Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

my time?’ Because she certainly hadn’t discovered a hidden passion for anything they’d done so far.

      ‘Not if they’re things you’ve always wanted to do.’

      They weren’t, really. They were things she thought she should do. Things EROS’ listeners might like. Things that she felt Zander might have expected her to do.

      ‘How locked in is the schedule?’

      He squinted one eye. ‘Some of them are all booked and paid, some transferable. Why?’

      ‘I think I need to tweak them. To be more...me.’

      He smiled. ‘OK. Just talk to Casey.’

      Just like that? How strange that she felt so uncomfortable asking for what she wanted. When it was so straightforward.

      They walked on.

      ‘So, how come you don’t fix your life, then?’ Her words came out as mist on the cool air. ‘Make changes? If you believe so much in the garden of life.’

      He shrugged. ‘Not everyone wants a garden. Or the hassle of tending it. Sometimes a single focus is just easier.’

      His work. Of course. ‘But you love running. Your weekends are always full. That’s at least a small garden bed, surely.’

      ‘I don’t do it because I’m passionate about it.’

      ‘Why then?’

      ‘For the silence.’

      Hours and hours of silence as his machine of a body put foot in front of foot. ‘Just you and the voices in your head, huh?’

      He smiled. ‘Right. That’s all the company I need.’

      Suddenly she felt very self-conscious to be standing here taking up his silence. Although she suspected he’d only be working anyway. Fortunately, a tube entrance loomed.

      ‘Well, I guess I should—’

      ‘I have a garden,’ he blurted. ‘An actual one, I mean.’

      She figured that the big house in Hampstead Heath came with a big plot of land. ‘OK.’

      ‘I’d like you to see it.’

      ‘Why?’

      He paused before answering. ‘Because it’s lovely. It should be appreciated.’

      The man who didn’t even use the rooms in his house? She couldn’t picture him getting out in the garden. But maybe this whole contract arrangement had some kind of implied reciprocity that she hadn’t considered.

      Or maybe this was some kind of peace overture. If it was, she’d take it.

      ‘Sure. I’d like to see it.’

      ‘Maybe you can give me some tips on what to do with it.’

      ‘I’m not a landscaper—’

      ‘I’m not looking for shape, I’m looking for soul.’ Surprise flooded his face, as if he’d never considered that before.

      ‘A soulful garden. Well, I’m sure I can at least give you some tips.’

      ‘Don’t underrate yourself. Look at what you do in your back yard. The life you’ve invested that three square metres with.’

      She considered that. ‘When do you want me to come by?’

      ‘How about next Saturday?’

      ‘Aren’t you running?’

      ‘I’m doing a night run. I have all day free.’

      All day? ‘Just how big is this garden?’

      He smiled and ushered her onto the tube steps. ‘You’ll see.’

      * * *

      Enormous was the answer. Gi-flipping-gantic. At least four times the size of the house sitting like a stone sentry on its western edge and that was already very big.

      Georgia turned a slow three-sixty from her spot in the middle of the garden’s first chamber and surveyed the extraordinary, neglected space. Not physically neglected—the turf was mowed and the pruning regular. But Zander was right: this garden lacked any kind of soul.

      ‘This is amazing.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you truly not use it?’

      ‘I shortcut through it from the main street.’

      Sacrilege. To have a garden like this, to have it be all your own and then never use it.

      ‘There’s a lot you could do here.’

      ‘I have brown thumbs.’

      ‘You have something better. Deep pockets. You could hire a team.’

      ‘I don’t want a team. I want you.’

      She glanced at him.

      ‘Someone like you,’ he rushed on. ‘Someone with passion for it. To look after it.’

      The awkwardness of the moment flailed around between them. I want you. She’d practically given herself whiplash snapping her head around to look at him.

      ‘I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding someone to do more than just mow and prune. I could give you some names if you like.’

      Hers would have been at the top of the list for anyone but him. What she wouldn’t give to get to tinker in this garden.

      ‘That would be great.’

      She basked in the heat coming off him in the cool mid-morning air. Maybe carb-loading turned you into a furnace. Whatever the cause, she caught herself swaying towards his warmth.

      She turned the unintentional move into a full body spin before he noticed it and looked again at the magnificent potential all around her.

      ‘I have hedgehogs,’ he murmured.

      Her eyes fluttered shut. Of course he did. That was just the final nail in the coffin. ‘This is wasted on you,’ she said, bleak. But her soft groan must have communicated her affinity for the space because he didn’t take offence.

      ‘Because I don’t use it?’

      ‘Because you don’t love it. This garden—’ she turned back to the west ‘—this stunning house... These should be in the hands of someone who worked hard their whole life to have it. Not someone who only uses the garden for short cuts and who uses just two of the rooms.’ Yet paid a premium for them. ‘Why do you stay?’

      She’d asked him before but he hadn’t answered.

      ‘Come on in,’ he hedged. ‘I’ll show you inside.’

      Maybe she’d been rude to say it like that—out loud, to his face—but she truly didn’t understand how someone could have all this and not want to spend every waking moment in it.

      Inside was the carefully styled twin of outside. Perfectly maintained, but utterly soulless. Like a short-term executive rental.

      ‘Where’s your study?’ She could hardly ask to see his bedroom, but she was desperate to get a sense of him. Of who Zander Rush really was.

      He led her up a sweeping, curved staircase to the upper floor and along a spotless landing. It struck her then that he’d be better off closing off the unused rooms and throwing cloths over all the furniture. She suggested it.

      ‘No. I don’t want to live like that. It doesn’t take my cleaner long to dust and vacuum. This way it’s ready if people come over unexpectedly.’

      She slid her eyes sideways. ‘Does that happen often?’

      Something told her it didn’t. She had the strangest feeling she was one of only a few people this house ever saw.

      Again, criminal.

      A