The Family Legacy Contract

Chapter Four

By ten o'clock on Saturday morning, I had developed a personal dislike for bindweed.

It was an unreasonable plant. You could pull out three feet of root, lay it triumphantly on the ground, and discover another six inches waiting beneath the soil. Worse, it had a habit of wrapping itself around the roots of things you actually wanted to keep, making it impossible to remove without feeling like you were performing surgery.

I sat back on my heels and examined the latest offender.

"You're a particularly ugly one."

"Talking to the plants again, dear?"

Mrs. Bellamy sat beneath the shade of her back veranda, a china teacup balanced on one knee and a crossword puzzle on the other.

"Only the ones that deserve it."

"George used to swear at the roses."

"Did it help?"

"Not in the slightest. But I think he enjoyed himself."

I smiled and dropped the weed into the bucket beside me.

The Bellamys' garden was one of my favourite places in town, though I suspected my opinion would have changed considerably if I were responsible for paying to maintain it.

Their house sat on a generous corner block, with a wraparound veranda, pale yellow siding, and windows that caught the afternoon sun. The garden had once been something rather spectacular. There were old stone paths winding between flowerbeds, climbing roses around the veranda posts, and a greenhouse tucked behind an enormous magnolia tree.

Mrs. Bellamy had shown me photographs from the eighties, when she and her husband had hosted garden parties. Women in enormous hats stood beside flowerbeds overflowing with colour, holding little plates of food and smiling at the camera. In one picture, a much younger Mrs. Bellamy wore a pink dress and stood beside a man who was looking at her rather than the photographer.

That was George.

He'd died four years ago, and the garden had been slowly losing the argument with nature ever since.

I'd started coming around to mow the lawn when I was eighteen. Now I came once a week, weather permitting, and did whatever needed doing. Mrs. Bellamy paid me twenty dollars an hour, which was generous considering that my qualifications consisted of being reasonably strong and knowing the difference between a rose and a dandelion.

She also supplied lunch.

Today it was chicken sandwiches, a slice of lemon cake, and a glass of homemade iced tea.

I was particularly fond of Mrs. Bellamy.

"Would you like to take some tomatoes home?" she asked as I joined her on the veranda.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I can't possibly eat them all."

I looked towards the vegetable beds, where a remarkable number of tomatoes were ripening on the vines.

"You could open a shop."

"At my age? Absolutely not."

She passed me a plate.

I sat on the top step, stretching my legs into the sunshine. My knees were filthy, and a thin scratch ran along the inside of my forearm where a rose had objected to being pruned.

"Have you decided what you're doing with the greenhouse?" Mrs. Bellamy asked.

I glanced towards the little glass building.

"Not really. I was thinking I might try growing some herbs."

"You should."

"I don't know much about growing things from seed."

"Neither did George when he started. He killed an entire tray of tomatoes his first year."

"That's encouraging."

"He was terribly upset. Wouldn't eat a tomato for weeks."

I laughed.

"Well, I was thinking basil, maybe some lavender. Things that don't need too much attention."

"You can use whatever you like. It's a shame to leave it empty."

"I might give it a go," I said.

Mrs. Bellamy nodded approvingly.

"Good. And take some cuttings from the lavender by the fence. George planted it thirty years ago."

I looked over at the enormous lavender bush spilling across the path.

"Do you think it'll grow?"

"Only one way to find out."

That was true of most things, I supposed.

By Friday afternoon, the diner was busy enough that I'd already forgotten to drink the cup of tea I'd made myself an hour earlier.

It sat beneath the counter beside the register, its surface covered in the thin, unappealing film that developed when milk was left to cool, while I moved between the booths carrying plates of food, collecting empty glasses and occasionally stopping to reassure someone that their order was coming.

Friday was one of the few days we could still count on a decent crowd, and although we weren't quite as busy as we had been a few years earlier, there was a pleasant familiarity to the noise of people talking over one another, the clatter of cutlery against plates and the little bell Pete rang whenever an order was ready.

I'd always liked working during the busier periods. There was a rhythm to it that made the hours pass quickly, particularly when I knew most of the customers well enough to remember what they wanted before they asked. Mr Hensley was at his usual place at the counter, a family of four had taken the booth nearest the window, and two men in work boots were discussing the merits of a secondhand truck with the sort of seriousness usually reserved for international negotiations.

I was carrying a tray of empty plates towards the kitchen when the bell above the entrance rang.

I glanced up automatically, preparing to tell whoever had arrived that I'd be with them in a moment.

Then I recognised him.

The man from room eight at the Willow Creek Motor Lodge.

Five hundred dollars.

He stood just inside the entrance, removing a pair of dark sunglasses and slipping them into the breast pocket of his jacket. He was dressed rather differently from most of the men who came into the diner, in beautifully tailored charcoal trousers and a pale blue shirt that looked as though it had been pressed that morning. His jacket was a deep navy, the fabric smooth and substantial, and the leather satchel hanging from his shoulder had the sort of discreet, expensive appearance that made me suspect it cost more than anything I owned.

I couldn't have said where someone bought clothes like that. There certainly wasn't anywhere in Willow Creek.

He looked up and caught my eye.

"Natalie. What a pleasure."

I smiled.

"Hello again."

"You're keeping busy, I see."

"Trying to."

I adjusted the tray against my hip.

"Take a seat wherever you like. I'll be with you in just a moment."

"Of course. No hurry."

He chose an empty stool near the end of the counter, setting his satchel carefully on the floor beside his feet.

I carried the dishes through to the kitchen, collected two orders from Pete and delivered them to the family by the window before returning to the counter.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Not at all."

"Would you like a coffee?"

"Please. Black."

I reached for a cup.

It occurred to me, rather belatedly, that although we'd met twice, and he'd been extraordinarily generous to me on the second occasion, I still didn't know his name.

"Actually, I'm terribly sorry," I said, setting the cup beneath the coffee machine. "I don't think I ever asked your name."

He smiled.

"Adrian. Adrian Williams."

"Natalie Walsh."

"Yes, I remember."

I laughed softly.

"Of course you do. I suppose I'm a little behind."

"Not in the slightest."

I set his coffee in front of him.

"Well, it's lovely to see you again, Mr Williams."

"Adrian, please."

"Adrian, then."

He thanked me and reached for the cup.

I noticed his watch as he lifted it, a beautiful thing with a dark face and a narrow metal band that caught the light when he moved. It was understated, with none of the enormous decorative features I'd seen on some of the watches advertised online, but there was something about it that suggested it had been made with considerable care.

I wondered whether it was the sort of watch that cost hundreds of dollars or thousands.

Given the tip he'd left me, I suspected the latter.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Busy. I've been travelling around the area for the past week."

"That sounds tiring."

"It can be, although I rather enjoy it."

He glanced towards the booths as I reached for a clean cloth.

"I've stopped in a couple of times recently, but I haven't managed to catch you. I thought perhaps you'd found another job."

"Oh, no. I'm still here."

"Just different hours?"

"Yes. Ruth's had to reduce some of our shifts, unfortunately."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's all right. She's doing her best, and I'm fortunate enough to have other work."

"Yes, I believe I saw you the other day."

I looked at him.

"Did you?"

"Working in a garden, if I'm not mistaken. A rather lovely house with a yellow veranda."

"Oh! Mrs Bellamy's."

"That must be it."

I smiled.

"Yes, I help her with the garden on Saturdays. It's a beautiful property, although there's always something that needs doing."

"I thought it looked very well kept."

"Thank you. Mrs Bellamy would be delighted to hear that."

I glanced towards the kitchen as Pete rang the bell.

"Excuse me a moment."

"Of course."

I collected two plates of chicken and vegetables, delivered them to a booth near the windows and stopped to refill Mr Hensley's coffee before returning to the counter.

Adrian was looking through something on his phone.

He put it away as I approached.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you. The coffee is excellent."

"Good. Pete makes sure we keep the machine in working order. He's rather particular about it."

"As he should be."

I smiled and began wiping down the counter beside him.

"Are you staying in Willow Creek much longer?" I asked, collecting his empty saucer.

"Another week or so, I expect. Then I'll be heading east."

"That sounds lovely."

"Well, it has its advantages. Although after a few weeks on the road, I do begin to miss my own bed."

I laughed.

"I think I'd be willing to put up with that for a while."

"Would you?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'd love to travel more. I've got a friend in New York I've been promising to visit for years, but I never seem to get around to it."

"What's stopping you?"

"The usual things, I suppose. Money, mostly. And finding time away from work."

"Ah, yes. Although from what you've told me, finding the work seems to be becoming the greater problem."

I smiled ruefully.

"Unfortunately."

The bell rang from the kitchen, and I glanced towards it.

"Excuse me just a moment."

"Of course."

I collected two plates from Pete, delivered them to a booth near the window and stopped to take an order from a couple who'd just sat down. By the time I returned to the counter, Adrian had finished his coffee and was reaching for his wallet.

"Sorry about that," I said.

"Not at all. You certainly don't stand still for long, do you?"

"Not if I can help it."

He smiled as he took out his card to pay.

"Well, Natalie, if you're looking to replace some of those lost hours, or perhaps put a little extra money aside for that trip to New York, I might actually be able to help."

"Oh?"

"I'm in recruitment, you see. That's what brings me to this part of the country."

"Really?"

"Yes. I work for a company called Meridian Placement Group. We're always looking for good, hardworking people, particularly those who might be open to travelling for work."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind that."

"Then perhaps we ought to have a chat sometime."

He reached into his jacket and produced a business card, which he placed on the counter beside his coffee cup.

"There's my number. If you're interested, give me a call and we'll arrange something while I'm still in town."

I picked it up.

The card was made from thick white paper, with a little silver emblem above the words Meridian Placement Group. Beneath them, in neat dark blue lettering, was his name.

Adrian Williams — Senior Recruitment Consultant.

"Thank you. That's very kind."

"Not at all. You seem like someone who deserves a few more opportunities."

Before I could reply, someone called for another coffee from the far end of the counter.

"Sorry, I'd better—"

"Of course. Don't let me keep you."

I slipped the card into my back pocket.

"Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Adrian."

"You too, Natalie."

I collected the coffee pot and headed towards the waiting customer, already trying to remember whether the couple by the window had asked for their fries without salt.

By the time I looked towards the door again, Adrian had gone.