The Secrets of Ivy Garden

by Catherine Ferguson

  But I’ve made peace with the idea that Ivy’s secret died with her.

  For whatever reason – and I’m certain she felt she was acting out of love for me – she never told me who my real granddad was. And I’m learning to live with the fact that I will probably never know.

  I snuggle down and switch off the light.

  I can never go back to Appleton.

  Moving on. That’s what I need to do.

  It’s late November and the call I’ve been expecting and dreading at the same time finally comes through. The estate agent says she has good news. She finally has a buyer who’s prepared to meet the asking price.

  I’ve been holding out for a sum that I knew was probably a little too high. I told myself it was because I needed the money to secure my future, but deep down I knew that really, it was because I didn’t want Moonbeam Cottage to sell.

  But now I have an offer I can’t refuse.

  My head is all over the place when I return the estate agent’s call.

  I tell her that before I can make a decision, I need to see Moonbeam Cottage for one last time …

  Winter

  ‘If winter comes, can spring be far behind?’

  – Percy Bysshe Shelley

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I step off the train at Stroud in the late afternoon, smiling wistfully at the memory of a tall nun barging into me the last time I was emerging from the station. Then I catch the bus to Appleton.

  It’s the first week of December.

  Every one of the pretty Cotswold villages we drive through is aglow with little signs that Christmas is on its way – from the twinkling window decorations to the imposing trees on the village greens, sparkling with multi-coloured fairy lights, and the little rows of shops hung with the jolly, decorative touches that proclaim the festive season is upon us once again.

  I’ve been trying hard not to think about Christmas this year, but the time has come when it’s impossible to ignore.

  Finally, we arrive in Appleton and I get off the bus outside the village store with my backpack and make my way slowly along the main street to Moonbeam Cottage.

  The store is in darkness but the lights are on in the flat above. I smile to myself, thinking about Sylvian. I did like so much about him – his giving nature, peaceful aura and his almost total lack of ego. I still meditate when I felt the stress beginning to take over. But communal living? I think it’s fair to say we didn’t have that much in common in the end!

  I reach the gate and glance over at Ivy Garden. I’ll go over there tomorrow, in the daylight. Make sure everything is okay. Maybe the winter jasmine will be flowering …

  My heart squeezes painfully.

  Then I stop and look more closely. Is it my imagination, or is there a sort of glow visible in the gathering gloom, through the winter-sparse hedge? Quickly, I cross the road and slip through the gap.

  The garden looks the same as the last time I saw it, except for a rustic wooden table, flanked by two chairs, where Ivy’s old bench used to be. On the table sits an ornamental lantern with a candle glowing inside it.

  I barely have time to wonder what’s going on when I hear a rustle in the trees as someone approaches through the woods.

  That someone stops just inside the clearing.

  ‘Holly. You’re here,’ says a familiar male voice.

  I’ve heard that voice in my dreams, both waking and sleeping, many, many times over the past few months.

  I swallow hard. ‘Hello, Jack.’

  He walks towards me, into the centre of the clearing, and my heart gives an enormous leap at the sight of him. He’s wearing the same jeans and lumberjack boots he was wearing when I found him chopping down Ivy’s tree that time, with a thick black casual jacket today to keep out the winter chill. He gives me a broad smile and my heart flips again. I smile back at him, feeling like I’ve never been away.

  ‘I hear you might have a buyer for Moonbeam Cottage,’

  ‘You know about that?’ I say, surprised.

  He nods. ‘We’re using the same estate agent to sell the cottage in the woods. I’ve been following your progress. I heard that Moonbeam Cottage was under offer, and I was pretty sure you’d be back in Appleton.’

  I smile up at him, loving the thought that he’d cared enough to keep a check on Moonbeam Cottage. ‘What made you think I’d come down here?’

  He shrugs. ‘Just a feeling. I know how much the place means to you.’

  I nod, still amazed that Jack is actually here. What were the chances I’d bump into him as soon as I stepped off the bus? Sylvian would say it wasn’t a coincidence because there were no coincidences in life …

  Jack moves away from me and, for a terrible moment, I think he’s leaving. But he lingers at the edge of the clearing, reaching up into the branches of a tree.

  ‘When I told Layla you might be back, she wanted to do something to welcome you.’ He chuckles softly. ‘She has an agenda of course. She thinks she can persuade you to stay.’

  I watch him as he fiddles with something on one of the branches. I can’t quite see in the soft glow of the single candle. But frankly, it’s so good to see Jack again, he could be watching paint dry and I still wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off him.

  He turns and gives me the familiar quirky smile that always melts my heart. ‘Technical problems,’ he explains. ‘But never mind, I’ll sort it later.’

  ‘I love the table and chairs. Did you …?’

  ‘Glad you approve. They were a labour of love.’

  Our eyes meet and hold for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and my pulse starts to race.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ he asks. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any food in if you’ve just arrived?’

  ‘Er, no, I haven’t even been back to the cottage yet.’

  ‘Then why don’t I introduce you to a nice country pub I know? To see if I can help Layla’s cause and tempt you to stay.’

  I laugh and open my mouth to say it will have to be a very good pub in that case. But I catch the searing intensity in his eyes as he looks at me, and the words choke in my throat. A little quiver of longing ripples through me.

  I can’t help it. I’d planned to act so cool if I happened to bump into Jack. But it seems I completely forgot to inform my body of this …

  ‘A country pub sounds lovely,’ I tell him, finding my voice.

  He smiles. ‘Great. Let’s go. My car’s on the road.’

  I slide into the passenger seat and we set off. He turns up the heat, which feels delicious after my slightly chilly train journey, and we drive along in silence for a while. Then I pluck up the courage to ask about Selena.

  Jack glances over. ‘She went back to London. For good.’

  ‘Oh?’ My heart soars to the rooftops of the houses we’re speeding past. ‘Why?’

  He smiles ruefully. ‘It – um – turned out that Selena and a building site weren’t really a match made in heaven after all. Her Jimmy Choos kept getting mud on them.’

  ‘Ah. Well, yes, they would.’

  ‘You were Mum’s first choice, by the way, but she knew you were leaving, so …’

  ‘Really? Prue wanted me to help her with the building project?’ I can’t believe how delighted that makes me feel.

  ‘Yes. You still could, of course.’ He turns and I catch his grin in the passing headlights. ‘But that would mean you’d have to stay.’

  I smile happily back at him. Right this minute, I really can’t think of anything I’d like more.

  Then I tell myself to slow down. Just because Selena is off the scene (OMG, OMG, OMG!), that doesn’t mean I necessarily have a chance with Jack. There’s no point being here if all I’m going to be doing is wishing and hoping that one day everything might come right for me with Jack (if the wind’s in the right direction and porkers take flight and Selena stays in London, et cetera, et cetera).

  It’s hard to be sensible, though, when I’m sitting so close to him in the warmth of
his car and there’s a tension in the air that I’m daring to imagine is not coming entirely from my side.

  When we draw into the car park of The Stoat & Weasel, Jack is a proper gentleman, making sure I’ve got my coat and bag, and shepherding me into the warmth of the country pub. His hand at my waist makes me feel all tingly inside.

  Normally I start getting twitchy if a man is overly protective of me, but with Jack, it’s completely different. I love his thoughtfulness. I sit at our table by the roaring log fire watching him at the bar, ordering our drinks and food, and my heart contracts with longing. I still can’t believe I’m back here in Appleton, with Jack. It’s like a dream come true.

  He returns to the table and elects to sit beside me on the banquette, instead of opposite, which is lovely because it feels so much more intimate. Our shoulders keep colliding and the feeling of his muscled, jean-clad thigh casually nudging mine is making my heart skitter about so much, I can barely concentrate on what he’s saying.

  I want to hold on to the moment. Because sitting here beside Jack feels like all my Christmases rolled into one.

  ‘It’s great to have you back, Holly,’ he says with a smile. ‘I’m glad I beat Sylvian to it.’

  I glance at him, puzzled. ‘Sylvian?’

  ‘Selena said she bumped into him after you left. He told her he’d been in touch with you to invite you down to Cornwall and you were thinking about giving your relationship with him another chance.’

  ‘What?’ My face must be a picture. The last time I spoke to Sylvian was when he called at Moonbeam Cottage to give me the email about Layla being short-listed in the writing competition. I haven’t heard a peep from him since.

  He frowns. ‘He wasn’t in touch?’

  ‘No. Never. I can’t believe Selena would make something like that up.’

  Well, I can, actually. I can totally believe it. Selena always had it in for me, right from day one. I suppose she thought she’d ruin my chances with Jack if he thought I was getting back with Sylvian. What a cow!

  Jack sighs. ‘It’s probably my fault. Selena must have guessed how I felt about you.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘I tried to hide my feelings. I knew it was hopeless because you seemed to be so set on leaving Appleton.’

  I smile happily up at him. ‘And I thought it was hopeless because Selena was in the picture.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have lied like that.’

  ‘No, but I can sort of understand.’

  Sitting here with Jack, hearing him say he liked me all along, I can afford to be generous about Selena’s blatant lies!

  ‘She lied because she sensed there was something between you and me.’

  He nods slowly and turns, smiling into my eyes. ‘And she was right. Wasn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I murmur.

  We lock eyes and he moves closer to me, sliding his arm round me and drawing me closer.

  ‘One shepherd’s pie and one quail,’ says a voice, and we turn as the waitress sets down our food.

  Laughing, we unroll our cutlery from the paper napkins.

  The moment might be ruined but my heart is still banging fit to burst out of my chest.

  ‘Quail,’ Jack says, looking at my plate. ‘Do you know, that’s something I’ve never tasted. I’ve always thought of it as quite exotic. I’m more a chilli con carne sort of bloke.’

  I smile into his gorgeous blue eyes. ‘You can try mine if you like. It’s not that exotic.’

  As I say the words, a memory knocks at my brain.

  Ben in the café talking about Ivy’s fateful dinner party, remembering they ate quail that night. And my response: That was quite exotic for Ivy!

  Ivy liked plain dishes, mainly because she couldn’t cook! She could bake up a storm but she never had any talent for conjuring up extravagant main courses.

  Like quail.

  So if Ivy didn’t cook the meal that night, who did?

  Peter?

  But theirs was the sort of marriage where the man went out to work and the woman stayed at home and did the domestic chores. Ivy said Peter never lifted a finger around the house. It’s a bit of a stretch to imagine him donning an apron and rustling up haute cuisine for a party of eight.

  What if the dinner was made for them? What if it was supplied by a local caterer?

  Jack nudges me. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Pardon? Er, yes … sorry, something just occurred to me. Something really important.’

  Oh my God, I have to make a phone call. Now.

  I turn to Jack, excitement bubbling up through my dismay. ‘I’m so sorry, but I think I’m going to have to go.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  Jack drops me at the deli-café and says he’ll sit in the car while I chat to Connie. He seems to understand the urgency and brushes off my apologies. I can only hope and pray he’ll be waiting for me when I come out …

  I’d made my phone call to a startled Connie, who luckily was still clearing up in the deli-café. After she heard what I had to say, she was desperate to see me.

  In the car on the way back, I told Jack it was too complicated to explain what was going on, but if my hunch was right – and I’d cracked the mystery – I’d tell him everything later. It wasn’t ideal, especially since we had to slightly rush our meals as I was so keen to get to Connie. But Jack seemed to understand.

  I knock on the door of the deli and, after a minute, a light goes on in the back.

  My heart lurches in my chest. Soon, I’ll know the truth. But what if I’m wrong? Just thinking this makes me feel sick with nerves.

  Then I have another thought that ramps the nerves up a hundred-fold.

  What if I’m right?

  Connie looks at me for a second through the glass, a strange expression in her eyes. Then she rushes to unlock the door.

  ‘Hi.’ She sounds breathless. ‘Come in.’

  I follow her through to the little back room, feeling sick with anticipation, and we sit down on two orange plastic chairs.

  Connie hitches her chair so she’s opposite me, sitting on the edge of it as if she’s as nervous as I am. ‘You know, don’t you? You’ve worked it out.’

  I swallow hard. ‘I think so. But how do you know?’

  She shakes her head quickly. ‘I only found out recently, but I couldn’t say anything to you because I was sworn to secrecy.’

  I nod slowly. Right, here goes.

  ‘So your grandfather started up the deli-café years ago and originally it was a bakery?’

  She nods. ‘But as a spin-off, he started delivering desserts and cakes for parties. Then he went into business with a local chef and began catering for full-scale dinner parties.’

  My heart is pounding in my ears.

  ‘Your grandfather was there the night of Ivy’s dinner party, supplying the food?’

  ‘Yes.’ She shuffles forward and grabs my hands.

  ‘And he is Ivy’s mysterious Bee?’

  She nods, pink-cheeked with excitement.

  ‘Why did Ivy call him Bee in the diary?’

  ‘He always got called “Beaky” because of his, er, handsome nose, remember?’ She smiles and touches her own nose. ‘Ivy shortened it to Bee as a sort of codename.’

  I shake my head in amazement. It’s all just as I thought when I saw my plate of quail! No wonder Layla and I had been unable to track down Ivy’s mystery man. We were only considering the dinner party guests, but Bee wasn’t a guest at the dinner. Bee was the caterer that fateful night!

  ‘So basically,’ squeaks Connie, ‘My granddad is your granddad, too!’

  I laugh, barely able to take it all in. I’m searching Connie’s face for little signs that we’re related, and I feel sure that’s what she’s doing, too. It’s funny but the first time I met her, I had a feeling I already knew her. I’d brushed it off, of course, but maybe at some level I was actually recognising the family connection?

  I shake my head in wonder. ‘So did your family know all along about your granddad’
s affair with Ivy?’

  ‘No, Granddad kept it a secret all these years. For Ivy’s sake. My grandma died young, way before Granddad got to know Ivy. But Ivy was still married to Peter, you see, so no-one could know. And after your mum was born, Ivy was forced to play happy families with Peter for the sake of appearances. Sometimes people can be very cruel. Especially in a close-knit community like this one.’

  I nod, thinking of poor Prue being taunted all those years by Robina Worsley.

  ‘So did Peter find out that Mum wasn’t biologically his?’ I ask.

  ‘No, I don’t think he ever knew.’

  ‘And when did you find all this out? Did you know when I first arrived in Appleton in April?’

  ‘No. I heard you talking to Layla one time about needing to find your real granddad and that the only clue to Ivy’s secret lover was in her diary that you’d only just discovered. It was after you met Ben in the café?’ She leans forward and presses my knee. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to listen in. And I should never have told my family about your search.’

  I shake my head. ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘It was only after I mentioned you were back in the village and had found Ivy’s diary that Granddad confessed everything to us at dinner, one night soon after. But he said that on no account were we to tell you about him. Not because he didn’t want you to find him – but because he’d made Ivy a promise before she died that he would only ever admit who he was in relation to you, if you yourself came to him and asked for the truth.’

  I smile sadly at her. ‘I don’t know why Ivy never told me the truth herself. I was really angry with her when I first found out there was this whole side to her life I never knew about.’

  Connie shakes her head. ‘You shouldn’t be mad at Ivy. She was only protecting you. You know how people gossip. She must have thought it was for the best you didn’t know about the affair. Either that, or by the time she decided you ought to know the truth, maybe she was worried the revelation after all that time would destroy your relationship. And you know how very precious you were to her.’