A Secret Garden: An utterly gorgeous feel good romance

by Katie Fforde

  ‘What’s it got in it?’

  ‘Meat, vegetables – can’t remember.’ She sighed. ‘Actually, I am brave. I cooked for you.’

  He laughed. ‘That is quite brave.’

  She looked at him. ‘If I go and set the table can I trust you not to taste the stew?’

  He considered and then shook his head. ‘I’ll set the table.’

  Inside, Philly smiled. He made her heart sing, he really did.

  Seamus had got out one of his good bottles of wine, having rejected champagne. By a ‘good’ bottle, he meant one that hadn’t been part of any kind of deal. It could have cost as much as five pounds. Philly realised that to many people – Lucien included – this would not be considered enough to ensure quality, but she and her grandfather were frugal. And to be fair to Lucien, while he’d been staying with them, if wine had been produced, he always just drank it.

  ‘Well now, Lucien,’ said Seamus, having filled the glasses. ‘I can tell you’ve got something to tell us. You’d better get it off your chest before you pop.’

  ‘Oh, Grand! Let him taste the stew first,’ said Philly, who’d taken a large gulp of wine without waiting for any kind of toast. ‘I’m in agony here!’

  Lucien gave her a look that filled her with a mixture of desire and terror. What would he think about it? Its only advantage, she thought, was that it had been cooked very slowly for a very long time.

  ‘Actually,’ Lucien said, having eaten quite a lot of it, ‘it’s very good. The mashed potato has a few lumps in it, but I don’t suppose you’ve got a drum sieve to pass it through.’ He grinned.

  Philly was sorely tempted to flick a bit of the mash at him but refrained. ‘Grand doesn’t like mashed potato without a few lumps,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Seamus. ‘I don’t trust it to really be potato if it hasn’t got a few wee lumps.’

  ‘Actually, it’s fine,’ said Lucien. ‘I was teasing you. Not about the lumps, they are there, but it’s still delicious. Frozen peas are a very safe choice of veg though.’

  This time she did flick a pea at him.

  Lucien ducked. ‘When you’ve stopped throwing vegetables, I have something to say. To both of you.’

  ‘Go on then, lad. But don’t forget to eat.’ Seamus topped up the glasses.

  ‘Well,’ said Lucien. ‘You know we’ve talked about me turning that outhouse into a professional kitchen? One where I can bake retail quantities of bread? Changing the electricity system, making some big alterations?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Seamus.

  Philly just nodded, scared he might be going to say it couldn’t be done. Then he’d move away and she might never see him again, however pleased he’d been to see her.

  ‘I just want to make sure that you’re still OK with that? I mean, I think I’ve got enough money now to go and ask my godfather to back me. But if you don’t want a pro kitchen on your land, I need to find another premises.’

  Philly took another sip to stop herself saying ‘That’s fine!’ when really it was her grandfather’s decision.

  ‘We agreed,’ said Seamus. ‘We’re happy, aren’t we, Philly?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Great,’ said Lucien. ‘Well, the other thing I wanted to say – ask – was: Will you come with me to ask him, Philly?’

  ‘Sorry?’ She tried to work out what he meant.

  ‘I want you to come to Uncle Roderick – I call him that – and ask him to back me financially.’

  ‘Why? Do you think Philly being there would help?’ asked Seamus.

  ‘I do. The thing is, I’ve always been a bit – well… My girlfriends haven’t always been…’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ Philly put down her wine glass. ‘What have your girlfriends always been?’

  ‘Flighty,’ said Lucien. ‘That’s what Anthea would call them.’

  Seamus leant back in his chair and laughed. ‘She probably would.’

  ‘But no one would call you flighty, Philly,’ said Lucien firmly. ‘And before you ask, that is definitely a good thing.’

  ‘You think young Philly here would add gravitas to your request for money?’

  ‘I do.’ Lucien took a breath. ‘But mostly, I don’t want to go away again and leave her when I’ve only just got back.’

  ‘Should I be asking your intentions with regard to my granddaughter?’

  ‘No you should not! Grand! Really!’ Philly was indignant. ‘You can’t ask things like that nowadays. Queen Victoria has been dead a long time.’

  ‘I think he has a right to look after your safety, Philly,’ said Lucien seriously. ‘After all, he’s your family here in England. He’ll get it in the neck if you elope with a bounder.’

  It took her a couple of seconds to work out Lucien was joking about the last bit.

  ‘He’s right there, you know, child. I am responsible for your safety. Your mother would have me guts for garters if anything bad happened to you.’

  ‘So will you come with me?’ asked Lucien, serious again. ‘Uncle Roderick is great – much more laid-back than the rest of my family – but I know he thinks I’m a bit of a waster. No one liked it when I left home to be a chef. I have to prove to him that I’m responsible enough to set up my business, to be a baker. With you there it’ll make me seem more… I dunno… as if I’ve got my life sorted out. With a proper girlfriend who’ll support me and not just dress up and want me to take her clubbing all the time.’

  Philly frowned. ‘Does this mean, if I go with you, that you won’t take me clubbing?’

  Lucien rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll take you clubbing the moment we secure the deal, but when I’m getting up at 4 a.m. to bake, probably not so often.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said Philly, beaming at him. ‘But you know? Until you mentioned it just then, I’ve never particularly wanted to do those sorts of things. That’s why I’m a bit of a social misfit. But I would like to do it once, with you.’

  ‘And I’ll take you, to all the best ones. I’m on the guest list of a lot of them,’ said Lucien. ‘So is it a yes?’

  Philly thought about all the work she should be doing, and then about all the work she had done.

  ‘Have you taken a holiday since we came to England?’ Her grandfather interrupted her thoughts. ‘Apart from going home to see your parents, I mean?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ Then she looked across at Lucien. ‘I’ll come!’

  They set off two days later, in Lucien’s van. Philly had packed her smartest clothes, usually reserved for visiting relations back in Ireland. Her mother was anxious that her cousins and aunts didn’t think Philly had ‘let herself go’ so Philly actually put a dress and jacket, bought for a wedding, in the bag, just in case.

  ‘OK?’ Lucien glanced at her as they sped off down the road.

  ‘Think so,’ said Philly.

  She felt more than OK. She felt excited. She knew she’d feel crippled with shyness as they approached Lucien’s godfather’s house, but now she was on a road trip, with the boy she was fairly sure she loved at her side.

  She was a bit worried about how many bedrooms they’d be given. Lucien had said there were plenty but she couldn’t decide if she wanted her first time (she did know she wanted to sleep with him) to be accompanied by tiptoeing along creaking corridors. But she didn’t fancy going down to breakfast in a strange house having been put in the same bedroom as her boyfriend. Growing up in an isolated part of Ireland with strict parents hadn’t really prepared her for the modern world. But she was an independent woman (if you overlooked her grandfather, which was actually quite hard) who had her own business. She would cope.

  They stopped for lunch in a pub with low beams, horse brasses and an empty fireplace. Of course not many places would light the fire in early June, Philly reasoned, but she was a bit chilly. While the day was bright with sunshine it wasn’t actually very warm. She was in her summer clothes, a dress with a cardigan. She missed her jeans and fleece.


  ‘It’s like we’re having all the dates we’ve never had in one day,’ said Lucien, frowning at the menu. ‘Only I’d have taken you to lunch somewhere a bit more…’

  ‘Pretentious?’ suggested Philly.

  He smiled. ‘Probably. I was going to say food-focused. But there’s something to be said for lasagne and chips.’

  ‘With garlic bread,’ said Philly. ‘To make sure we’re not low on carbs.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with carbs,’ said Lucien. ‘I want to be a baker, remember, but they’ve got to be good-quality carbs.’

  ‘I’d like a half of cider with mine, please,’ she said, beginning to enjoy herself.

  They both had a fork into a portion of sticky toffee pudding when Philly became aware of Lucien losing some of his joie de vivre. He kept rearranging the salt and pepper and staring into space. As he was always so positive and enthusiastic this seemed odd.

  ‘You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you? We don’t have to go. You could take me home and then go on your own.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I really want you with me, for all sorts of reasons. It’s just there’s something I should tell you.’

  Philly bit her lip. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s nothing really.’

  ‘It’s something! You’ve gone all twitchy.’

  ‘OK. My godfather has a housekeeper.’

  ‘And?’

  He bit his lip. ‘It’s just she used to be my nanny. She is a devoted family retainer. Not that she’s horrid or anything but – well, she’s a bit devoted.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She might be a bit funny with you. I think she thinks I should wait for Princess Charlotte to grow up so I can marry her. Princess Anne is married already and is a bit old for me.’

  ‘She’s a royalist?’

  ‘She’s a snob. No woman will be good enough for me.’ Lucien obviously felt better now he’d shared his secret. ‘But that really won’t affect you. She just might be a bit – well – sniffy.’

  ‘She’s your godfather’s housekeeper? That’s not a euphemism?’

  Lucien paled at the thought. ‘Oh, Philly, I wish you hadn’t suggested that. The thought of them in bed together – ergh!’ He regarded her in a way that made her heart skip. ‘Maybe you should have another drink?’

  Philly had tried to make light of it for Lucien’s sake, but she’d been quite nervous before he’d mentioned the housekeeper. Now she was no longer enjoying herself and instead felt sick and had visions of throwing up on an antique Persian rug that had turned dozens of children blind in its creation. She could tell that Lucien was fretting now, too. After his confession about his old nanny he’d been his usual self while she’d drunk her second half of cider. Now they were only a few miles away he’d gone quiet.

  After the housekeeper revelation Philly didn’t dare ask where Lucien’s godfather lived. If he had a housekeeper a quiet suburban semi seemed out of the question. It would be like Burthen House, she decided, only with more antiques. Especially the rugs that she might well throw up on. And after that she’d break a priceless Ming vase. This was going to be terrific fun.

  He turned into a drive. In front of them was one of the grandest houses she’d ever seen that wasn’t owned by the National Trust. It made Burthen House seem a bit on the small side.

  ‘It’s big,’ she said.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And have you got your business plan?’

  ‘Yup.’ He pulled up in front of the house. ‘Well, here goes.’

  ‘Scary nanny, here we come.’

  ‘I wish I’d never put that idea in your head. She was fine. Like Mary Poppins.’

  ‘Mary Poppins had a dark side. You mustn’t get her muddled up with Julie Andrews.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ said Lucien.

  18

  They weren’t left on the doorstep of the house for long, but long enough for Philly to look wistfully at the van and work out how quickly she could get to it. Then, just as she remembered that Lucien had the keys, the door was opened.

  Philly recognised Evil Mary Poppins as soon as she saw her and if she’d been in any doubt about her evilness, her narrow smile confirmed it. The chill Philly felt as she entered the house, wearing her spring-like cardigan and summer dress, added to her sense of doom.

  ‘Lucien, dear, how very nice to see you. We don’t see you nearly often enough. I know your godfather would appreciate far more frequent visits.’ Then she glanced at Philly. ‘Hello.’

  Lucien took his old nanny in his arms and gave her hug but even as he did so Philly wondered if she could really have been ‘fine’ as a nanny. She was so formal and thin.

  ‘I’m not going to say you’ve grown, dear,’ said Evil Mary Poppins, looking at Lucien with a critical gaze, ‘but you’ve lost your lovely golden curls. And you have filled out a bit.’

  As Lucien was far from being fat, Philly decided that his nanny had underfed him, and this added to her evilness. She cleared her throat, having realised that she had forgotten to ask Lucien what the woman imprinted on her mind as Evil Mary Poppins was really called. This could be a serious problem, one that she had to tackle now. She couldn’t spend their entire stay calling her ‘you’ and her personal soubriquet might slip out. ‘Lucien? You haven’t introduced us.’

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ He seemed flustered. ‘This is Miss – Sarah Hopkins.’

  He too obviously had to struggle for her real name, Philly noticed. He probably just called her ‘Nanny’. Maybe he’d had a series of them. She shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Nanny – um – Sarah, this is Philly.’

  ‘How do you do, Miss Hopkins,’ said Philly, holding out her hand, hoping her recent efforts with various hand products designed for gardeners had done their job.

  ‘How do you do,’ said Miss Hopkins, not inviting her to use her given name, which was obviously what Lucien had expected. ‘Mr Roderick is in the library, if you’d like to follow me. Then I’ll bring tea.’

  ‘Oh, no need to show us,’ said Lucien. ‘I know my way.’

  ‘In which case, Lucien, I’ll organise tea.’ She bowed formally.

  ‘Oh my God, she’s so much worse than I expected,’ muttered Philly in a rapid whisper as she followed Lucien down a stone-flagged corridor. ‘And is your godfather’s name really Roderick? Roderick Roderick?’ She knew posh people were often called the most ridiculous things.

  ‘No, he’s Sir Roderick Mythson. She just calls him Mr Roderick because she’s always worked in the family. He’s a distant relation of ours.’

  ‘Was she his nanny too?’

  ‘Don’t think so. She’s not old enough. Now, here we are.’

  Lucien’s godfather got up as they entered. He was in his fifties, wearing red corduroy trousers, a check shirt and a cravat. His socks were red too, worn with very shiny brogues. He still had quite a lot of hair and had ruddy cheeks. He was, Philly decided, what her mother would describe as raffish, but as he was smiling fairly warmly, she didn’t mind.

  ‘Lucien! Dear boy!’ They didn’t hug but shook hands. ‘And who’s this pretty little thing?’

  ‘This is Philly,’ said Lucien, possibly embarrassed by his godfather’s description of her.

  ‘Hello,’ said Philly, ‘it’s lovely to meet you.’

  ‘And you, m’dear. Now, come and sit down. I might light the fire. It’s gone quite chilly.’

  Philly, who was very chilly now, made appreciative noises which she hoped would encourage him. Alas, he made no move to the fireplace but went to a table of drinks instead. ‘Drink? Glass of sherry? Help to warm you up?’

  Philly felt a glass of sherry would have both warmed her up and calmed her nerves. ‘That would be lovely but Miss Hopkins is bringing tea.’

  ‘Miss Hopkins? Oh, you mean Sarah. Well, we’d better not have a drink then, not if she’s bringing tea.’

  Philly noted a slightly anxious look about him: he wanted a drink but didn’t dare risk putting his housekee
per out.

  Lucien spoke. ‘Shall I light the fire, Rod?’ He addressed his godfather (in a very informal way, Philly thought) but looked at her. She nodded.

  ‘Yes, do. Then I can tell Sarah that you did it and she won’t tell me off.’ Roderick laughed in a way that told Philly he was completely serious – he was accustomed to being told off by his housekeeper.

  Philly quite wanted to light the fire herself, being better at it that Lucien was, but she knew this would be a step too far for Evil Mary Poppins.

  ‘And what do you get up to?’ Roderick asked her while Lucien got on with the fire.

  ‘I have a plant nursery,’ said Philly. ‘I have a couple of polytunnels and raise plants – mostly for a friend who gardens for a big house. A bit like this one.’ She smiled, feeling she’d done quite well with her description.

  ‘Plants eh?’ Roderick gave Philly the impression of not really knowing what a plant was but maybe she was being unfair. ‘Money in it?’

  ‘Not as much as there should be, given what hard work it is, but I do all right.’

  ‘Hard work?’ He frowned as if this was a foreign concept for him.

  ‘I don’t mind getting my hands dirty,’ said Philly, just as Miss Hopkins came in with a trolley.

  ‘Would you like to wash your hands before tea, miss?’ said Miss Hopkins, who’d obviously overheard this.

  Wishing she could drop breadcrumbs so she could guarantee being able to find her way back, Philly allowed herself to be led along the corridors to a large, freezing downstairs loo.

  The soap was old and had cracks in it and the towel was rough and not clean. Philly felt willing to bet on there being a much nicer bathroom she could have been shown to, but Evil Mary Poppins had obviously decided she was not worth the good bathroom, with the nice hand towel and new soap. Philly, who considered herself to be a bit of a wimp a lot of the time, felt her courage rise along with her hackles.

  She was glad to see that Lucien had got the fire going in the library and went to stand beside it. Miss Hopkins was serving tea.