“But the wildlife is moved.”
“You can’t have everything. Compromise is the adult thing to do, Sam.”
Sam ignored the snipe and tried to remain focused. The news about the development was interesting—but she was here to mend fences with Fraser.
“Thanks for telling me... But look, I wanted to say I'm sorry I lost my temper so badly,” she began hesitantly. Fraser looked steadily at her and said nothing. “But you did provoke me with that bloody letter,” she added, unable to stop herself.
Fraser's mouth twisted. “I'm not the touchy-feely sort,” he said eventually, looking at the bubbles in his pint. “But what you said hurt me. I am ambitious, I do want to get into the Cabinet because it's there I feel I can do most good. I know you think I don't care about local issues, but you're wrong. I do. I intend to do things at national level which will certainly benefit my local constituents.”
Sam kept quiet. Fraser was on a roll, and her comments would probably be unnecessary. Oh, stop it! she chided herself and concentrated on what he was saying.
“My views were based on the fact that local people need somewhere to live, Sam. They're not interested in the ecological debate, they want a home of their own.”
“We weren't trying to stop anyone getting a home! We were just trying to get the building work moved somewhere else!”
“But you did want to keep your view, didn’t you?” Fraser pressed. “Seen, I must add, by the more well-off members of Sherton. The low-income families live out of sight of our picture-perfect village.”
“It wasn't like that. We wanted to save something beautiful for future generations—”
“Which future generations, Sam? Do you have any idea of the birth rate in Sherton? It's one of the lowest in the county. The average age of our villagers is forty-three—way past normal child-bearing age. If we're going to keep the village alive, we need new, young people and young families moving into the area.”
Sam was silent, floored by his comments.
“That was the reason I wouldn't support you, Sam. Not because I'm anti-nature, or pro-developer, or because it was you involved in the campaign. It was because the village will die if we don't get new people in it, and they’ll need somewhere to live.”
Sam tried to say something, but nothing came out of her mouth. She felt slightly ashamed, as if she'd been caught cheating.
“The thing with you, Sam, is you say you're a socialist, but you're doing it from a very comfortable position of education and relative wealth. The people who need these houses are real working class—and they don't give a toss about the environment. Don't kid yourself you're very different from me, or Charlotte. You're not, you're just posturing.”
Sam stared at him, struck dumb. I keep being told this! Is it really like that? Am I posturing?
“Charlotte mentioned you had some nasty threats. Has that stopped?”
“It’s eased off since the broken window, although I had some dog shit posted through my door the other day,” she said.
He stared.
“Yes, I’ve been in touch with the police and no, they haven’t found anyone,” she added. “I hope whoever it is will eventually find something else to be cross about, someone else to bully.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” Fraser said seriously. “You must let me know if it starts again. There are some idiots around.”
“Thanks.”
Sam paused. Some of Fraser's words had pricked her.
“I just wanted to do what I thought was best,” she finally said in a low voice. “I’d do it all again, regardless of the crap. But I am sorry about the row.”
Fraser sighed. “I know. I just wish you'd remember that we're both trying to do what we think is best. Neither of us give the other credit for it.”
“No. But you're part of my family...” To her surprise, he put an arm round her shoulder and hugged her.
“It won't change, you know. We'll continue to disagree. Where we need to improve is limiting the fall-out zone,” he said, and she nodded. There was an awkward pause.
“My time to get them in, I think,” Sam said, and grabbing her bag, headed for the bar.
In Manchester, Jonas stretched to ease the crick in his neck. At least he’d managed to finish one important task, he thought with some satisfaction. He’d been avoiding calls from Connor all day, and he knew he’d need to talk to him at some stage. His best friend had been his usual blunt self when Jonas told him about how things were between himself and Sam.
“You look at her like you’d like to lick her all over!” Connor had said. “What the hell were you thinking of, not telling her the truth immediately? And as for the garden opening—God, you couldn’t have messed up more, could you?”
Jonas winced now, thinking of the language Connor had used, and the names he’d called him—the very kindest of which had been ‘eejit’. But it was too late. That bird had flown. He needed to get on with his life, without one petite, blonde gardener in it.
He looked next at the email from his public relations company and grimaced. The press coverage was fair, and they’d been lucky. The analysts were calm, finally. They would have to keep up the effort to rebuild their reputation, a fact that delighted the PR company, which was sharpening its pitch technique.
At least he should be home on time this evening. It felt like months since he'd last had dinner with Magda, but it was only a couple of weeks in reality.
There was a message from his PA that Dr Walters had called again. Jonas ignored it, he'd call him tomorrow. He didn't need anyone fussing over him at the moment.
Apart from Sam, the thought came into his mind.
“Wow, why the scowl?” Neil said, coming into the office.
“I'm knackered. I'm going to go home early today.”
“Good idea. In fact, why don't you work from home for a few days?” Neil said, casually. “You've been working around the clock recently.”
“I'm perfectly fine.”
“That's not what Dr Walters told me when he bent my ear an hour ago.”
“What?”
“Dr Walters, having called you five times in as many days, collared me instead. He didn't go into any details, obviously, but asked if you'd made the arrangements for your funeral already, and could he have the date, so he could put it in his diary. He was very cross.”
Jonas was outraged. “The bloody nerve!”
“But he's right, isn't he Jonas?” persevered Neil, leaning on the edge of the desk with his arms folded. “You shouldn't be back at work yet.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not, you look a wreck. Your temper's dreadful. Half the admin staff hide when they see you coming.”
Jonas sat back and gave Neil a cold look. “Trying to step into my shoes, Neil?”
“Well, if you end up killing yourself, I suppose someone will have to,” Neil returned without blinking. There was a silence.
Jonas sighed.
“Okay, okay. You're right. Maybe I do need to ease up. I haven't had the results from the last set of tests yet.” Neil, sensibly, made no comment. “I'll get off before the traffic builds up.”
“Excellent. Don't worry, I'll be on the phone if something comes up I can't handle.”
Jonas looked at him. Neil grinned. “You know—as your right hand man?”
Jonas smiled faintly. “I'd better watch my back,” was all he said.
“And ring your bloody doctor,” Neil added as Jonas headed for the door.
Sam turned over the page of the calendar on her desk.
It was September next week. Business would pick up again as householders returned from holiday, inspired by beautiful gardens in hotter climates, and before you knew it, it would be Christmas.
With the end of August, so much seemed to be ending too. Her thoughts strayed to Jonas and she resolutely busied herself tidying her desk. She turned over the magazine page for the garden competition and a pang went through her. The closing date had gone.
; Maybe next year...
She drew a breath and hitched her jeans up around her waist, as they sagged slightly. She ought to buy a smaller size, she supposed. She aimed the crumpled page at the bin and as usual, missed. She walked over to pick up the ball and drop it in, just as Steve popped his head into the office.
“Hello—all right?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “Fine, thanks. I'm glad I've seen you—come in.” He looked wary, and Sam grinned this time in genuine amusement. “Don't be a wuss. If you'd screwed up, I would have come to find you.”
He sat down rather gingerly, as if the seat was hot. She thanked him for his hard work and told him what the lecturers at the college had said. Then she offered him the job, and he gaped.
“Proper, like?”
“Yes, proper, but don't think you can skip college, because to get a pay increase, you're going to need to qualify. This is what I was thinking of offering you, when you do.”
Sam passed the draft contract to him and he read it, going pink.
“Well?” Sam knew the offer was more than fair, it was even generous, but she'd had a good look at the figures and prospective business and she could afford it. If the calls they were getting translated into work, she’d have to take on another worker, too.
“I dunno what to say,” Steve stuttered.
“Yes?”
“God, aye! Thank you! I'm really grateful...”
She patted him on the shoulder and he left, clutching the contract to show his mum. Sam continued to shift papers around her desk. She found the number of that blasted journalist who had called to quiz her about designing Jonas' garden. God knows how they’d found that out.
She'd ignored it and all subsequent calls. Jonas had gradually disappeared from the business news and the local press and she was strangely bereft.
And after that Sunday at Brook Lodge, she'd heard nothing from him.
She found her cheeks wet, tutted to herself and blew her nose. She drew her sketch pad towards her.
The pub was heaving for the late summer festival. Sam craned her neck and caught sight of Amanda and the Lovely Luke, guarding a table in the garden at the back of the Dog and Duck. She squeezed through the crowd at the bar and finally making it outside, dropped onto the seat with a whoosh.
“Blimey! It’s bloody manic in there!”
“Been like this since two o’clock,” said Amanda, taking the wine out of the ice bucket and looking in vain for something to pour it in. “Damn, we forgot to get you a glass. Bugger.”
Luke made to uncurl his long legs from the bench and Sam waved him down.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it, I need the loo anyway.”
Sam weaved her way to the ladies and waited in line for five minutes. She felt her phone buzz and peered at the message from Amanda which said they’d need another bottle soon. Shaking her head, she squeezed and sidled her way to the bar.
With a less-than-cold bottle of rosé in her hand and a glass for herself, she smiled her thanks at the harried barmaid, and carefully turned around. She dropped her phone and cursing, she bent to pick it up. She hit her head on someone’s elbow on the way up.
“Oof!” she said and came face to chest with Jonas. She drew in a deep breath and his smell, spicy and earthy, filled her nostrils.
“Sorry,” he said. Sam was elbowed out of the way by someone getting to the packed bar, and she fell headlong into him. It was her turn to apologise.
“God, it’s a madhouse!” he said, his arms automatically coming around her. Sam blinked, her brain short-circuited by the feel of his body against her. The noise in the bar seemed to be muffled as his eyes locked on her.
“I--” he fell silent.
They stood there for a second or two and then Jonas seemed to come to his senses.
“Let’s move away from the bar,” and his arms fell away from her. Getting a firmer grip on the bottle and her glass, Sam followed him to the side of the counter, where there seemed to be fewer bodies.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”
“Wha- oh no, I dropped my phone. Stupid of me.”
There was a pause.
“How are you?” she asked, irritated that her voice sounded a bit thin and reedy.
“I’m good thanks. You?”
“Yes, fine.” Pause.
Good god, could we be less scintillating? She thought.
“I read about the development of Lower Edge Fields—that’s really good news!” she said, remembering. He smiled.
“Yes, I know the action group felt very strongly about that. It seemed a good opportunity to me.”
But that wasn’t because of us, was it? It was because it was an OPPORTUNITY.
She nodded and then couldn’t think of anything to say. The air suddenly felt heavy around her and she found herself staring at his face, drawn to his green eyes. She looked down quickly.
“Sam--” Jonas stopped. “Sam, I’m really sorry about what happened. All of it.”
Sam hung her head, her stomach churning.
“I know. So am I,” she said in a low voice, which he dipped his head to hear.
“Dad! There you are—oh, hi Sam! It’s like, crazy in here, isn’t it?” Magda said, her voice ripping the atmosphere between them. Sam stood back and breathed as though she’d been underwater for a long time.
“Hi Magda. Still enjoying the garden?” she said brightly.
“Yeah, and my Nanna’s coming to see it next week! She was really peeved she missed the opening—I know she’ll love it!” Magda was looking at them both curiously. “But are you on your own? Do you want to join us?”
“No, no, I’m with friends,” she said at once. She indicated the wine. “They’ll be missing me…”
She smiled at Jonas, winked at Magda and walked away as fast as the crush would let her.
Magda peered at him, and Jonas plastered a smile on his face.
“Shall we try and find a seat outside?” he asked.
“Yeah, good idea. How was Sam?”
“Good, she said.”
“Did you talk much?”
“No, it was a bit noisy.”
They sat down on the grass and watched the parade of flowers, strange and wonderful shapes covered in thousands of flower heads. Magda rather sourly said she thought she’d prefer to see the flower heads attached to stalks, in the garden.
Jonas politely refused to be drawn into the rounders tournament, citing health grounds (and he must get in touch with Dr Walters, he thought guiltily, sipping his Guinness). Magda, laughing, pulled off her sweatshirt, called him an old man, and skipped off to make a brilliant catch and score a couple of rounders.
He watched absently as the crowds milled around him. He felt hollow, despite the laughter and good-natured atmosphere. His mind dwelt on every word of that short, stilted conversation with Sam. He’d been on the edge of asking if he could call her. He didn’t know what had stopped him. Something.
He felt someone watching him and looked up to see Magda, her eyes narrowed.
“You look miles away!” she teased, coming to sit down.
“I was. Did you win?” he said.
“Of course. Are you feeling ok? You look a bit…down.”
“I’m a bit tired. It’s been a hell of a month.”
“Shall I take you home, old man?”
“Cheeky brat. Yes, you can.”
“Do I need a chair, or can you walk?”
He threw her sweatshirt at her and they went home. He wished he didn’t feel quite as old as he did.
29
“So that's it?” Jonas said to Dr Walters.
“It is. We can't find any abnormalities in your blood, but I'd like you to come in for a white cell count in six months' time.” Dr Walters looked disappointed that he was better, Jonas thought.
“So I can go back to work?”
“Officially, yes you can. Although we both know you've been back at work for at least a month.”
Jonas smiled wryly, buttoning his shirt.
“You've obviously seen the news.”
“Some,” Dr Walters said. “I don’t usually read the business pages, but yes, even I've been aware. How is it all going?”
“I think we've got it under control, but I think it'll be a while before we try and go into partnership again.” Jonas tucked his shirt into his trousers.
Dr Walters was watching him closely. “Is everything else all right? I can see you're looking a bit frazzled, if you don't mind me saying.”
“It's been a hectic few weeks.”
Dr Walters looked steadily at him, but Jonas said nothing more. The doctor shrugged. “Right. Good to see you're back on form, you have my number if you need to get in touch.”
Jonas thanked him, shook his hand and with a whisk of curtains, the doctor disappeared.
He was cursing the parking charges when a voice he knew hailed him.
“Hello stranger!” said Gerry Lord, wafting over in a cloud of perfume.
“Gerry! How lovely to see you!” Jonas said sincerely, kissing her on both cheeks.
“Are you better?”
“Apparently, yes.”
“I must say, you look a teeny bit tired, darling. Are you quite well? And have you lost weight, too? Then again, you’ve been all over the media, haven’t you? So I suppose that's understandable.”
“Yes, it's been a bit busy. But what are you doing here?” Jonas asked, moving the conversation away from the bags under his eyes and the crisis in his company.
“I'm here to see Anthony—my new man. He broke his leg last week and I'm keeping him company when the tyrant nurses allow it.”
Jonas looked at her properly for the first time. She looked radiant, confident, secure. “Your new man obviously suits you,” he said.
She smiled like a cat and Jonas could almost imagine her purring.
“He's divine. I'd introduce you, but it could be a tiny bit awkward...”
Jonas laughed, for the first time, he thought, in a long while. “No, probably best.”
There was a pause.
“Well, it's been lovely to see you, but I must go. I'm glad you're better!” She air kissed either side of his face and was gone before Jonas could do anything but wave. He watched her shapely behind in a very tight skirt climb the steps to the entrance and grinned as she checked to see if he was still watching. He raised a hand in salute and she disappeared inside.
The Garden Plot Page 26
