, no doubt having fallen prey to the weather or insects long ago. And still his heart soared, because he knew that not only could he fix all of the above, but he could also make it better. His fingers literally itched for pen and paper so he could start sketching and jotting down ideas and he had to stop himself from stooping to pull the nearest weed from where it sprouted between two paving stones.

He glanced at Hayley, keen to see her reaction, but she’d put on her sunglasses and most of her expression was hidden behind the lenses.

“What do you think?” he said quietly as they walked up the pathway toward the house.

“I imagine it was once very beautiful,” she said diplomatically.

He looked out across the garden once more, and again he felt the pull of possibilities. This place was special. It would be an intoxicating challenge to restore it to its former brilliance. He’d have to pare things back, rebuild. The lawn was a mess, the garden beds overcrowded and full of weeds. With water restrictions in place, the whole space would probably benefit from a modern reticulation system—