by Katie Fforde
Philly perched on a stool opposite Lorna and took a bite of her biscuit. ‘One of Grand’s?’
Lorna nodded. ‘He said they were too crumbly to sell. Now do get on!’
‘Well, first thing: Lucien taught me how to bake. Which was really hard although I did enjoy it. We had three days to get ready for this show which was a competition.’
‘Sounds tough.’
‘It was – no sleep. But I picked it up quite quickly though I say so myself.’
‘And?’
‘We won a medal! It’s for Geraint really – it’s for his business. He makes heritage bread, which basically means he uses a wood-burning oven for it. Not all the time, but that’s what we did for the competition.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
Philly nodded. ‘While I was selling the bread I looked up and saw Lucien’s mother.’
‘Oh no!’
‘But then we found out about the award, and Geraint said how amazing we’d been and they realised I wasn’t the Irish girl on the make they’d thought I was.’
‘Quite right too.’
‘And Geraint booked us into a luxury spa for a couple of days.’
Philly said this fairly blandly but Lorna didn’t miss the subtext. ‘So I gather you and Lucien—’
‘Oh yes!’ Philly agreed. ‘My mother never let on that sex was so lovely. And probably just as well. I’d have been at it years ago if she had.’
Lorna laughed. ‘Only with the right person! As someone old enough to be your mother, it’s my duty to emphasise that.’
‘Lucien is absolutely the right person,’ said Philly, twinkling. ‘But we had dinner at the hotel with his parents and I was convinced they must have known… Anyway, they tried really hard to be nice. They ordered lovely wine and, as I said, Lucien’s dad kept filling up my glass. And his mother gave me a bottle of really lovely perfume.’ She paused. ‘I think they were just worried about Lucien in the beginning. As they keep saying, we’re very young.’ She frowned. ‘Young, but not stupid. And now Lucien’s father will pay to set up a bakery in our outhouse. But I don’t think we’ll go entirely wood-fired. It’s fun and the bread is fantastic but it’s hard work. Even harder than baking is already.’
‘It sounds as if you’ve become a baker. Are you giving up your nursery?’
‘Oh no! I do love baking and we will have a pizza oven so we can do wood-fired some of the time. But I’m still a plantswoman.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go back into the garden so you can show me everything.’
Lorna ushered her through the door of the dovecote. ‘I’m afraid, as you’ll see, I raided your nursery pretty thoroughly, but I’ve written down everything I’ve taken. Anthea will pay you.’
Philly flapped a hand. ‘Oh – well—’
‘Come on, Philly,’ said Lorna. ‘You’re running a business.’
‘OK. If you’ve made a list I’ll work it out.’
‘Right. Oyster shell for the paths – pretty?’
‘Lovely. The white sets off the flowers. And there are so many flowers!’
‘Mostly because of your clever succession growing. We’ll do it all in period next year, but for now, we just want colour and quick effect. That’s what Anthea said, anyway.’
‘But the roses will stay? I love this pergola – it’s a tunnel of wonderful scent.’
‘Oh yes, this will stay if the roses survive. I’ve put gallons and gallons of water on them every night. Anthea loves it. She loves that it’s wide enough to walk through without being snagged by thorns. We measured very carefully and I hope when everything grows it’ll still be OK. And if they don’t survive, we’ll replant, but not roses. We’ll have another rose-covered pergola somewhere else. There is a spot.’
Philly nodded. ‘Because of disease? Very wise. And there are lots of things you could put in.’ She walked on a few paces. ‘Oh! My dahlias!’
‘Yes – don’t they look fantastic? All those wonderful scarlet Bishops of Llandaff that worked so well in the Italian garden? Plus a lot of oranges and deep yellow.’
‘It’s so vivid.’
‘I know. When it’s historically accurate, and Anthea says she wants it to be, more or less, it’ll be much more subtle, but it has been fun just going mad with the colour palette.’
Philly looked at her watch. ‘I shouldn’t be too long—’
Lorna recognised the symptoms of a woman in love, desperate to get back to her man. ‘Just look at the grotto quickly. I’ve nearly finished it. I’ve got to redo some of it but I’m not sure what I should use to stick the shells to the wall.’
‘You should ask—’
Fortunately for Lorna, before Philly could say she should ask Jack, Anthea appeared.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said to Philly. ‘So glad you came back. I really want Lucien to do the food at my party. Do you think he would? Or is it too short notice?’
‘He’s got nearly a week so I’m sure that’s plenty of time. Why don’t I pop back and ask him? He’s at home.’
After Philly had said her farewells, Anthea turned to Lorna. ‘Lorna, darling, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’
Wondering what on earth it could be, given how much time they’d both spent in the garden recently, Lorna felt a frisson of anxiety.
‘What is it, Anthea?’
‘It’s the statues—’
‘I thought we’d agreed,’ said Lorna, sharply. ‘We’re not going to use them. They’re damaged. With bits missing.’
‘Come and look at them with me.’
Anthea sounded placatory, which was unusual for Anthea. Lorna followed her to her garage which, to her certain knowledge, hadn’t been used to keep a car in since Anthea had moved into the Dower House. Anthea opened the side door and they both went in. The statues, minus their mid-sections, were lying on sheets of tarpaulin.
‘There they are,’ said Anthea. ‘Don’t you think they’re rather lovely?’
Lorna suddenly felt very tired and wanted to go home. She looked at a jigsaw of marble pieces roughly depicting three female figures. She didn’t see beauty, she saw brokenness and it seemed to mirror the feeling in her heart. She didn’t want statues that would remind her of Jack every time she saw them in a garden she felt very personally about. It wasn’t her garden but it was her creation, which was almost more important.
‘They’re missing their torsos and that does spoil their beauty somewhat. And it would take months and months to restore them.’ She fought not to sound snappy. What Anthea was suggesting wasn’t unreasonable.
‘To restore them properly would take ages,’ Anthea agreed. ‘But they’re not that badly damaged. What about—’
‘But there’s still lots to do with this garden before your party. We haven’t time to fiddle about with bits of broken marble. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going home now. I’ve got a headache.’
‘You need to take a couple of painkillers with a good slug of whisky,’ suggested Anthea.
But Lorna’s ache wasn’t one that could be cured by painkillers and strong drink. She wasn’t sure there was a cure for it, really.
It was the day before the party. Lorna had put replacing the shells in the grotto to the back of her mind until it was nearly too late. There’d been so much else to do and she was still unsure of what she should use to attach them to the wall. Finally, and only now, did she use the cement that Seamus had found for her. And once she’d gained confidence working with the shells and ammonites she’d enjoyed it. But then, annoyingly, the cement had run out just when she got to the ceiling.
She’d gone to tell Anthea she was going to the DIY shop to get some more cement when Anthea had produced some domestic filler. ‘It’ll be fine. Don’t fuss, Lorna,’ she had said when Lorna had protested. She had thrust the dusty packet into her hands, obviously keen to be rid of her.
So she’d used it and, to be fair to Anthea, it did seem to be fine, and so when Peter arrived, inviting her to Burthen House for a drink, she had sto
pped worrying and gone back to the house with him.
The moon was well up as Lorna set off afterwards, having rejected Peter and Kirstie’s offers of first dinner and then a lift. She had had enough social life for the moment and just wanted to get home.
But she couldn’t be lured there until she had checked the grotto even if she’d be doing it by torchlight.
The minute she was in the garden, and the fragrance of it reached her, she forgot about the minor details, and little anxieties about tasks left undone. Her cares slipped away. Everything was even more beautiful by moonlight and the scent was extraordinary.
The sweet peas, phlox, old-fashioned pinks and lilies added their fragrance to the roses and tobacco plants. It was just the effect she’d wanted, to create a garden full of mystery and sensuality.
She was just looking around her and breathing in the perfumed air when movement caught her eye and made her jump violently.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ said Jack, coming out of the shadows.
Lorna managed not to scream but only just. She forced moisture into her suddenly dry mouth. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Anthea asked me to set up the statues after you’d gone home. She said I had to do them when you weren’t around.’
Conflicting emotions meant that Lorna was unable to reply. Shock, betrayal and – insanely – happiness swirled in her mind. She realised she was pleased to see him because it meant he was still alive, and that made her happy. But confusion was uppermost.
‘But I thought Anthea had given up on the statues. She just had the pieces lying in her garage.’
‘She found the missing torsos and rang me. She said she didn’t mind ignoring them when they were just heads and bodies but she couldn’t waste them when they were more or less complete.’
‘Oh.’
‘She didn’t want to upset you. And now you’ve caught me.’ He paused, alert and attentive. ‘Are you upset?’
Lorna shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’m very surprised. I thought after I walked out of your flat that you’d dropped off the planet.’
‘There are good reasons why you thought that. Can you put up with me telling you what happened? Or do you just want to forget you ever met me?’
At least this was a question she knew the answer to. She gave a shuddering sigh. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘A whole chain of things. When I was in France I had a call from a neighbour to say my father had had a fall. My parents had me very late in life so I’ve always had to look out for them – well, for a few years now anyway. My father was ninety…’
She noted the past tense. ‘And your mother?’
‘Still with us but very frail.’
‘Go on.’
‘I rushed back and managed to lose my phone with all my contacts somewhere along the way. I think it fell out of my bag.’
That would explain his not returning her text or email. ‘I see.’
‘It meant I couldn’t reassure you – do anything really—’
‘And you had your parents to worry about.’ Lorna could imagine it. She’d had difficulties with her own parents several years previously, trying to work out what was best for them – or the best that was possible, anyway.
‘They hadn’t got a computer and I had no time to find one so I couldn’t track you down through a website or anything.’
‘Tell me about your parents.’
‘Oh, well, it was grim. Dad had broken his hip and was in hospital. I realised that he’d actually been losing his marbles but Mum hadn’t said anything.’ He paused. ‘I’m an only child, apple of their eye – spoilt rotten, I expect – so she’d protected me, told me they were fine whenever I rang. I should have gone home more often.’
‘I understand about the only child, apple of their eye, spoilt rotten,’ she said. ‘I have one of those. I was an only child too. If circumstances permit, I think it’s better to have more than one child. But go on.’
‘Dad died in hospital and I had to find a home for Mum, which I did, and actually she’s happy there. She’d been isolated when she was looking after Dad and now she has company. So finally, finally, I felt I could come back to work.’
A rush of sympathy welled up in her: for him, for his parents, for the unkindness of old age. ‘But everything’s sort of all right now?’
‘Yes. It is. Lorna, why didn’t you answer my letter?’
Lorna felt suddenly faint. ‘What letter? I didn’t get a letter.’
‘I wrote to you – on my mother’s ancient Basildon Bond paper – an old-fashioned letter. I did have to make up the address rather and didn’t have a postcode, but I thought it would have reached you.’
Lorna shook her head. ‘There’s another house in the village with a very similar address. It’s a holiday home so the people are hardly ever there.’
Jack groaned. ‘So it’s probably lying on a doorstep in among all the curry-house menus and DIY store adverts.’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘It probably is.’ Just knowing he’d written, really tried to get in touch, made a huge difference.
‘I didn’t think you ever wanted to see me again. Anthea said I wasn’t to worry, she’d sort it out, but I wasn’t convinced. Especially when she was so insistent on keeping it a secret that I was repairing the statues.’
Lorna didn’t answer straightaway. ‘I probably did give her the impression that I never wanted to see you again.’ She looked up at him, unable to read his expression with the moon behind him. ‘I felt so desperately embarrassed about you having that drawing. And when I’d had time to get over it a bit I sent you a text. And then an email.’
‘Which I didn’t get—’
‘And then I went to your workshop to ask about you. They said you’d been to France and were on leave. They didn’t know when you’d be back. I was resigned never to seeing you again.’
‘So you wanted to see me then,’ he said eagerly. ‘What about now?’
She found she couldn’t speak.
‘I’m rushing you,’ said Jack. ‘You need to get used to the idea of me again.’ He gestured to the garden. ‘This garden is amazing. I couldn’t believe it when Anthea told me how you’d discovered it, and how you’d done all this, starting from a jungle. It’s almost unbelievable.’
She laughed ruefully. ‘Everything looks better in moonlight.’
‘I expect that’s what you’ll say if I tell you that you look amazing, too.’
She nodded. She felt very self-conscious. The sensuousness of her surroundings had rather gone to her head. As he didn’t speak, but just looked at her, she felt obliged to go on. ‘Shall I give you a tour? And you can show me the statues.’
Together they walked along the oyster-shell paths, which shone white in the moonlight, between flowers bleached of their colour, matching the paths.
By the time they reached the grotto Lorna felt almost drunk with it all. She imagined the creator of this garden coming out on her own at night, to indulge herself in the loveliness, secret and special.
‘Let’s look at the grotto,’ she said, bringing herself back down to earth. She was finding the combination of the garden and Jack’s presence almost too much for her.
She got out her torch for although the moonlight had been enough outside, it wouldn’t penetrate the stone walls of the grotto.
‘Just a minute. Before we go inside, I have to do this,’ said Jack, and took her into his arms. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
After a moment’s awkwardness she relaxed. She felt herself melt into him, like wax pouring into a mould. She sighed: at last she was where she belonged.
He seemed to feel the same because it was only when a pheasant squawked in the hedge nearby that they broke apart.
Lorna held on to him to steady herself. ‘Come on, just a quick look.’
‘We can do that tomorrow, surely?’ said Jack.
‘No, I must check it. Then I can really relax.’ She gave him a look she was ha
lf glad he couldn’t properly see. She knew it was full of desire and invitation and she wasn’t quite ready for him to know how much she wanted him. Not just yet.
The entrance to the grotto was dark and she shone her torch into it. There was no door, just an arch of shells. Over the entrance were initials picked out in ammonites: ‘A’ and ‘S’, the letters entwined. Lorna shone her torch at them, proud of the work and time she had put into them.
‘We needn’t be long,’ she said, ‘I just want to be sure it’s OK.’ She was still worried about using that domestic filler. ‘I want to see the statues too.’
‘They are very beautiful, I must say. Now—’
Lorna stepped across the threshold and gasped in horror. All the shells she had so painstakingly placed on the ceiling had fallen and there was a pile of them on the floor of the grotto. ‘Oh no! I can’t bear it. I spent so long, took so much trouble copying the design from the plan Anthea and I found.’ She put her hands up to her face but then allowed Jack to take her into his arms, hugging her to him. Tiredness, emotion, disappointment and shock meant she started to weep.
‘Come on,’ Jack breathed into her hair. ‘I know it’s awful when your work gets damaged but it’s not the end of the world. Come on now, let me take you home. We’ll sort this out in the morning.’
She stopped crying. It went so against the grain with her to cry on the chest of a man. She pulled herself together. ‘I need a cup of tea.’
‘You need something far stronger than that. And a bath. Let me look after you. I’ve had a lot of practice at looking after people lately. Let me show off my skills.’
He led her gently to his car.
‘I can’t believe I’ve been so pathetic,’ she said. ‘I’m not a crier – not over things like that. I’m just very tired.’
‘And a bit shocked, maybe. Having me jump out at you from behind a tree.’
This made her laugh and feel a bit better. ‘That too! I’m sorry to miss the statues – do you think we should go back and look now?’
‘Certainly not. You can see them in the morning.’
‘You don’t think they’ll look better by moonlight? Like everything else?’
