A Secret Garden: An utterly gorgeous feel good romance

by Katie Fforde

  ‘I don’t think so, madam,’ said Doreen, horrified at the thought.

  ‘Pity. Never mind. I’ll have to put them all off wanting flaming sambucas some other way.’

  Philly was feeling very happy as she walked across the yard to where her car was parked. She was dead on her feet and prayed there would be enough hot water for a shower, if not a lovely bath, when she got home, but she had two hundred pounds in her bag. That represented a polytunnel and possibly some other things.

  She was progressing slowly along the dark and muddy lanes when she saw a car pulled over. And she was fairly sure she knew who was in it.

  It took a bit of courage to pull up behind and go and see the driver, just in case an opportunist axe murderer was hoping for someone like her to appear, but she took her torch and went to investigate.

  ‘Bloody stupid vehicle!’ said Anthea when she saw Philly. ‘You’re the girl who grows plants for Lorna, aren’t you?’

  Grateful and surprised that this starchy old woman hadn’t referred to her as ‘the waitress’ she agreed she was. ‘What can I do to help? I’ve got my phone if you need to call the AA or anything?’

  ‘Not a member. And I have a phone of my own but don’t know whom to ring.’

  ‘Well, my grandfather used to be a garage mechanic. We could ring him? Or I could drive you home in my car and let him sort it out in the morning?’

  Anthea let out a long sigh. ‘I really hate being reliant on people. I value my independence.’

  ‘Having a lift home if your car’s broken down isn’t being dependent. It’s being sensible.’ Somehow, Anthea didn’t seem so daunting now.

  ‘What do you think your grandfather can do?’

  ‘Well, if he can’t sort it out himself he could tow it to a garage or something. He’s got a tow truck.’ She paused. ‘Wouldn’t you like me to drive you home?’

  ‘It sounds silly, I know, but I don’t like to abandon my old warhorse. Why don’t you go home and tell your grandfather where I am and if he wouldn’t mind coming out so late—’

  ‘I can’t abandon you here,’ said Philly. ‘And it is late. My grandfather might prefer to look at the car in daylight.’

  ‘Will he have gone to bed?’

  ‘No. He always waits up for me. He doesn’t really believe I’m old enough to go out to work in the evening.’

  ‘He has a point. You are very young.’

  ‘But I have got a reliable car.’

  Anthea laughed. ‘I think the current expression is “that’s me told”. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to drive me to your home? Then I can discuss the matter with your grandfather myself?’

  ‘Of course.’ She considered for a second. ‘But I’ll ring him, so he’ll expect us.’ She didn’t want her grandfather opening the door wearing his coffee-stained Pogues T-shirt. He’d die of embarrassment.

  ‘Grand?’ she said when he picked up the phone, moments after the first ring. ‘I’m with—’ She froze as she realised she didn’t know Anthea’s proper title. ‘One of the dinner guests. Her car has broken down. I’m bringing her home with me so she can talk to you about it.’

  ‘Right you are. I’ll get out my toolbox and jump leads. It may be the battery. What kind of car is it?’

  Philly asked Anthea. ‘It’s a Volvo,’ she said. ‘It’s practically pre-War.’

  Philly related this word for word.

  ‘Ah!’ said her grandfather. ‘It’ll be an old Amazon. Go on for years. Very simple to fix.’

  As Philly disconnected she couldn’t help smiling. Her grandfather sounded thrilled to be called after midnight about a broken-down car. His two favourite things in the world were helping people and fixing old cars.

  He had obviously scrubbed up a bit, Philly realised when he opened the door wearing a proper shirt and trousers with a waistcoat and a neckerchief. It did give him a slightly ‘Irish traveller ’ look, but none the worse for that.

  ‘Come away in,’ said Seamus, holding the door wide. ‘Philly will put the kettle on and you can tell me about your car. I expect you’re very fond of it. And why not? Who’s to say they’re not sentient beings, after all?’

  Philly inwardly sighed and went to do as she was bid. Not only did her grandfather look like someone off My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, he sounded as if he were away with the fairies. Or the ‘little people’ as he’d have put it. But still, he was doing Anthea a favour, not trying to win her over. She only wished she could remember Anthea’s proper title. She never called her anything herself, but Doreen had described her as ‘her ladyship’. Was this a proper title, or just a slightly disrespectful way of describing your boss’s mother?

  Anthea and Seamus followed Philly into the kitchen, which was a good decision. It was fairly untidy but it was the only room that was warm. The glacial (and also untidy) sitting room was no place to be at this time of night.

  ‘Sit down, woman dear,’ said Seamus to Anthea, who duly sat. ‘And tell me what happened?’

  ‘Well, a red light came on as soon as I set off so I parked in the lane so I could go down the hill if it wouldn’t start.’ She paused. ‘It wouldn’t.’

  ‘Sounds like the alternator or the battery. I’ll take a spare fan belt and my jump leads. Will you stay here in the warm while I go and see what the problem is?’

  Philly, warming the pot for tea, mentally started. The thought of having to make conversation with this terrifying woman (although she did seem slightly less daunting currently) for an unspecified length of time was hideous. Apart from anything, she was dead on her feet.

  ‘I’d rather come with you,’ said Anthea. ‘I’d really like to get home.’

  ‘There’s no worry about that. I can drive you home,’ said Seamus.

  ‘I don’t want to leave my old car lying in a ditch, and have to worry about getting it back in the morning,’ said Anthea.

  ‘Well, fair enough. Now…’ To Philly’s ears her grandfather sounded more and more Irish with every word. ‘Will you be happy to come along in my van with me? Or would you like young Philly here to drive you?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Anthea. ‘Philly must be exhausted. She’s been running up and down stairs all evening looking after my son’s guests. I’m perfectly happy to travel in a van. It wouldn’t be for the first time.’

  Philly saw them off a few minutes later, when the tea had been hastily swallowed. Then she went to bed. Her grandfather would be fine, and if he wasn’t, he’d ring her.

  Having said her goodbyes, Lorna found her coat and put it on, aware that she’d enjoyed herself far more than she’d expected to. It was due to Kirstie being an excellent hostess and Jack being such an entertaining dinner companion. A man who was interested in what she had to say had always been rare, but now she was well past child-bearing age, it had become rarer. It was sad to think she had completely lost her sex appeal but she had accepted it, particularly when Peter had failed to notice her and only treated her as a confidante and gardener. But Jack had made her feel interesting to talk to.

  She had opened the front door and was halfway through it when he appeared. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  She smiled. ‘Really, there’s no need. It’s only across the park. There won’t be muggers and any ghosts there may be won’t bother me.’

  ‘I’ll still walk you home. It’s on my way.’ He took her arm.

  ‘It’s in the opposite direction! If you live in town you’re the other side to the park. There’s a good path—’

  ‘I know about the good path – I took it on my way here. But I want to see you home safe.’

  As she found it extremely pleasant to have a very firm arm supporting her – even if she didn’t need support – she didn’t argue any further.

  They didn’t speak as they crossed the park via a less-used and so slightly muddy track. It didn’t seem long before they arrived at Lorna’s cottage door.

  ‘I would ask you in—’ she began, feeling obliged.

  ‘No, no. It’s late.’ He
looked down at her, his face illuminated by the light outside the porch. ‘I’m so glad to have met you.’

  Lorna nodded in agreement. ‘Well, goodnight then.’

  There came the awkward moment when she had to decide whether to kiss him or not. She had merrily kissed all the other guests, but somehow this felt different.

  He made the decision for her. He leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight.’

  7

  Annoyingly, Lorna pinged awake at six the following morning. In spite of going to bed later than usual, being tired and having told herself firmly there was no reason she couldn’t sleep in, her internal alarm went off and she was awake.

  She put the radio on and tried to go back to sleep but gave it up after a few moments. If she was awake, she might as well get up. But as a gesture to her lie-in, after a quick shower she put her pyjamas and dressing gown back on and went downstairs to make tea.

  She knew what had made it difficult to sleep in. It was the effect of a bit too much to drink and the fact that her life had changed somewhat since the dinner party. Meeting Kirstie, finding her impossible to dislike, but also being forced to accept that what she and Peter had looked genuine, was a reality check. Peter would never look at her now he’d managed to find a lovely young woman like Kirstie.

  But she hadn’t had a miserable evening – far from it. She had really enjoyed her long conversation with an interesting new acquaintance – who happened to be a man. She had relived the chatter in her sleep, dinner guests getting muddled and changing places, and now, as she waited for the kettle to boil, she thought she really should get out more.

  Although the sun was coming through, it was a bit chilly. As she should still be asleep in bed, she decided to spoil herself by lighting her wood-burner and pulling a blanket over her on the sofa before reaching for her laptop and catching up on her emails and social media.

  She couldn’t help thinking about Kirstie, particularly her plan to have a sculpture show in the gardens of Burthen House.

  It could be brilliant. Although only a fairly small proportion of the formal sections of the garden were properly in order, there were plenty of wilder bits that could really set off large pieces. And people would come, she was sure of it. Burthen House was a great source of curiosity to the locals. Whenever she was in company with people new to the town, they all asked her about the house, about Peter, and when, if ever, they would be allowed in to see it.

  Just how much money it could raise remained to be seen, but although she would have to work very hard herself, and train the assistants Peter had told her she could have, she was keen to do it. To have Peter, encouraged and cajoled by Kirstie, actually interested in the garden would be great.

  But while there was a lot to be positive about, the flicker of hope that Peter would look at her as a prospective partner had died. She had to accept that.

  She put her laptop down and closed her eyes, forcing her mind away from Peter and on to the garden. What plants would she need? What was the quickest way of getting it into order?

  She was awoken by a knocking at the door. Still half-asleep she threw off the blanket and went to open it. It was Jack.

  If there was anyone in the world she would not have wanted to see her when her face was a make-up-free zone, it was Jack. Peter had seen her without make-up before (and didn’t appear to notice) but Jack was a new friend. She didn’t want him to see her as the older woman she was. She’d have liked him to go on thinking about her as the interesting woman who didn’t look too bad by candlelight. It was all she could do to smile.

  ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Is it horrendously early? I couldn’t sleep. I suppose I didn’t notice the time.’

  Lorna looked at her watch. ‘It’s a quarter to nine.’

  ‘God! I’m so sorry. Far too early to call on someone on a Sunday. I’ll go away and come back later.’ His discomfiture made her relax. ‘Why don’t you come in? I haven’t had breakfast yet. Could you manage a piece of toast?’

  The relief on his face made her courage worth it. ‘Now you say “toast” I realise I haven’t had any breakfast either. But I’m still so sorry to have woken you up.’

  Lorna closed the door behind him.

  ‘I like your house,’ he said, following her into the kitchen.

  ‘I rent it, very cheaply, because I work on the estate. Very feudal. But I like it too. It’s small but it suits me. And it’s quiet but not completely isolated. Although the other cottages are holiday lets, they are occupied quite a lot of the time.’ She paused briefly, aware that her cottage had been due to become a holiday let and it was only Anthea’s intervention that stopped it, insisting that the gardener should have accommodation. ‘Tea or coffee? I’ll put the kettle on and then run up and get dressed.’

  ‘Coffee, please. Would you like me to make it?’

  ‘Oh – yes,’ said Lorna. ‘There’s the grinder, the beans are in that jar, and then there are filter papers and a jug.’

  Having shown him where everything was, she went to get dressed. Finding some trousers and a nice V-necked jumper was easy, what was harder was the question of how much make-up she should put on. She put on enough to make her feel half-decent but not as much as she’d worn the night before. Adding a string of coloured beads helped her feel presentable.

  The smell of coffee reached her as she went downstairs. He had found a saucepan and was heating milk. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I just think hot milk in coffee makes it more a Sunday thing than a quick cup you might have during the week.’

  She acknowledged this with a nod. ‘I don’t often bother to heat the milk during the week, it’s true. So it does make it more special. Now, toast? Or I could make porridge? I have eggs but no bacon—’

  ‘Toast would be great.’

  ‘Good. I have home-made marmalade to go with it. I didn’t make it,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Anthea did. You remember? From last night?’

  ‘I couldn’t forget her. A wonderful woman.’

  ‘She is. Now I must just put a log on the wood-burner—’

  ‘I’ll do it. I should make myself useful as I seem to have invited myself for breakfast.’

  ‘Go on then. I’ll put this lot on a tray and we can eat at the table in there and enjoy the fire.’

  As she loaded the tray she realised she was enjoying the prospect of breakfast with Jack. It was a very easy way to entertain, once she’d got over the shock of opening the door to an attractive man in her dressing gown.

  ‘So,’ said Lorna after they’d eaten their first piece of toast. ‘What brought you to my door so early?’

  ‘Oh – I am so sorry about that. But – well – it’s a bit awkward—’

  Lorna didn’t speak but waited expectantly.

  ‘It’s about this sculpture thing. I wanted to have a look round the gardens so I could think about what I might exhibit.’

  ‘There won’t be time to make anything that’s site-specific,’ said Lorna. ‘It’s only a few weeks away now.’

  ‘No, but I have a few pieces that might be appropriate and a couple of the lads might have suitable things. Presumably you’ll need quite a lot of work?’

  ‘I expect so. It’s Kirstie’s gig. In fact, you should have gone to see her really. You could go after breakfast. It’ll be a good time to call. The other guests will be having drinks, I should imagine.’

  He crunched his way through his last mouthful of toast. ‘I was really hoping you’d show me round.’

  ‘You don’t need anyone to show you round—’

  ‘No, but I’d like it. The more I can understand about the gardens the better able I will be to choose.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s terribly short notice, after all. I don’t think Kirstie really understands what’s involved.’

  Lorna realised that she wanted to go with Jack very much but felt obliged to check her conscience for any reason why she shouldn’t. There didn’t seem to be any.

  ‘Well, I’ve nothing particular to d
o today and it would be a good idea to walk around making notes so we could go together. I’ll find my boots and notebook.’

  He held her hand while she poked her feet into her boots, his grasp reassuringly solid. He was, she decided, a very physical person. Tall, very fit and well muscled. She supposed that working lifting stone and using his hands had developed the muscles over the years. Peter was tall but willowy.

  He released her hand when she was in her boots and didn’t take it again. After she’d locked the door and put the key in her pocket she realised she rather wished he’d hung on to her. She’d enjoyed the feel of his arm when they walked back from the party the previous evening.

  They walked up the path to the house. Last night, going downhill, it had seemed a short walk but now it seemed longer, possibly because they kept stopping to look at various vistas.

  ‘Do you think anyone would come this far down if they were looking at sculpture in the garden?’ asked Jack. ‘I’ve a pair of wrestlers that would look wonderful in that dip but getting them there would be massively expensive and very hard work. I wouldn’t want to do it if no one would see them.’

  ‘I don’t know what Kirstie has in mind,’ said Lorna, ‘but I would imagine she’ll be quite organised and arrange a proper trail for people to follow. We’re only about five minutes from the house, after all.’ She frowned. ‘There isn’t time to plant anything, but do you think this bit would look better mown?’

  ‘My wrestlers would prefer the grass to be long. It would make their fight look more natural.’

  She smiled. ‘Do you know who wins?’

  He shook his head. ‘Currently it could go either way.’

  They had reached the house, which looked particularly lovely in the spring sunshine. From this angle its proportions were perfect, set above the gardens and park; and from here, the parts that needed restoring were out of sight. Lorna always took a moment to admire it and be grateful that Peter had bought it, and so brought her to the area that she now loved.