by Anne Weale
Nowadays, merely tickling a stranger’s baby under the chin was liable to be misinterpreted. But at least one could still make friendly overtures to other people’s cats and dogs without being eyed with suspicion by their protective owners.
Holly had grown up with her father’s black Labrador, Tom, but he, the most angelic dog one could ever have hoped to meet, had died of old age when she’d been ten. Now she had Parson, her cat, to lavish with love. Unlike many cats, who were affectionate only when they were hungry, Parson was always nice to her. Nobody had told him that cats were supposed to be aloof and capricious. He seemed to know she had rescued him from death by starvation when he was a kitten. Sometimes she wondered what would happen if and when she fell seriously in love. How would Parson react to sharing the bed he regarded as his and her territory with a third party?
So far neither of her two unsuccessful relationships had involved making love in her bed. What had happened—nothing ecstatic!—had taken place out of doors, in summer.
Perhaps, like the legendary Gertrude Jekyll, whose gardens and thoughts on gardening were still an inspiration to the garden gurus of today, she was destined to remain unmarried. In thirty years’ time she too might be a guru, her name synonymous with some of the loveliest gardens in England.
In some ways it was a nice prospect. But it would have been even nicer if she could have been sure that in the years to come, on winter evenings, when she was browsing through nurserymen’s catalogues and planning new plantings, there would be someone on the other side of the fire—someone who would look up from his book and say, ‘Time for bed, darling, don’t you think?’ with a special warm glint in his eye to signal that it wasn’t only sleep he was thinking about.
CHAPTER TWO
TWO weeks later, on a bright, blowy morning in November when the leafless trees on the skyline gave the landscape the look of a Rowland Hilder watercolour, Holly stopped work at noon after an energetic morning’s digging.
Having discarded her sweater a couple of hours earlier, she now slung it over her shoulders and was tying the sleeves in a loose knot when someone came through the arch in the old yew hedge and made her whole body quiver with consternation.
‘Good morning,’ said Pierce Sutherland, strolling towards her, taking in the evidence of her morning’s endeavours. ‘I was told I should find you here. Your cheeks are glowing like Felicia roses. Are you ready for lunch?’
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded apprehensively.
‘I felt like a drive in the country and I wanted to see you again so I twisted Fujiko’s arm until she revealed where I’d find you.’
‘I can’t think why you should want to see me again when you know how much I dislike you...and always shall,’ Holly said crossly.
‘Always is a long time. You know what they say: Never say never. To predict that you’ll always feel the way you do at this moment is a little rash, don’t you think?’
‘I can’t see why it matters to you. You’ve already got ninety-five percent of the female sex ready to dance to your tune. Why do you need me to succumb to your charm?’
‘I’m attracted to you, Holly. I was the first time we met. But you were only nineteen, hardly out of the egg. I was thirty and involved with your stepsister. I thought what you did after dinner that night was the funniest thing I’d seen in years. I liked your sense of humour. You were the first girl I’d met who would dream up a gag like that.’
Taken aback, she was unable to hide it. All these years she had held it against him that he’d failed to see anything amusing in what she had done. Now he was telling her that, behind the mask of disapproval, he had been breaking up. Could she believe him?
‘I’m told there’s a very good pub a couple of miles from here. In the hope of persuading you to lunch with me, I booked a table before I left London. Will you lunch with me, Holly? Will you give me a chance to prove that, whatever I’ve done in the past, I’m not such a bad guy now?’
It was hard to refuse such a persuasive invitation, especially when it came from a man whose attractions could not be denied even by his worst enemy. This morning he was wearing pale blue jeans with a matching blue denim shirt under a darker blue canvas field coat with a yellow corduroy collar and corduroy linings turned back above his shirt cuffs.
In the sunlight, his thick black hair had the sheen of health and vitality. Like his brown skin and the clear whites of his eyes, it signalled a body in perfect physical condition.
‘All right...but I still don’t see why my good opinion matters to you.’
She picked up the worn canvas bumbag in which she kept her few necessities and slung it over her shoulder. Hopefully there would be a chance to comb her hair and put on lipstick when they arrived at the pub.
As they left the part of the garden where she had been digging to walk in the direction of the house being built for the couple she was working for, Pierce said, ‘Tell me about this set-up. The house is new but the garden looks old.’
‘The owner first noticed the place from the cockpit of his private aeroplane. Do you have a plane?’
‘I do, but I didn’t use it to get here this morning. Within easy reach of London I prefer to drive. The owner saw marks similar to crop marks, I presume?’
‘Yes, the outlines of a large garden. But he found out the house that went with it had been demolished forty years ago. So he bought the site and had a new house designed which is smaller and more labour-saving than the original mansion. But the garden will be largely a re-creation of the one designed by Harold Peto at the beginning of the century. The yews were planted by him and a lot of other things are emerging from what seemed at first to be just tangled thickets.’
Surprising her with his grasp of the task involved, he said, ‘Who’s been responsible for the detective work? The owner or you?’
‘Me mostly, and I’ve enjoyed it. I like digging up facts and following clues.’
‘When will the job be finished?’
‘The house is due for completion in the spring and the garden will be in place then, ready to hand over to the permanent gardener when they’ve appointed him or her.’
‘What’s next on your agenda?’
‘Nothing definite. I’ve got various gardens I’m keeping an eye on. There’s going to be a feature on one of them in the January issue of House & Garden. That may lead to some new commissions. How come you’ve heard of Felicia roses?’
‘I noticed them at someone’s house and asked what they were. I like to know what I’m looking at. The texture and colour of your cheeks reminded me of their petals. You were still in bud when we met before. Now, if you were a rose, you’d be ready to pick for the house or to be the focal flower in a painting by Fantin-Latour.’ He slanted a quizzical smile at her. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. Surprising, isn’t it? You had me tagged as a total philistine, didn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought nineteenth-century French flower painters would be of much interest to you,’ she conceded.
‘Everything’s of interest to me. Life is like a vast warehouse, crammed with goodies from every corner of the globe and every century since the beginning of time, You have to rummage around and see what’s on offer before you can make a choice of the things you want to select for your own treasure store. Some people never go beyond the section containing flashy ghetto-blasters, expensive cars, designer clothes and that sort of stuff. But I’m beginning to discover the things in the distant corners of the warehouse—things tucked away in cupboards or hidden under dust sheets, things you have to unearth. For example, Fantin-Latour.’
Holly was silent, stunned by the realisation that if this was how he looked at life he would have got on with her father. He, too, had seen the world as a place of wonder and delight, but had vacillated between anger and despair because most people’s aspirations were so low, their horizons so narrow.
‘When did you find your way into the gardening section of our metaphorical warehouse?’ Pierce asked.<
br />
‘My grandmother let me help in her garden. She gave me a plot of earth and some child-sized tools and a whole lot of seeds. It started from there.’
‘Where do you live while you’re working on this project?’
‘I’m renting a summer holiday cottage. It doesn’t have central heating but there’s a closed stove which keeps the living room cosy. I’ve bought a trailer-load of logs and an electric blanket to keep me warm in bed.’
She spoke without thinking and instantly regretted it, feeling the glance he bent on her but determinedly ignoring it.
‘Do you sleep alone all the time...even at weekends?’
‘I never sleep alone. I share my bed with a very nice cat. He’s been doctored to stop him prowling and yowling at night. It’s a pity human tom-cats can’t be neutered. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.’
Pierce laughed. ‘No one would guess to look at you that you held such Draconian views. You look rather gentle, but clearly that’s a false impression. Perhaps in an earlier life you were the high priestess of a matriarchal society in which most of the males were castrated at puberty apart from a few kept for breeding purposes. And even those wouldn’t have been allowed to enjoy their masculinity for long.’
‘I’m not a hater of men as a sex. I just object to those who have sex on the brain,’ she retorted. ‘I’m not flattered by being treated as a sex object. I dislike it intensely.’
‘You could try wearing a burka, that long black garment that some Muslim women wear to avoid being admired by men. But I suppose it wouldn’t be practical for the kind of garden designer who gets earth on her hands. Is that usual, a designer digging? I thought they spent more time using a slide rule than a spade.’
‘I guess it depends on the designer. I find that work like digging helps me to sort out problems on the aesthetic side.’
‘I find that too, but when I have a problem I go to my club and swim. It’s the same solution: repetitive physical activity makes the brain work better than it would if you sat staring into space.’
They had come to where the workmen had parked their cars. In the line-up of serviceable family cars, the instantly recognisable elegance of an old but well-kept Jaguar immediately drew the eye. She had expected him to have something ostentatiously and insanely expensive, but it seemed he didn’t need the ego-boost of being envied by all the men for whom cars were a major status symbol. He had said as much earlier, but she hadn’t quite believed him.
She was impressed by his manners. He opened the front passenger door for her and even pulled the seat belt out of its reel and handed it to her before closing the door. Most of the men she mixed with didn’t do all that stuff. Some of them didn’t even know it had once been standard behaviour. But she did because her father had had beautiful manners. She measured all men by him and found most of them wanting.
As he started the engine, Pierce said, ‘Tell me about this very privileged cat of yours. I have a cat myself...a Maine Coon, if you know what that is. But we don’t sleep together. She has a basket in the kitchen.’
‘Maine Coons are large, with fluffy breeches, aren’t they?’
‘That’s right. Breeches and ruffs and big personalities. My father’s eldest sister was a leading light in the International Society for the Preservation of the Maine Coon. She was a strong-minded lady who didn’t approve of Britain’s archaic quarantine regulations. When she came on a visit, she smuggled Louisa, then a kitten, through Customs. Within five minutes of her arrival at my place, the household had expanded to include an illegal immigrant. Does that shock you?’
‘It surprises me. Being, as you pointed out, very priggish, I wouldn’t ever deliberately break the law.’
‘Maybe not, but would you report someone who had?’ he asked. ‘Would you turn in your favourite aunt?’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she conceded. ‘And if the cat had had all the necessary shots I don’t suppose there was much danger of it bringing in any diseases, certainly not rabies. One of my grandmothers who was a great traveller thought the British were totally paranoid about rabies.’
‘The British are either some of the world’s greatest adventurers or they’re extremely insular and can’t get their minds round the idea that there are other ways of life that might be better than theirs. But, having said that, I’ve chosen to live here in preference to where I was born and all the other places I could have settled. Getting back to cats...what breed is yours?’
‘A common tabby, but he does have nice markings and a little white clerical collar, which is why he’s called Parson. Sometimes he comes to work with me, but today he had gone through the cat flap before I got up. Luckily the people who own the cottage also have a cat, so Parson can come and go as he chooses. The downside of that is that often, when I get home, he’s left something dead on the floor. Who looks after your cat when you’re away?’
‘I have a man and a daily. Hooper doesn’t live in but he’s around long enough for Louisa not to get lonely.’ He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at her. ‘Who would have thought, after the spat we had last time, that we’d be comparing cat notes in this companionable way? I suppose you realise that, if you had flared up at me in front of most Japanese, they would have been profoundly shocked. They go to extreme lengths to avoid confrontation. Politeness is deeply engrained in their character. They never have altercations or behave aggressively in public. To be impolite causes huge loss of face.’
‘Mrs Shintaro seemed to take it in her stride. Afterwards she was very nice to me.’
‘She’s extremely broad-minded. Her whole married life has been spent adapting to other cultures and smoothing over situations which would never have arisen in her own country. When she was in her twenties, she must have been every man’s dream of the perfect woman...beautiful, intelligent, loving and totally supportive.’
‘Totally submissive is what you really mean, I suppose. But not all men want a woman to be a doormat. My mother was making her name as a radio producer. My father insisted on her keeping up her career. If she hadn’t died, he would have gone on encouraging her to make the most of her gifts. He would have despised your attitude to women.’
‘Perhaps his own was different before he met your mother,’ said Pierce. ‘My attitude to women depends on their attitude to themselves. If all they want is a good time, I’m happy to oblige them. You accuse me of leading Chiara down the primrose path, but I couldn’t steer you in that direction, could I?’
‘You wouldn’t have succeeded with Chiara if she’d had a sensible mother,’ Holly said shortly. ‘My stepmother was fool enough to think you might marry Chiara. Instead of discouraging the relationship with you, she egged her on. I knew it would end in tears. That was obvious from the beginning.’
‘But it didn’t end in tears,’ he said equably. ‘Chiara wasn’t heartbroken. She was never in love with me. You credited her with the feelings you would have experienced if a man you were involved with had called an end to the affair. At nineteen, you would only have done what your stepsister did if you had been in love...or imagined you were.’
Reluctant as she was to agree with him, inwardly Holly had to admit there was a good deal of force in his argument. Chiara had been upset, but it had been mainly wounded pride rather than real heartache which had been the cause of her tears.
‘That doesn’t alter the fact that you gave her a taste for high life and luxuries she couldn’t afford except by...by selling herself to other men like you. You got her hooked on rich living in exactly the same way that other girls get hooked on drugs. And if you’d done that to her, I would have made you pay for it if...if I’d had to kill you myself,’ Holly said quietly.
‘Got hold of a gun and shot me?’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Yes, I believe you would. But the fact is that Chiara had nothing more damaging than champagne while she was under my aegis. I smoked some pot in my teens but I drew the line at the rest of it. I don’t need that kind of high. I’ve always found wine a
nd women adequate stimulants. How about you? How do you get your kicks?’
‘From my work mainly. But it’s more a case of quiet satisfaction than kicks. Gardening might seem dull to some people, but in fact it’s very fulfilling. There’s always something to look forward to. I can’t wait to see how this garden I’m working on now looks in two, three and four years’ time. I suppose it’s the same sort of gratification that people get from watching their children grow up.’
‘It sounds a little tame for someone of your age. Don’t you want excitement... adventure... nights of passion... mornings when someone rings up and persuades you to do something crazy?’
‘I think you’re taking the mickey. You can’t charm me, so you mock me. There’s something about women like me—women who aren’t flattered by your attention—that irritates your ego.’
‘Perhaps. But who knows? Like the grain of sand the oyster deals with by creating a pearl, our mutual irritation may eventually be transformed into an enjoyable friendship. Are you prepared to give it a try?’
‘Not really,’ Holly said coolly. ‘I don’t believe you’re capable of friendship with a woman, any more than a leopard can be friends with a gazelle.’
Pierce made no comment on this, perhaps because they had reached the junction with a busy main road where he needed to give more attention to the traffic. Even after they had joined the stream of vehicles and were heading in the direction of the nearest market town, he didn’t pick up her barb and toss it expertly back at her.
She wondered what he was thinking. Perhaps she had made a mistake in not accepting the proffered olive branch with outward grace and inward scepticism.
The pub which was their destination was two or three miles outside town, a little way off the main road. A large car park was an indication of its popularity but perhaps its main trade was at weekends, for today there were not many cars there.
