The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) Read Online Free Page A

mother, since the boy was, Pru thought, about seven.
    “Of course you did,” she insisted. “I can see you in him. Such a sense of purpose, and a good sense of humor, too.”
    He responded to that by pulling her closer. In the middle of a long and involved kiss, they didn’t notice the doors open until they heard a small cough. A well-dressed elderly woman with a cane smiled and said, “Hello, Christopher.”
    They exchanged places with her, as Christopher, still holding Pru around the waist, smiled back. “Mrs. Miller, how was your evening?”
    As the doors slid closed, she said, “It was lovely, but probably not as good as yours.”
    They stood at the curb as he hailed a cab. He opened the door for her, and after she was settled, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I’ll see you at the weekend. I can’t wait to get you alone.”
    Her face flushed, and she laughed as the cab pulled away. She was glad it was dark.
    —
    Most of Pru’s belongings—such as they were—had been sent down to Primrose House, and now, on her last day in London, her friend Jo had come round to say goodbye and help her throw the few remaining things in a weekend bag. Christopher had booked a country hotel for the weekend before she began her new job, and Pru would meet him there. But as she took stock of her wardrobe—one nice cardigan amid sturdy canvas trousers and woolly sweaters—she regretted not having something special to wear.
    Jo riffled through Pru’s bag as if assessing its pitiful contents. Pru had never been much of a fashion statement, but Jo always looked put together—well-cut business suits, heels that lifted her just barely over the five-foot-high mark. Pru admired her fashion sense, but a gardener’s clothing requirements were different.
    Jo pulled something from her own bag and held up a parcel wrapped in gold tissue paper and tied with red ribbon. “Wear it this evening,” she said with authority.
    “Wear what?” Pru said with alarm, picturing a lacy black nightie inside the package.
    “It’s a dress,” Jo said, laughing. “For dinner. I didn’t think you’d need help with anything else.”
    Pru wasn’t sure which alarmed her more: the thought that the parcel contained a black nightie or that it held a dress. She blushed. “Thanks, Jo,” she said, and gave her a hug.
    —
    Pru drove her new-to-her Mini Cooper down the lanes to the hotel Christopher had booked for them in the Kent countryside. She passed the turnoff to Sissinghurst Castle and gardens and craned her neck to look down the lane. It was every gardener’s mecca, and she hoped to spend time there when it reopened in spring. Soon she turned into the long drive up to the expansive old hotel set in the middle of acres of neatly cut grass.
    The lobby was huge but warm, with dark, polished wood paneling and pillars; she could see a fire going in an adjoining room. Christopher sat on a sofa in an alcove just to the side of the reception desk with a pot of tea on the low table in front of him. He had his eye on the door, and he was up and to her before she got halfway to him. They met just behind a large parlor palm.
    Well, isn’t this silly,
she thought.
How can I feel nervous after we’ve spent the last few weeks unable to keep our hands off each other?
She set her bag down and gave him a small kiss. He stood close.
    “Did you have a good drive?” he asked.
    Pru nodded and glanced around the lobby. “This is lovely.”
    He took hold of her left hand. “Would you like a drink?”
    Her nervousness vanished, replaced with the desire to ravish him on the spot. She murmured, “Mmm, later.”
    His fingers, barely touching the palm of her hand, began tracing a circle. “Would you like to have a look around the place?”
    “Not right now,” she said, barely breathing.
    She could see that ghost of a smile. “Are you hungry?”
    She cut her eyes around the lobby, looked back at him, and whispered, “Yes.”
    He squeezed her hand, picked