When a car pulled into the driveway, Alice put down the spade, pulled off her gloves and went to meet the client.
‘Good morning, you must be Mr Hudson.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Alice Parkinson.’
Ignoring the offered hand, the man looked her up and down, his gaze stopping at her size-three wellingtons. ‘I want a proper gardener, not some slip of a girl.’ He pulled out his mobile. ‘I’m calling your boss.’
‘Don’t. Please!’ Alice begged. ‘I really need this job.’
‘And I need a real gardener,’ replied Mr Hudson.
Alice bit her tongue. She might look as though a brisk breeze could blow her away, but she was as strong as most men. There wasn’t much she couldn’t manage with the right equipment.
It had been hard enough persuading the landscaping company to take her on in the first place. On paper, she had it all – good qualifications from the right college, plenty of experience and great references. She also had a portfolio of photos with before and after photos from the
