Page 17 of Reasons Of the Heart

'What does it look like I'm doing?' said Ross mildly, holding the maidenhair fern from the coffee table out of her reach. At least he was wearing a shirt this morning, even if it did have some interesting holes in it, matching his tattered jeans. 'I'm putting some of this greenery out. It's shedding into my coffee. If you were only coming up for a few days, what did you want to lug all these things up here for?'

'I couldn't ask my neighbours to look after every­thing. Anyway, the ones I brought were special. Some of them are quite rare and others need specialised care.'

'This isn't rare. Even I know what this one is, it's as common as grass.'

'It happens to be going through a rough patch,' said Fran, managing to snatch the offending, offended plant and set it gently back down on the table. 'Plants don't just need food and water, you know, they need company, too...'

'You can't really believe that!' He was laughing at her, as usual.

'I happen to know it,' she said haughtily. 'I've done experiments on my horticultural course to prove it. This little fern was ailing until I began to chat to her every day. Now she's starting to perk up.'

'She?' He looked from plant to Fran, his face a study of disbelief. 'You divide your plants into sexes?'

Ross would bring sex into a discussion about rocks! 'A lot of plants put out male and female flowers on dif­ferent bushes. If you want to cross-fertilise you need to know which is which.'

'And this is female?'

She flushed at being caught out. 'Well, I could hardly call a maidenhair "he", could I?' She was unaware she'd put her hands on her hips and thrust her chin out chal-lengingly. So she talked to her plants and invested them with personalities, so what? It was a harmless eccen­tricity. If he thought her crazy for talking to her plants, imagine what he would think if he knew that she was about to devote her life to them? He would be rolling on the floor. Sister Lewis, nursing plants rather than patients... he would tell her that it was because plants were no threat to her—they couldn't answer back.

She built an effective case against herself that was abruptly demolished when he said mildly, 'No, I guess not. Did you propagate all these yourself, or do you haunt the garden centres?'

Yes to both questions, she was tempted to reply, one garden centre in particular, but she contented herself with, 'I like to grow things from scratch, there's more satisfaction that way.'

'Only pot plants, or do you have a garden?'

'Sort of.' She hesitated but, seeing only interest in the blue eyes she continued, 'It's not really mine, it belongs to the whole block where my flat is, but it's enormous and nobody else takes much of an interest so...'

'So it's yours.'

She smiled a little sheepishly, grey eyes shifted to a deeper, warmer shade, her mouth curving to soften the pale contours of her face as she told him how she had slaved over that piece of land, planned and plotted and landscaped to her heart's content, until it had won a local Garden Beautiful contest. The landlord had been blasé, until he discovered that the improved environ­ment could entitle him to put the rent up when new tenants moved in. Pointing out to him that he had outlaid nothing, therefore couldn't claim increased costs to the Rent Commission, Fran had bullied him into a business arrangement.

'It sounds as if you have green fingers. Must be a good way to work off the stress of your job.'

Her eyes took on an intriguingly secretive glint of amusement which made him probe gently, watching as she blossomed with enthusiasm, her gestures wide and sweeping, her body held confidently, her mouth mobile with pleasure. This was how he liked her to look.

'You really are a nature baby, aren't you?' he teased gently when she ran down and began to look abashed at her childish enthusiasm.

'I suppose so,' she murmured, wondering what she had said to put that curious expression on his face. It was almost... tender. Her eyes dropped to see his hand stroking through the maidenhair.

'Don't do that,' she said involuntarily, disturbed by the sexual symbolism of the gesture. Would he run his fingers through a lover's hair like that?

'Why?' A forefinger lifted a tiny, delicate leaf so that it lay submissively on the tip. He leaned forward to in­spect it, his breath stirring the other leaves, his other hand cupping a trembling frond on the far side with a gentleness that, absurdly and totally illogically, seemed highly erotic. He looked up at her silence, the hazy blue eyes fusing with hers. 'Jealous?' he asked softly, as if he could read her mind. 'Of a plant, Frankie?'

'Maidenhairs bruise easily,' she said huskily, thinking that she should summon anger at the arrogance of the taunt, but drawn instead by the silent message in his eyes.

'So do people, Princess,' he said, confirming the message. 'Shall we agree not to bruise each other?'

Francesca didn't answer. She couldn't. She had the frightening feeling that it might be already too late to escape her reacquaintance with Ross Tarrant totally unscathed...

CHAPTER FIVE

'Come on, Francesca, jump! I'm not going to wait around here all day.' Ross sounded thoroughly fed up.

'I can't, it's too far.' Fran hated the slight whine in her voice. She was fed up with him, too. It wasn't enough for him that they were out in the fresh air. Oh, no, Ross always had to go that extra distance, round the next point or over the next ridge. Looking down at the sea boiling into the crevasse below her, and Ross impatiently waiting on the rocks on the other side, she decided that enough was enough.

'I can't do it.'

'There you go again. Every time I ask you to make a little extra effort it's the same: I can't! Until I make you.'

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