The Garden Intrigue Read Free

this.
    Colin’s hand rose reflexively to the back of his head. “Not your flat.”
    “Your aunt Arabella’s, then. Or we could take a mini-break somewhere.”It would have to be somewhere cheap, since neither of us was exactly flush with funds, but there had to be some moldering seaside resort that had seen better days and would be willing to take us in for the price of a large London dinner. Or we could go to one of the old Regency watering holes and I could drag Colin to Jane Austen re-enactments. “It could be fun.”
    A loud crash and a curse resonated from the flagstone path below. At least, I was assuming there was still a flagstone path below.
    Our eyes met over the computer monitor.
    I sighed. “Or we could stay here and keep an eye on the film crew.”
    One side of Colin’s mouth pulled up in something that wanted to be a smile but didn’t quite make it. “Thanks. You’re a brick.”
    I would have preferred to be something more decorative, but I appreciated the sentiment. “Look, it will all be fine. It’s only two weeks and you can charge them double for every shrub they squish.”
    Colin didn’t look convinced. He nodded towards the computer. “Anything interesting?” he asked, with forced heartiness.
    I hastily moved the monitor. “Oh, just this and that.”
    “What is it?” Colin was way too sharp sometimes.
    “Nothing!” I staggered clumsily to my feet. My legs had gone numb from sitting on them. “But I probably should get back to work if I don’t want to be one of those five-thousand-year-old grad students.”
    Colin smoothed my hair back, turning my face this way and that as he examined it for lines and wrinkles. “You still have a ways to go yet.”
    Another crash. I could feel the muscles in Colin’s arm stiffen under my hand. “I’m aging rapidly,” I said.
    Colin raised an eyebrow. “Best gather your rosebuds while you may, then.”
    “Smooth,” I managed to say, and then his lips touched mine, and speech became a decidedly uninteresting commodity. Rosebuds, on the other hand…They weren’t in bloom yet, and yet I could have sworn I smelled their heady scent wafting up from the garden, as much of a cliché as the stereotypical violins.
    “Oh, sorry,” someone said, and I realized that I did smell rosebuds, preserved in alcohol and condensed into perfume. One of the film crew was standing in the doorway, younger than me at a guess and inappropriately attired for an English spring, in tight jeans and tighter shirt. “I was just looking for the computer. It’s in here, right?”
    I came down to earth with a crash. Literally. Colin is a fair bit taller than I am. My heels hit carpet with a jarring thump.
    “This computer is off-limits,” I said, since Colin seemed incapable of saying anything at all. “This whole wing is off-limits.”
    “But the computer…”
    Why does whining sound worse in an American accent?
    “Is not available,” I said. “Please close the door on your way out.”
    I’ll say this for her, she did take direction. She pulled the door smartly shut behind her.
    I leaned back against Colin. “We’re going to hear about this from Jeremy, aren’t we?”
    “Bugger that,” said Colin elegantly. “They’re supposed to have their own Internet connection set up. Since when does Private mean ‘Hey! Come on in!’?” Colin’s voice shifted on the last words into a parody of the film people.
    His fake American accent was truly atrocious. I wondered if my fake English accent sounded as awful to him. Probably. Huh.
    Colin glowered at the door, as if it had personally offended him by allowing itself to be opened. “What do we have to do, put up an electric fence?”
    I decided that this was not a good time to tell Colin that amusing story about the guy who had blundered into our bathroom while I was showering. Picture Psycho, only without the axe and with more Herbal Essences.
    “I was thinking buckets of water on the doorjamb,” I said. “If I