‘Was it your husband?’ I smiled softly. ‘Did he love coming here?’
‘It wasn’t my husband,’ she answered swiftly, fixing her doleful eyes on my face. ‘I was in love with Hugo Carmichael.’
Thirty-eight
Shock registered in my voice. ‘Hugo?’ I sank into the chair beside her.
A deep sigh escaped the lady. ‘When I was just a young woman, he gave me a job here, assisting the gardeners. I was a tomboy as a girl, you see. Loved the fresh air and helping my father in his allotment.’ She took another sip of tea. ‘He taught me all about the plants and the soil, how to grow vegetables, and I became more and more interested in horticulture. One day, my girlfriend and I thought we’d come to Glenlovatt for a wander.’
Recollection warmed her blue eyes. ‘I was only about twenty at the time. It was a gorgeous spring day in April 1959. There were snowdrops bursting out of the ground and the sky was ocean blue.’ She swallowed, but carried on. ‘Enid and I were walking near the edge of the formal gardens when I heard two men talking.’ She raised a wobbly finger. ‘They were just over there, by the clumps of heather.’
My eyes followed to where she was pointing.
Her hand travelled to her chest and sat there against the lavender wool of her jumper. ‘I didn’t know who Hugo was at the time but it turned out he was asking one of his gardeners for some advice.’ Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment. ‘He was so handsome, with that dash of dark hair and a lovely smile.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, engrossed.
‘Well, he was asking the other chap what he could do to revive a peace lily. His gardener didn’t seem to have a clue, though. Before I could stop myself, I politely interrupted their conversation and suggested Hugo saturate the soil if it was dry, then ensure the excess water could drain away from the plant and only give it water when the soil dried out and the plant recovered.’ She blushed for a moment. ‘Sorry, I’m wittering on.’
‘No, you’re not. What did Hugo say?’
She gave a little chuckle. ‘I could tell he was impressed. I don’t think his gardener was too happy, though, being undermined by a young slip of a thing, and a woman at that. Awarded me a right frosty glare, he did.’ Her expression became softer. ‘Hugo and I had a chat about the gardens and then, before I knew it, he was offering me a job as assistant gardener.’
I rested my chin on my hand. ‘Please go on.’
The lady’s chest heaved. ‘Truth be told, I fell in love with Hugo Carmichael that first moment I set eyes on him. And when I started working for him here at Glenlovatt, my feelings grew.’ Oblivious to the rattling cups and murmured conversations taking place around us, the woman continued. ‘I never told him, of course. That just wasn’t the done thing.’
‘Do you think he knew? That you were in love with him?’
‘No,’ she said, clearly shocked by the suggestion. ‘I hid it well—or, at least, I tried to.’ A wistful look came into her eyes. ‘And even if I told him how I felt, we were poles apart.’ A darker edge appeared to her voice. ‘That father of his, the old laird, would never have allowed it anyway.’
My heart ached for her. ‘So what happened then?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied simply. ‘Nothing happened, except about a year after I started working for him, Hugo became engaged.’
‘That must have been terrible for you,’ I sympathised, the very thought of Vaughan doing the same thing sending a pain jabbing squarely into my heart.
‘It was just as awful for him,’ she concluded as she sipped the last of her tea. ‘Lachlan, Hugo’s father, had him married off to Madeleine Tennant.’ She contorted her lips at the memory. ‘She was a right madam.’
Madeleine Tennant, I repeated to myself silently. Gordon’s mother.
‘When Hugo and Madeleine announced their engagement I left his employment and moved to London. I couldn’t bear the thought of staying, seeing them together day after day.’ She smiled absently. ‘I lived in London for a long time. Got myself a job doing gardening in a couple of city parks.’ She laced her fingers together, a pale gold wedding band on her left hand. ‘I met my husband, Eric, there. When he passed away six months ago, my niece suggested I move back up to Fairview to be with her.’ Sadness clouded her features. ‘I did think about coming to see him once I’d returned and got myself settled. Silly, really, I suppose.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Oh, how I wish I had!’ she blurted, rattling her teacup. ‘When Janet, my niece, told me about Hugo’s passing, I couldn’t believe it. Even at our age’s you still sometimes believe you have time on your side.’ She stared wistfully out at the grey sky. ‘I decided then that I had to come back to Glenlovatt, even though I knew the memories would be painful ones.’ She looked down at the table. ‘I just wish I could let Hugo know that I never forgot him.’
A kernel of an idea began to form. ‘Tell you what, I think I might have a suggestion.’
We arranged an informal ceremony for first thing on the Friday morning.
The woman, who had told me her name was Nancy Stewart, requested that her chosen tree, a red oak, be placed close to the mausoleum, and Gordon agreed that was entirely appropriate.
To protect Nancy, I’d massaged the facts a little, saying she was a former gardener on the estate (true) and that she simply wanted to pay her respects to Hugo (also true). Possibly Gordon and Vaughan suspected there was a little more to the story but they were tactful enough not to enquire further.
Hugo would have loved this clear autumn morning on the Glenlovatt estate. There was an orchestra of birdsong as we congregated at Hugo’s final resting place.
Morven and I made an executive decision not to open Thistles until later that morning, so that Nancy’s tree-planting would happen without interruption. We had organised a little private gathering in the tea room afterwards.
At Gordon’s insistence, Travis was despatched in the Daimler to collect Nancy from her niece’s house in Fairview. She arrived at Glenlovatt in a black swing coat with red trim on the collar. Dark patent shoes shone on her feet. After meeting Gordon, she nervously glanced around.
‘Hello, Nancy. You’re looking lovely.’
Her smile was shaky. ‘Thank you, Lara. You too.’
Her cloudy eyes examined Morven, Becky and Jess in turn. ‘You’re all looking so smart.’
I’d opted for a navy blue shift with a slim white belt and had piled my hair up. Becky’s pink hair, pulled off her face in a tight ponytail, added a flash of colour to her black cotton dress. Morven stood beside me in a sharp navy trouser suit, her hair pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck, while Jess had opted for an aubergine top and skirt with a dark fitted jacket, her chestnut hair in a neat plait.
Nancy raised her eyes to the sky. Patchy clouds scudded across the turrets of Glenlovatt. ‘Did the tree arrive safely?’
‘Of course it did,’ beamed Gordon. ‘We made sure of it.’
Vaughan took Nancy’s hand warmly. ‘Grandpa would be very honoured you wanted to do this.’
Nancy’s mouth quivered but she managed a weak smile.
Travis, also looking dapper in a black suit, directed one of Glenlovatt’s gardeners to approach, a small wrought-iron trailer behind him, the wheels clicking and spinning on the cream path. When Nancy saw the tree in the trailer under the dappled rays of watery sunlight, she simply nodded and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
Vaughan’s brows knitted and he whispered to me, ‘She wasn’t just an employee of my grandfather’s, was she?’
‘What makes you say that?’ I asked innocently.
He smoothed his dove grey silk tie. ‘Nancy looks every bit as devastated as my dad did when we lost Mum.’ He eyed me carefully. ‘She was in love with Grandfather, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Yes, she was.’
‘Did they . . ?’
‘Oh no! Nothing like that. He never knew how she felt. She never told him.’
Vaughan studi
ed Nancy as she stood nervously, her gaze never straying far from the mausoleum that reared up majestically in front of us.
‘After Hugo became engaged to your grandmother,’ I explained quietly, ‘Nancy was heartbroken and left Fairview altogether. She took herself off to London and only moved back recently.’
Vaughan’s blue eyes were thoughtful. ‘I see,’ he said, gazing into mine. ‘You’re a real romantic, Lara McDonald.’
‘I know,’ I sighed.
He moved his mouth closer to my ear, ‘I’ve got to go away on business this afternoon, but I’ll be back in time for our dinner tomorrow.’ He leaned closer. ‘I can’t wait.’
Excitement coursed through my body. I pulled myself together when Gordon emitted a polite cough. ‘I know this is a small gathering,’ he said, ‘but the people here are the ones who either knew my father or have been of invaluable help since we lost him.’
He aimed an encouraging smile at me, Morven, Jess, and Becky, who flushed under her strawberry locks. ‘Nancy was a valued employee at Glenlovatt and wanted to mark Hugo’s passing by planting a special tree to commemorate his life.’
Gordon raised a hand and the gardener tenderly lifted the tree from the trailer onto the carpet of grass in front of us, beside a carefully prepared hole. The tree had smooth and silvery grey bark, and slender branches.
‘Nancy’s choice of tree is a red oak,’ Gordon explained. ‘She thought this particular species was suitable not only because of its vibrant colour but also because it takes twenty years to flower, and another twenty years to produce a good crop of acorns.’ Nancy bowed her head when Gordon added, ‘In a sense, the red oak is like Hugo: it simply gets better with age.’
A murmur of agreement buzzed round our small throng and Travis nodded solemnly. ‘Before we plant the tree,’ Gordon concluded, ‘would you like to say a few words, Nancy?’
She appealed to me silently. ‘Go on,’ I mouthed.
Nancy pursed her lips and stepped forwards. She stole another glance over her shoulder at Hugo’s final resting place, with its proud blue and yellow Carmichael family crest.
‘Thank you so much for today,’ she faltered. ‘Thank you all.’ She drew a ragged breath. ‘When my niece told me about Hugo passing away, I didn’t want to believe it. I knew he was ninety, but when someone like him leaves the world, it really does have an impact.’ She raised her jaw a little. ‘I was only in his employment for a year, but during that time I came to realise what a kind, positive and intelligent man he was.’ Nancy searched the middle distance for a few moments. ‘I never forgot him,’ she confessed, her forlorn eyes coming to rest on mine, ‘and I never will.’
Then she simply lowered her head again.
Gordon cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Nancy, for those lovely words.’ Then he bent down and grasped the handle of the spade the gardener had passed him. ‘Right, let’s get this tree settled in.’
‘Then it’s back to Thistles for some tea and cake,’ Becky confirmed, slipping her arm around Nancy’s shoulders.
Vaughan’s hand searched out mine and we walked up to Nancy. He towered over the petite woman like he was a huge oak tree himself. ‘Nancy, you are welcome to come to Glenlovatt and visit Hugo any time you like.’
She smiled warmly up at him before asking, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re almost as handsome as your grandfather?’
Thirty-nine
‘Oooh what’s that?’ asked Morven, pulling the colour catalogue across the top of the cake counter later that day.
‘A sales rep came in earlier. There’s some lovely stuff in there.’
Morven was intrigued. ‘Like what?’
‘Oh, you know, embroidered table napkins; coasters; printed chiffon scarves; fancy stationery . . .’
Morven flicked through the glossy pages of the catalogue. ‘Pity there isn’t a gift shop in Glenlovatt,’ she mused. ‘I think some of these products would sell well here.’
I sprinkled some chocolate on a cappuccino. ‘I think you’re right.’
The afternoon rolled past on a hectic tide of sugar-starved ramblers and a coachload of elderly holiday-makers from Newcastle. The second group from the coach had just returned from their guided tour of Glenlovatt with Mrs Baylis, eager to be fed and watered.
‘Excuse me,’ blustered a woman from the group. ‘Did you happen to see one of our gentlemen leave the tea room just now?’
Morven, Becky and I shook our heads in unison. ‘No, sorry,’ I apologised. ‘But we have been a bit distracted with customers.’
The woman’s wide-set blue eyes registered rising concern. ‘Oh dear. He’s wearing a blue and green chequered scarf and a black full-length coat. He’s got receding grey hair. His name’s Mr Stelling. Norman Stelling.’
Morven’s face was sympathetic. ‘Sorry, no. Is there a problem?’
The woman, presumably the tour organiser, heaved a sigh. ‘He gets a bit confused at times,’ she admitted. ‘Norman has a tendency to wander off if he isn’t chaperoned.’
‘Would you like me to go and have a look for him with you?’ offered Morven. ‘If that’s okay with you, Lara?’
‘Yes, of course. We’ll cope in here. I’ll let you both know straight away if he comes back.’
The woman gave a smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you so much.’
Morven guided the concerned woman towards the door.
‘Actually, perhaps I’ll pop out into the grounds again,’ the woman suggested. ‘Norman’s a keen gardener at home, so there’s a fair chance he’ll have wandered back outside.’
‘And I’ll check round here,’ said Morven, her leopard-print pumps turning into the hall. As she left the tea room I could hear her calling out Mr Stelling’s name over and over, her voice ringing against the walls.
The tour organiser was soon back with a bemused Mr Stelling in tow. ‘I was right about where he was,’ she said with a smile. ‘Norman was having a lovely time admiring the flowers.’
I gave the man’s arm a gentle pat. ‘As long as you’re alright, sir.’
Norman beamed through a set of yellowing teeth. ‘Oh, I’m perfectly fine, thank you. I was having a nice walk before she came and dragged me back in here.’
The woman pushed a strand of white hair back from her face. ‘Well, you might not need another cuppa but I most certainly do.’ Sliding me a sideways grin, she announced, ‘In fact, if you had anything stronger, I could be persuaded.’
I smiled. ‘Coming right up—the tea, that is.’
‘Thank you so much again for all your help,’ said the tour organiser. ‘I hope your friend isn’t still looking for Norman in the house?’
Where had Morven got to, anyway? At that very moment she came bustling back in from the hall, a look of pure excitement on her flushed face.
‘Ah, there you are,’ I exclaimed. ‘I was just about to send out the search party. Mr Stelling was in the garden all along.’
‘What? Oh, yes, of course,’ said Morven distractedly. ‘I thought as much. Listen, you won’t believe what I just found.’ She pulled me aside to the barista station, barely able to contain whatever her news was.
She told me that, searching along the hallway, she had rapped on a couple of doors before popping her head into the rooms to check. One was a storage room, cluttered with spare jackets, discarded wellingtons and assorted hats, but no Mr Stelling. She had moved on to the next door a few feet down. ‘It was a second storeroom,’ she explained, ‘this one with a couple of old grey filing cabinets, and a wooden table and chair.’ She’d hurried on and found a third, final, door at the end of the corridor, but the handle on this one wouldn’t budge at all. What if the missing man had stumbled in there and had collapsed against the back of the door?
‘Now I was really worried,’ Morven said, ‘especially when I tried the door again and it opened slightly but not all the way.’ Silently apologising to the Carmichael family for any damage she might do, Morven had placed one hand on the door and the other on the han
dle. With a fierce grunt, she pushed the weight of her body against the dark panelled door until it surrendered and swung open, dragging Morven in with it.
She had fallen into the room and dusted down her jeans. At least there was no injured or confused pensioner in need of assistance. ‘It was then that I took in the layout of the room and I had an idea,’ she grinned excitedly at me. ‘I’ve got to show the room to you after we close up this afternoon.’
Morven led me out of a now empty tea room and down the corridor.
‘I don’t know what you’ll think,’ she said, ‘but I can definitely see possibilities with it.’ Her flats tapped faster as she neared the door. ‘It’s not huge but it’s a decent size, and there’s a small window at the end. It looks as though it might have been used at one time to store tools.’ Morven beckoned me in. ‘And that shelf running down the right-hand side could be used as a counter.’
I stepped in front of her and poked my head into the space. ‘This house is like an Aladdin’s cave,’ I laughed. ‘You think you know all there is to know about it and then it produces another surprise.’ I looked around, taking in the window view of a side hedge and a couple of apple blossom trees. ‘So, are you going to tell me your idea for this room then?’
Morven clasped her hands. ‘What would you think if I suggested this room be a gift shop?’
I felt a warm glow. ‘I think that sounds a terrific idea. Obviously we’d have to run it past the Carmichaels but I’d be surprised if they didn’t go for it.’
‘You think?’
‘Why not?’
Morven twirled around in the centre of the room, like a ballerina. ‘We could start off just stocking a few items and see how it goes.’
I pointed at the shelving. ‘The basics are already in here. All it needs is a good clean, some stock and we’re ready to go.’
‘Now don’t get me wrong, Lara. I’ve got no intention of leaving Thistles, or you, high and dry. I just thought it might bring in a bit more revenue.’
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