‘So you’re not too cut up about Sylvian, then?’ he asks.
‘No, not really. It would never have worked, even if he hadn’t been into polyamory. We’re too different.’ I laugh. ‘He likes kimchee.’
‘What the hell’s that?’
‘Believe me, you really don’t want to know.’ I glance at him quickly. ‘I’m sorry about the tantric meditation you stumbled upon.’
He laughs. ‘So that’s what it was. I did wonder. It was the fact you were fully clothed that had me puzzled. It certainly cleared up one thing, though.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask curiously.
‘That you’re not actually training to be a nun.’ He digs into his jeans pocket and holds up a pair of black-framed glasses.
I stare at them, my brain ticking over. I’ve seen them somewhere before but I can’t remember where …
He puts them on and it hits me. The tall nun barrelling into me outside Stroud station … the clown glasses … wiping them on my coat … ‘Oh my God! You were the nun I nearly knocked into the gutter?’
He grins. ‘Do you think the nose suits me?’
‘Absolutely. I’d no idea that was you!’
‘Well, I was dressed as a nun with most of my face hidden by jam jar specs and a false nose. And I was quite, erm, well-oiled if I remember rightly.’
‘You were totally rat-arsed, you mean.’ I hoot with laughter.
‘Stag do. Terrible things.’ He grins. ‘You told me off for being disrespectful to nuns – and then you said you were taking a last long holiday in the Cotswolds before heading to Manchester and checking yourself into a convent.’
‘Oh, God, I did, didn’t I? I was just so annoyed at you for making me miss my bus. And your face when I said it was an absolute picture!’
He grins. ‘When you appeared in Ivy Garden as I was cutting the tree down, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was really glad you didn’t recognise me because I had a sneaky feeling I’d made a complete and utter dick of myself in Stroud, grabbing on to you so as not to fall over. As well as being generally obnoxious.’
I nod. ‘All of the above.’
‘And then I remembered the thing about the convent and I couldn’t decide whether you were serious or not about wanting to become a nun. Obviously I couldn’t come straight out and ask you, otherwise you would have realised I was that irritating drunk who accosted you in the street.’
I shake my head. ‘Of course. I couldn’t understand why you kept giving me funny stares when you thought I wasn’t looking. As if you were trying to work me out. And you said a few weird things that made me think we definitely had our wires crossed somehow.’
‘What weird things?’
‘Oh, when I said I was having dinner with Sylvian but it wasn’t a hot date, you said you never assumed it would be! Presumably thinking I was taking a vow of celibacy! I thought you meant I wasn’t attractive enough.’
He smiles and bumps my am deliberately. ‘Well, clearly that’s not true.’
I feel myself blushing. ‘And then you said I was obviously going to try and reform Sylvian. I thought that was weird, too,’ I say, gabbling a bit self-consciously because after his compliment, my heart is skipping along like a four-year-old at nursery.
‘Well, anyway, I’m glad we’ve sorted that out. What is your “calling” by the way? If it’s not a religious one?’
‘Art,’ I tell him shyly. ‘I love painting and sketching.’
‘Great. I envy you. I can only draw stick men.’ Then he points back along the road. ‘You’ve gone much further than the red barn today.’
‘Sorry?’ I spin round and to my astonishment, so I have. I’ve been so wrapped up in our conversation, I didn’t realise. But I feel fine. I really do. I could probably walk even further if I had the time.
We turn back and I invite Jack in for a coffee but he says he needs to deliver some furniture to a client.
‘I brought you something,’ he says, opening the boot of his car. He holds up a green can. ‘Thought you might need petrol for the strimmer? I assumed that’s why you hadn’t been using it?’
My face falls. Bugger! I don’t want him to know it’s because I’ve no idea how it works! I get paid to garden for him!
‘Oh, right. I thought it was one of those you plug in,’ I mumble.
He looks at me askance as we go back into the cottage. ‘An electric one? But where would you plug it in over there?’
My blush deepens.
‘Where do you want it?’ He carries the can through the hallway into the kitchen.
‘Oh, put it on the table and I’ll find a place for it,’ I tell him. ‘Have you been in here before?’
He nods. ‘Quite a few times. Ivy made a fine mug of builder’s tea.’
‘She did. You could practically stand your spoon up in it.’ We both smile fondly, remembering.
‘A sketch of yours?’ he asks, picking up something from the table, and I glance at the paper he’s holding. Oh, frigging hell! It’s the caricatures I did of Selena and Moira. My insides roll over queasily as he stares at it.
‘Interesting.’ He looks across at me, his mouth quirked up at one side.
I force a laugh. ‘Oh, that’s nothing. I was just larking about with a friend who was over the other night. She wanted me to draw something. In fact, that was her idea.’
‘It’s very good,’ he concedes. ‘Right, well, I’d better be going.’ He pauses at the door and grins. ‘Let me know if you need a lesson in using a strimmer.’
After he’s gone, I collapse into a chair, shamefaced.
I should never have left that caricature lying around. It’s my own stupid fault.
Oh God, what if Jack puts it down to jealousy? As in, I hate Selena because she’s beautiful, thin and a successful career woman. (Basically everything I’m not.)
I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself. It will be a long time before I draw anyone else, that’s for sure …
Layla pitches up far too early for our meeting with Ben, so I suggest she goes along to the café and grabs a table for us.
At exactly twelve o’clock, I cross the threshold of the deli-café, red-faced and nervous. Breathe, for goodness sake. Breathe.
Shaking my hair into place, I spot Layla sitting at a table in the far corner, chatting to a man with short silvery hair and the healthy-looking tan of someone who spends a lot of time in their garden. His bearing is very upright and he’s wearing a smart navy bomber jacket. They’re engrossed in conversation and haven’t seen me. Swiftly, I check my underarms. No damp patches, so that’s a good start.
I can’t believe how nervous I am. Smoothing moist palms down the side of my jeans, I plaster on a smile and head on over.
Layla looks up with a grin. ‘Ben, meet Holly. Didn’t I tell you she looks a lot like Ivy?’
Ben rises nimbly to his feet and when I offer my hand, he takes it in both of his, holding it firmly, and murmurs, ‘She does indeed.’
I smile at him, feeling instantly at ease.
Ben is average height, a few inches taller than me, which makes him about five feet nine, and his brown eyes are lively and very smiley.
He studies me for a second, his head on one side, then nods slowly. ‘You have Ivy’s lovely peaches and cream complexion. And that mouth I’d recognise anywhere. It’s lovely to meet you, my dear.’
He blinks rapidly and I get the feeling I’m not the only one overcome with emotion.
‘It’s great to meet you, too,’ I say, feeling suddenly shy. ‘What are we having? Coffee?’
‘Let me get you one,’ he says quickly, squeezing my hand firmly before releasing me and heading over to the counter.
He smiles back at us. ‘What will it be? The choice is a little bewildering for a man of my mature years.’
‘A cappuccino would be lovely, thank you.’
I sit down opposite Layla, giving Connie a little wave as she appears from the back to serve Ben. Layla leans towards me, eyes shining. ‘Isn’
t he great? We were chatting about Facebook and Twitter. He’s really cool for an oldie. And just the kind of person you’d love to have as a granddad.’
‘Layla!’ Alarmed, I shush her, glancing nervously back at Ben. ‘We’re here to talk about the cake stall, remember? No interrogation of the poor man, please.’
She grins. ‘As if!’
I give her a warning look and hiss, ‘Think of our embarrassing chat on the Chickens’ doorstep and do the exact opposite.’
She adopts a stern expression and zips her lips, which doesn’t exactly fill me with an enormous amount of confidence.
Her eagerness to help is lovely, though – and I don’t think it’s purely the chance to solve a fascinating mystery that’s motivating her. I have a feeling she really cares that I find what I’m longing for.
Layla joins Ben at the counter and – displaying a persuasive charm that’s rarely seen – asks him for something really complicated with almond milk, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. I glance at the board and wince at the cost but Ben takes it all in his stride and even suggests she has one of the deli’s famous triple chocolate chip cookies.
I sit there, watching the two of them. They look so relaxed in each other’s company and my foolish heart swells with hope.
I obviously don’t know him yet, but on first meeting, Ben seems really lovely. Such a gentleman and, as Layla commented, just the kind of person you’d want for a granddad. While I find it hard to imagine Ivy and Henry Chicken as secret lovers, I can perfectly understand Ivy finding herself drawn to a man like Ben. His gentle, caring nature would have been a complete contrast to what she was used to with Peter and his selfish, controlling ways.
Does Ben have family? I know he’s not married because Layla, with her investigative hat on, casually asked Mrs Trowbridge. Does that mean he’s a widower? Or divorced? What about Lucy Feathers, his girlfriend at the dinner party that night? Did they ever marry and have a family? Perhaps the reason he never married is because Ivy was his one true love and no-one else could ever measure up …?
Catching my imagination running riot, I straighten up in my seat and give myself a swift talking to.
Just because Ben grew a little emotional talking about Ivy doesn’t mean he was in love with her. They were probably just good friends. In fact, they must have been friends if Ivy and Peter invited them to dinner. I’m being completely ridiculous, jumping the gun like this. Talk about setting myself up for a fall!
When they return to the table, Layla is regaling Ben about all the work she’s done in Ivy Garden.
Ben smiles at me as he hands me my cappuccino. ‘I hear you’ve both worked wonders and I’m so pleased. Ivy would be, too. When it grew wild after she’d gone, I felt immensely sad because she loved that place so much. It was her sanctuary and we had many a lovely time, sitting on that love seat in the shade, putting the world to rights.’
‘That love seat was her pride and joy,’ I say sadly. ‘It got broken in the recent storms but I’m hoping to get it fixed.’
‘We found it in a little antique shop in Bourton-on-the-Water.’ He smiles, remembering. ‘Actually, it was her birthday. I bought it for her.’
I stare at him in surprise. ‘You bought her the love seat?’
I glance at Layla and she flashes me an urgent, wide-eyed look that echoes just what I’m thinking: It must be him!
Ben lifts his coffee cup and I admire the mother-of-pearl cufflink at the wrist of his checked shirt. Before he sips, he looks at me wistfully and murmurs, ‘You know, Holly, you remind me so much of darling Ivy.’ Then he takes a long swallow of black coffee, sets the cup down and smiles. ‘Layla tells me you’re doing up Moonbeam Cottage. A costly business. If you’d like a job doing my garden, it’s yours.’
‘Oh!’ My eyes open wide in surprise. And slight embarrassment.
Layla snorts with laughter.
Ben looks from me to Layla and back again. ‘Oh, dear. Have I said something funny?’
I grimace. ‘The thing is … can I let you into a secret?’
‘Go on.’
‘The fact is, I’m not very good at gardening. In fact, I’m completely clueless. As Layla will confirm.’
Ben grins at Layla. ‘Is this true?’
‘Oh, yes. She’s pants.’
I smile wryly. ‘Thank you, Layla.’
She grins. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘I assumed because Prue hired you, you must be a talented landscape gardener, at least. She’s got a reputation for – er – not suffering fools gladly.’
‘Nah! She was just desperate,’ says Layla. ‘Mum won’t have anything to do with the folk in the village, but Holly’s an outsider, so apparently that’s okay. She practically steamrollered Holly into doing it, but I’m her gardening advisor so it’s all okay.’
‘Right.’ Ben arches his brows in amusement. ‘Well, don’t worry, I won’t tell Prue. Your secret is safe with me.’
‘Did my mum always act so stand-offish with people?’ Layla asks him curiously.
‘Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.’ Ben looks uncomfortable. ‘You shouldn’t be too hard on your mum, Layla. She – um – didn’t have the easiest time when you were born. And afterwards, she – well, I suppose she felt she wanted to keep herself to herself. We all have times when we’d rather not see other people.’
Layla frowns. ‘You mean she had a bad time because my dad died just before I was born?’
‘Yes. Exactly,’ says Ben. ‘It wasn’t easy for her, bringing you and your brother up on her own. We all cope with the bad times in our own way, don’t we?’ He glances at our cups. ‘Now, I’m having another. Anyone else?’
Curious, I watch him at the counter, passing the time of day with Connie. He seemed relieved to escape the conversation. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling us about Prue, but what on earth could it be?
When he sits back down, Layla takes a breath and launches right in. ‘You used to have dinner parties in the old days, didn’t you? That must have been fun. Holly found Ivy’s diary from way back and you were mentioned in it.’
‘Really?’ Ben looks pleasantly surprised.
Layla nods. ‘You were at Ivy and Peter’s for dinner, along with the Chickens and someone mysteriously referred to as Mr H.’
My heart is in my mouth. I glare at her, my face reddening, but Layla is deliberately not looking my way.
I will absolutely kill her when we get out of here!
Ben thinks hard. Then his face breaks into a smile. ‘Oh, I remember that night.’ He stares off into the distance with a slight frown. ‘Yes. It was the Chickens’ first wedding anniversary that day, if I remember rightly, and Ivy really pushed the boat out for dinner. We had a game casserole – quail, that was it.’
I smile wistfully. ‘That was quite exotic for Ivy. She always hated cooking.’
‘She had something really flamboyant for dessert as well.’ He clicks his fingers. ‘I remember being quite impressed. Crêpes Suzette! That’s right.’
Layla makes a disgusted face. ‘Ugh! What on earth’s that?’
I can’t help smiling at her expression. ‘Pancakes with orange liqueur, I think.’
I look at Ben for confirmation but he mustn’t have heard me. He’s staring into the distance, lost in thought.
‘Yes, that was some night all right,’ he murmurs. ‘A real life-changer.’
‘Was it?’ Layla leans forward eagerly. ‘In a good way or a bad way?’
Her question seems to snap him out of his reverie. ‘Oh – well – in a good way.’ He gives a curiously sheepish smile and adds, ‘A very good way indeed.’
‘Ooh! So what happened?’ demands Layla, and I kick her hard under the table.
‘Ouch!’ She reddens and glares at me. Then she shrugs as if to say, Great! He was just about to tell us something important and you’ve ruined it!
‘All right, Layla?’ Ben looks concerned.
‘Fine, thanks, Ben,’ said Layla
sweetly. ‘Holly thinks I’m being too nosy.’
I force a laugh and shake my head at her in mock disapproval.
‘Of course you’re not,’ Ben reassures her.
Beside me, Layla heaves a sigh and stirs her cup noisily, which I know is directed at me. She’ll no doubt have plenty to say later about me putting the brakes on Ben’s reminiscences.
And as we chat on about the fete, moving further and further away from the topic of Ivy’s fateful dinner party, I find myself wishing I’d allowed Layla free rein to ask her questions. Not because I think this mission is going to be a success for all concerned. (To be honest, I still have grave doubts, which turn into an attack of butterfly tummy every time I think about the potential for a less than happy outcome.) But I’m beginning to realise just how determined Layla can be when she gets the bit between her teeth.
Is there really any point in trying to rein her in? She’s going to get answers to her questions by hook or by crook, regardless of me trying to apply the brake. And maybe that’s a good thing.
The conversation broadens out as Ben starts telling us about all the different stalls and rides planned for the fete.
‘Oh, I used to love the teacups when I was little,’ Layla enthuses, eyes shining, and I smile, catching a rare glimpse of the child within the rebellious teenage body.
Then she spoils it by asking chirpily, ‘So do you have any children, Ben?’
My heart slams against my ribs. I almost can’t look at him.
A shadow seems to pass over his face. I wonder if it’s my imagination working overtime.
He smiles. ‘I’d have loved children. But sadly, it wasn’t to be. And I never married.’
‘Was that because you never found the right one?’ asks Layla.
He gives a funny little sigh and looks down at the table top, smoothing his finger along the edge. Then he looks up. ‘I did find the right one but things were … complicated. We couldn’t marry. It wasn’t possible.’
He’s looking directly at me when he says this and my vision swims crazily for a second as my brain finds a deeper meaning behind his words. Is it possible he was Ivy’s lover, and he’s saying he couldn’t marry her or have children because she was already married to Peter?
The Secrets of Ivy Garden Page 20
