Flowers for the Gardener

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Not that he was ready to tackle the matter, despite possible benefits. Didn’t care to. How was he to worry about the garden when the house remained awful? Still, he didn’t intend to stay, so why care? If he could persuade his mother to move, the designs would be pointless, unless William and Ethan remained on the estate. Unlikely, though, for new owners to take them on as part of the package and Rich had other proposals to put to them, besides.

  Hmm…Something to ponder there. Had he chosen to study this material and did he long to put new procedures into action because of what happened between him and Ethan? If his reasons went beyond mere concepts, did his longing have less to do with being frugal or having sense, than his feelings?

  Not as though he wanted to please Ethan. Not solely. No. This didn’t have anything to do with pleasing Ethan. Rich had never liked him. Sexual appeal wasn’t the same as liking, and a fondness for the gardener was pointless. To indulge his fancy meant overcoming much. His mother, for one, plus many ensuing complications.

  If she discovered his involvement with Ethan would she inform the board of directors? His sexuality shouldn’t carry any bearing on his ability to run the company, but nothing was ever simple in the real world. He didn’t need to add bigotry to his countless concerns. The desire to prove oneself to relatives distressed him enough. An entire team had looked to his father to lead them—the same people who now placed their expectations on him. He didn’t grasp how to be chairman, or managing director, not of a marketing company, and his father had been both. The upcoming meeting brought acid to the back of his throat. To avoid talking, Rich popped a whole cracker in his mouth. With luck, the dry and brittle texture would soak up the stress threatening to give him an ulcer.

  Desperate to think of something else, a vision of dark hair and eyes popped to the forefront of his mind. Not advisable while his mother at last crossed the room and took a seat opposite, and Rich, now trapped, unable to leave until his erection subsided.

  What did she want? Strange, but thinking of Ethan helped him to stay calm. His mother didn’t know what occupied his mind, though she would not be pleased considering the many more important things Rich had to contend with than his dalliance with an employee.

  Difficult to say which was worse: the idea of explaining his sexuality to Ruby, or confessing to how hot Ethan was. No way would she approve of him dating someone working-class. Not that he should call what he and Ethan did dating. Ruby had nothing to worry about—no way was Ethan interested in anything serious. Not with Rich.

  His mother gave him a pointed look, which he ignored by putting still more food than was comfortable in a single swallow into his mouth. If she still wanted him to reply he’d stall as long as possible.

  While he chewed, more thoughts tormented him, such as Ethan congratulating himself at having bedded his employer, nothing more. Or worse. In no way, to date, did the man’s actions hint at ulterior motives but life taught Rich not to trust—a lesson learned in boarding school and under his mother’s watchful gaze more than anywhere else. As he couldn’t rule out the possibility Ethan might use the fact of them having sex against him, the sensible thing would be to pre-empt Ethan. Tell her now.

  No way in hell. The woman sitting across the table gave him the most cause to be suspicious. Ruby Gardener hid her motives well. Right back to his childhood.

  The memory of the Christmas she gave him every hint he would find what he most wanted under the tree, remained vibrant. As he tore the wrapping off his gift, he had swallowed down a hurt so large it threatened to sever his vocal cords. She saw it in his eyes, though, revealed by the way she smiled. No way to recall what toy struck him as so important now, but he remembered the ploy. Better she refused than to pretend to fulfil a dream, a wish, and wrap up an empty promise.

  Later, tucking him into bed, she told him her gift that year was a warning not to trust anyone and a lesson in how to handle disappointment. What kind of mother packaged a parcel to disguise it as the thing he wanted?

  The joke was on her. Rich learned. He dealt with the sadness, the displeasure, and the unfulfilled hopes. He had lowered his expectations and approached his parents with weariness and mistrust ever since.

  That day he’d stopped fearing her, without realising, until later, not having known until then of his terror, trying to win her approval with everything he did. From that moment, his choices became a military strategy, fooling the enemy into believing he trod the designated path. He almost looked forward to telling her he was gay but refused to be rushed—he would choose when and how. When doing so became important, and after he told his sister—the one person in the world he always trusted and always would.

  A few minutes had passed in silence. Unable to work out what went on in Ruby’s mind, Rich met her stare, uncaring what she read in his expression, for once willing to show her his lack of concern. They both wore masks and while another couple of minutes ticked by, the camouflage held.

  Ruby. An artist at maintaining meticulous facades. He might not keep it together in front of Ethan, but where Ruby was concerned, Rich had learned how. The woman sat across from him in mourning but only those who knew her well might recognise the signs.

  Loss of weight. Dark circles around her eyes. The often unfocused gaze. The creases surrounding her mouth more corrugated by the day as she held her lips in a permanent pinch. At no time before had the age difference between his parents seemed so pronounced, his father’s death adding years in a matter of days to Ruby Gardener’s face and body. She sat as upright as always but shrunk into herself. Did he see fine hair on her upper lip? Had it always existed? If so, she let herself go. Powder flecked her skin, and her blush appeared uneven. Her personal grooming suffered—a sure sign more went on with her than she wished to admit. One thing he didn’t doubt was she had loved his father.

  A sense of compassion flared, not for the first, unwelcome time. Did his mother ever experience such empathy for him, or for Saffie? If she did, she hid her feelings.

  As if she knew his mind turned to his sister, his mother blurted out, “Sapphire’s home this weekend.”

  “Oh?” Did she sit there all this time gathering courage to tell him? If so, why? Did she think to upset him? He longed to see his sister. The day and a bit Saffie spent at home for the funeral didn’t count, and provided little opportunity to talk. Besides, the timing…Sapphire giving every sign she couldn’t tolerate an important discussion. Not about Rich’s life. Not about hers. Nothing concerning the future while she mourned.

  Surprised him how broken his sister was over their father’s passing, because she stayed away whenever possible. Like their mother, she concealed her emotions well. For hurt feelings. Out-spoken, loud, obnoxious. Sapphire was all those, but when upset or sad, she often retreated. Frequently after a blazing argument. This time she’d told him she needed time no matter how short. No reason to tell Ruby he already knew of Saffie’s return.

  Not liking his thoughts, Rich concentrated on lunch, munching another cracker this time with cheese, enjoying the salty flavour. One small mercy, was cheese; something he never failed to savour.

  An idea formed of him and Ethan sharing a picnic of excellent wine, cheese, and olives. He would lick any of those things from Ethan’s skin.

  Rich pushed the rumination aside. Wandering thoughts and random desires would only add to his problems.

  “She said so.” His mother waved an imperious hand, speaking as if the silence between this sentence and her declaration never happened. “But you simply cannot trust what the girl will do.”

  Untrue. While Sapphire didn’t make it to every occasion, or keep to all her arrangements, she turned up when someone was ill, dropping everything to make a mad and sometimes dangerous dash to their side. She would overcome snowdrifts and rising floods to reach home when needed. Sapphire wasn’t always dependable except in an emergency.

  His mother transferred a slice of the mildest cheese from the board to a plate and ate it with a plain piece of b
read. Did she live her entire life this way? Flavourless?

  Shock froze him as, while he loved her, Rich accepted he didn’t like his mother much. Had always known, of course, but this became the deciding moment when he acknowledged the truth. The acceptance highlighted why he chose not to yet tell his mother he was gay, and it had nothing to do with avoiding an argument.

  Rich didn’t care enough to want to tell her.

  Sweet juice burst on his tongue as he chewed a single grape, allowing his emotions to develop, to expand. He…enjoyed her not knowing, his being gay the one thing separate from his life here. The single most important facet of his personality he kept to himself. The need to tell her loomed, but for now, he sat back, blowing out a breath, relieved. He now knew he’d have no problem doing so when the time came. Until that day, keeping his sexuality private made him happy. He longed to share with one person. To his amazement, the person happened to be Ethan.

  * * * *

  To prevent water-logging, Ethan set the pot on ceramic ‘feet’. A whole wheelbarrow two-thirds full of spring bulbs awaited his attention. Though he had planted a lot earlier, the work still threatened to get away from him. A glance at the sky as he stood and brushed his hands on his thighs should have filled him with joy. Not a bad day for the time of year. No real frost yet. One freezing day the whole week, on an afternoon he spent in the sauna with Richard Gardener. Nice to use it as an excuse for his being behind, but a couple of hours made little difference.

  “Don’t nag, Dad. I got two of the beds planted and I pruned the roses.” Still needed to cover the delicate plants, those requiring protection during the winter with garden fleece. Last evening, he had worked on and stayed out late topping up the bird food. The old cow up at the house didn’t even take care of that little job. If she had her way, she’d stop feeding them altogether, because of the expense. So far the family brushed aside her suggestion feed was one area where they should cut costs. The old biddy didn’t need the money. Why were the richest people always the tightest?

  Not a question easy to answer, so better to concentrate on work. His next jobs to see out the month included putting the last of the bulbs in the ground. There’d been no bonfire this year, cancelled by Ruby Gardener. Likely, she would never want one now her husband was gone. Not as he ever attended.

  Once upon a time, they fired up two. His father made all the arrangements for Guy Fawkes, one of the rare evenings Ethan spent time with Richard when young. The boy would wander down from the house with his parents’ approval. They never came with him. Ruby Gardener thought the whole tradition childish. Ethan had missed the fire this time, though Richard hadn’t been home for many years.

  Little wonder the man wormed under his skin. No matter how much Ethan resented him, the adult appreciated much of what he once took to be aloofness was nothing more than a boy who didn’t know how to be anything but solitary. His hanging out with them, but standing to one side on bonfire night, was Richard’s lack of ability to join in. Every bonfire since, Ethan had spared a thought for Richard.

  His ever raising a hand to the man in violence sat ill with Ethan now, but how to apologise? Their…relationship, such as it was, reached new and peculiar heights.

  Stop wallowing.

  Didn’t accomplish anything, didn’t get bulbs planted. Unless Richard avoided him—and they must run into each other—Ethan needed to deal with whatever happened next. If he managed to find out how Richard felt, there might be a point to examining his own emotions. Until then…More sex appealed but not if it always had to be so desperate, so…fierce, almost. More than anything, he longed to remove the lost and haunted quality to Richard’s gaze.

  A cold wind kissed his neck, imagination changing the breeze into Richard’s lips. Did the man ever kiss as gently? More pointless wondering, none of which got the work done. A twinge of guilt made him glance around in case anyone watched. The bulbs rustled, stirred by the wind, but somehow accusing. Ethan bent and grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow.

  Two hours later, he planted the last. After putting the barrow away, he headed back to the staff house. Time for a break. He scraped off his wellies by the back door, stepped out of them and left them outside, walking in thick socks to the kitchen. “Right. First a cuppa, then what’s next?”

  The answer came from his father’s meticulous lists. Skipping lunch and working into the evening the previous day meant he’d almost caught up. Though he blinked at the list, certain he’d missed something, the ache in his shoulders said otherwise. Though November’s schedule was not yet clear, he must get ahead and make a start on a few things lined up for December. No doubt, the exhaustion would set in by the weekend but might be worth it to ease the workload and to make some free time.

  The greenhouse heaters, would be a grand idea to check those, and he still needed to hear from Ruby Gardener concerning what she wanted to do about a Christmas tree this year. An excuse to talk to Richard maybe.

  “Always late, isn’t she, Dad?”

  Like always and with no need to say a thing, his father agreed.

  * * * *

  As soon as his mother took her leave, Rich went up to what used to be his father’s study. Now his, though Rich needed a reminder every time he stepped inside. Easing into the leather chair always took several seconds of adjustment. A stranger experience to use his dad’s phone—no one ever took a call in here when the man lived. The ghost of his father’s voice told him to get off the line, but Rich ignored it, wishing he hadn’t several minutes later when he stumbled into trouble convincing the secretary on the other end, yes, he was Richard Gardener, the new Chairman wanting to speak to the current Managing Director, the man who stepped up when Rich’s father died. When she at last believed him, she acted like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell, an analogy he rather liked.

  “There’s a meeting arranged for—”

  “And you think I don’t know?” God. He sounded like his father for a second there, but he resented the implication he was going senile. Even his father hadn’t been old.

  “If you wait one moment, I’ll try to put you through.”

  If the staff at the company he now owned intended to treat him like this, maybe his mother was right and he ought to step up. The attitude, beyond disrespectful, stung, even though he didn’t want the job.

  “Sorry about that, sir,” Christopher Talbot said the moment he came on the line.

  Rich’s left eye developed a tic. He hated the ‘sir’, yet was distracted because the man’s name forever made him question whether Talbot grew hair and howled on nights when the moon shone full. Rich’s appreciation of old black and white horror films, aside, Talbot also sounded like he barked when he laughed.

  “No one expected to hear from you until our meeting next week and…” The sound of an intake of breath filtered through. “To be blunt, we’re all a little shaken. Thing like this happens and people worry about their jobs.”

  “I appreciate that, though blocking the new chairman never helps.”

  “And I’ll make them take note. They…” Another inhalation came across. Rich didn’t recall the man being asthmatic. Nervous? Frustrated? Not having seen him for ages, made it difficult to tell. “They’re used to things being done a certain way—the way your father did them. He would call me direct on my mobile. You came through on the main line, and it confused some otherwise intelligent personnel.”

  “I didn’t realise. And I don’t…” Rich fished through his papers. “No, I don’t have your mobile.”

  “Oh…I assumed your mother would pass it on with all the paperwork.”

  “It’s possible I’ve not seen it. There’s a ton.” The explanation was a mere excuse. More likely, his mother retained the number herself. Though she wanted him to take charge, she kept her own agenda, one of the reasons for his ringing. “If you give it to me now…”

  “Of course.”

  Rich jotted down the digits. “About our meeting next week…”

  “I�
��ve cleared the entire day and allowed for breaks so your mother—”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Do you think we can meet more informally beforehand? Just you and me?”

  The intake of air this time sounded low and drawn out. There occurred what many might refer to as a weighty silence.

  “It’s not…impossible. May I ask…?”

  “Why? I’ll explain when I see you. Let me say I’m concerned for the strain on my mother’s health.”

  “I understand.”

  Positive the man didn’t, Rich nevertheless let it go. “I prefer to do things a little more relaxed than my father did and although my mother is struggling with anyone but her husband running the business, I am the chairman now, not her.”

  “Of course.”

  “So we’re agreed? I propose…Tuesday of next week?”

  “I can make it happen…in the afternoon? Or if you’d rather we keep things casual, we can meet outside of the office over lunch. I’ll book a table and suggest a suitable restaurant where I linger over business if need be. I can make the reservation and email you the details.”

  “Please do.” It appeared he and Christopher understood one another and, if the man kept his word, maybe they would manage to get along.

  * * * *

  The sun later drew Rich once more out into the garden with one considerable difference. This time he wore sensible shoes and a coat. A perfect sky greeted him with not a cloud in sight. A warm orange glow highlighted the horizon.

  His mother took another nap, earlier than usual, and though her growing tendency to sleep worried him, today his gratitude at having a few hours of peace outweighed his concern. Determined to enjoy some time away from the paperwork, he set off around the perimeter of the estate.

  Pity almost everything died back this time of year. The dogwoods, though, every garden needed those. The deep red, bright green and yellow-tipped orange sticks of various varieties, now devoid of leaves, provided excellent autumn and winter colour. As he walked on, he came across more pruned plants. He remembered the shrubs and glanced back in case he overlooked some. Had the flowering one always been there? The rich pink buds opened out to blush white flowers. Rather lovely. He should ask Ethan the name of the plant.