“Did you do all this?” I peer at a bed of plants that I think might be oregano. “It’s absolutely stunning!”
“Thanks. I’m pleased with it.” Nathaniel sounds offhand but I can tell he’s gratified. “Anyway. Your rosemary.”
He pulls out a pair of secateurs from an old leather holster-type thing and starts clipping at a dark green, spiky bush.
OK. I have to say what I’ve come to say.
“So … um … it’s really weird,” I begin as lightly as I can, fingering the scented leaves of some bushy plant. “But Trish seems to have got the wrong idea about us! She seems to think we’re … you know.”
“Ah.” He nods, his face averted.
“Which is obviously … ridiculous!” I add.
“Mm-hmm.” He clips some more rosemary sprigs and holds them up. “This enough for you?”
Mm-hmm? That’s it? That’s all he has to say on the subject?
“Actually, I’d like some more,” I say, and he turns back to the bush. “So … isn’t it ridiculous?” I add, trying to prod him into a proper answer.
“Well, of course.” At last Nathaniel looks at me properly. “You won’t be wanting to get into anything for a while. Not so soon after a bad relationship.”
I look at him blankly. What on earth—
Oh, yes. My bad relationship.
“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes, that.”
Dammit.
Why did I go along with the bad relationship story? What was I thinking?
“Here’s your rosemary.” Nathaniel puts a fragrant bundle into my arms. “Anything else?”
“Um … yes!” I say quickly. “Could I have some mint?”
I watch as he moves carefully over the rows of herbs to where mint is growing in large stone containers.
“Actually …” I force myself to sound careless. “Actually, the relationship wasn’t that bad. In fact, I think I’ve pretty much got over it.”
Nathaniel looks up, shading his eyes against the sun. “You’ve got over a seven-year relationship in a week?”
Now that he puts it like that, it does sound a bit implausible. I cast around quickly in my mind.
“I have great reserves of resilience,” I say at last. “I’m like … rubber.”
“Rubber,” he echoes, his expression unreadable.
Was rubber a bad choice of word? No. Come on, rubber is sexy.
Aargh. This is hideous. Here I am, with my hitched-up skirt and eyeliner, employing all the body language I know, basically just offering myself to him. And he’s trying to let me know he’s not interested.
I’m mortified. I have to get away from here. From him.
“You’re right,” I say, flustered. “It’s … far too soon to think about anything like that. In fact, it would be a terrible idea. I’m just going to focus on my new job. Cooking and … and … so forth. I must get on. Thanks for the herbs.”
“Anytime,” says Nathaniel.
“Yes. Well. I’ll see you.”