Mum and Dad were just as they always were. They looked after her, they fed her cups of tea and shortcake—which was all lovely—but then there were the dinner-table conversations. How pleased they were that she was working somewhere as prestigious as Kew, even if was just looking after one tiny section. Never mind. In a few years she could go for promotion and really do something.
Chloe wanted to tell them she was doing something, that she loved her job and didn’t yearn for corporate headship, or knighthood—or sainthood—whatever it was they wanted for her, but she didn’t have the energy. Besides, if they kept on about her professional life they wouldn’t ask about her personal life.
It had started a couple of years ago. First the veiled questions, but they’d grown less and less subtle. Had she met anyone nice? Was anyone serious about her? Of course, she’d always looked better with longer hair so maybe she should grow it out, and she’d do well not to forget that it was all downhill after thirty and they really wanted some grandchildren while her eggs were still good.
They meant well, they really did.
But Chloe didn’t need a reminder that her personal life was going down the toilet. At least, if her parents kept on about work, she’d avoid having to tell them it had been her who’d pulled the chain.
But Monday would not be put off for ever.
She woke before dawn and stared at her ceiling, listening to the planes coming in to land at Heathrow, her stomach churning. She really didn’t want to go in. She couldn’t face it, couldn’t face seeing him, especially after what he’d said to her.
You’re pathetic.
Those words had lodged in her chest like an arrow’s shaft and would not be shaken loose.
She was pathetic. What serious, grown-up horticulturist fantasised about taking a taxi to the airport, buying a one-way ticket and just getting on a plane? Any plane. As long as it took her thousands of miles away.
Five months. That was all she’d had in her dream job before it had turned into a nightmare.
Even though it was not yet six, Chloe dragged herself out of bed and made herself get dressed. Lying there feeling sorry for herself was not going to help. She needed to get ready, get some serious armour in place if she was going to survive today, both physical and emotional. If there was one thing she was not going to give up it was her job. Daniel Bradford would just have to deal with that.
She’d chosen her usual confidence-boosting uniform of pink blouse and black skirt, but when she opened her wardrobe to look for matching shoes she realised they were still under her bed where she’d kicked them off after Daniel had left. She staggered back from the open wardrobe and her bottom met the end of the bed with a bump. For a few seconds, she stared straight ahead, but then she reached underneath the bed and her fingers closed around the hard and spiky heel of a pink stiletto. She pulled it out and stared at it.
She didn’t ever want to wear those shoes again. She certainly didn’t want to wear them today. Daniel would just think she was sending him some creepy, stalker-type message or something. The man was paranoid.
And vain. And arrogant.
And so gorgeous she couldn’t think straight.
How—after all he’d said to her, after how he’d made her feel—could she still be attracted to him? Daniel Bradford was right. She was pathetic. She needed to get herself a life, and she needed to do it fast.
Which, unfortunately, meant she really was going to have to get up off her backside and go to work today. Because work was all she had left at the moment.
She threw the pink heel into the back of her wardrobe, plucked its twin from under the bed and did the same, then pulled out some less spectacular black shoes with a lower heel. They were comfortable, though, she thought as she slid her feet into them, which would be good, because she’d bet those shoes were the only thing that was going to be comfortable about her working day today.
Chloe walked into the tropical nurseries with her head held high and went straight to her section, looking neither to the left nor the right. She didn’t care where Daniel was. If she ran into him, she ran into him. But she wasn’t going to give the other staff a show by confronting him. She knew what they called her behind her back, but today she was going to be Classy Knickers instead of Fancy Knickers.
She reached her section and began checking out the various orchids she was propagating. Still that one Paphiopedilum she’d grown from an unidentified seed refused to flower, no matter what she did. She’d noticed from the package that it had come from Georgia Stone at the Millennium Seed Bank. Daniel’s ex.
Perhaps it was absorbing all her pent up guilt at wanting him after he’d ditched the other woman so publicly. Georgia needn’t worry, though. Now Chloe was part of the same exclusive club. As humiliating as being turned down live on air must have been, at least she hadn’t been wearing just her underwear. Underwear supposedly guaranteed to provoke an entirely different reaction in the male of the species.
Chloe shook her head and tried to banish those thoughts by searching for tips on the Internet and emailing other enthusiasts, but she couldn’t lose herself in her work as she normally did. Every sense—especially her hearing—was on full alert. In the backstage area of her brain she was straining to hear his deep, rich voice. And whatever it was that was working overtime just didn’t seem to have an off switch.
In the end she gave up trying. Every sound had her jumping out of her skin. As much as she told herself she didn’t care if she saw him, she really did. She was just dreading seeing that same look of disgust in his eyes, telling her she was pointless and pathetic.
She decided to get some fresh air, go down to the Princess of Wales Conservatory and check on her orchids. There was something soothing about the two rooms filled with logs and ferns and perfect flowers. She and Daniel had discussed doing a joint display around the little boggy pool in the Temperate Orchid section—long-fluted pitcher plants mixed with delicate woodland orchids—but that obviously wasn’t going to happen now, so she might as well head down there and get some new ideas.
Walking back through the network of nurseries to the entrance was skin-crawlingly embarrassing. Not many people had seen her arrive, but now word must have gone round because they were certainly watching her leave. Every time she passed a door the noise level dropped as those inside stopped what they were doing.
It only made her tip her chin higher, straighten her spine further.
They’d be calling her Iron Knickers by the end of the day, because she’d be blasted if she’d let any of them see her crumble. It had been bad enough to have Daniel witness her steady disintegration. She didn’t need their pity. Didn’t want it.
The short walk to the conservatory was like an oasis in a desert of stress. Though there were a handful of Kew employees around, they were rolling wheelbarrows or chopping down trees. None of them stopped and stared. The gossip obviously hadn’t reached the tree gang or the bedding crew yet, but it would.
She’d walked via the quieter paths to the south entrance of the glasshouse, and then she zigzagged down its angular paths, keeping to the side routes as much as possible. She was within feet of one of the orchid enclosures when she saw a figure she recognised coming from the offices hidden under the earth and foliage.
Emma. But instead of saying something totally inappropriate, the other woman merely laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. ‘How are you doing?’
The contact seemed to burn like acid. Chloe had a sudden and horrifying flashback to the day the woman in the raincoat had pounced on Daniel. They were standing in almost exactly the same