‘Miss Price. The elusive Miss Price.’ He sounded highly amused. ‘You’ve been a difficult one to track down.’
Daisy pushed her hair out of her face as she walked up the hill towards Cavendish Lane. She didn’t want to ask, but –
‘I’ve got some good news for you. Better for your parents, I suppose, but I think we could agree it’s a very satisfactory ending all round.’
Get on with it, thought Daisy.
‘We’ve had an offer on the house, from a Mr and Mrs Grey.’
Daisy stopped dead in the street. A couple who’d been walking closely behind her tutted in irritation as they shifted to avoid a collision. She took a step sideways, leaning against the window of the craft gallery. Her legs were feeling peculiar.
‘But – what about Stephen O’Hara? The redevelopment?’
‘The Greys have topped the figure the O’Haras were willing to pay for the property. We’ve had some other offers, as you know, but nothing that came close to the figure the developers were willing to pay.’
‘But how – where?’
‘They saw the house when they came through with their children to the Open Gardens, apparently. Very nice couple, three small children. He’s something in the city, so you can imagine . . .’ Mike Redforth’s voice trailed off, suggestive of vast fortunes and untold wealth. ‘They love the house and the gardens, you’ll be happy to hear.’
She was only half-listening as Mike Redforth rattled on about timescales and indications, completion dates and exchanges. The other half of her mind was trying to recall the legalities of house purchasing in the UK, which hadn’t been one of her specialist subjects until recently.
‘But isn’t this completely illegal?’ Daisy had a sudden recollection of newspaper articles about the horrors of gazumping.
‘Unethical, yes, if the original offer was still in place. But when I spoke to Mr O’Hara this morning, he said they weren’t sure they were going to proceed. Too much opposition locally, he said.’
Daisy’s legs went on strike. She slid down the wall, sitting on the pavement, knees tucked up to her chest, the phone to her ear.
The fight – the fight she’d started, then given up on, thinking it was hopeless – in the end, they’d won.
‘I did try and ring you earlier to let you know. But as we know, you’re allergic to phone calls.’
Daisy closed her eyes, seeing the flashing digits of the answering machine in her mind.
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ He sounded slightly injured.
‘Oh God.’ Daisy opened her eyes again, looking down Main Street, imagining the garden of Orchard Villa filled with children’s noise and laughter, just as Thomas had described it. ‘I am. I really am.’
‘Oh,’ said Mike Redforth, laughing now, just as Daisy opened her mouth to say goodbye, ‘and they’re looking for a gardener. You don’t happen to know anyone, do you?’
Elaine’s house was silent when Daisy got to the front door. Peering through the window, she could make out some shapes at the far end of the garden. She rang the doorbell again, hoping someone might hear her before giving up and banging on the side gate, which swung open.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’ Elaine was wearing a pair of blue flip-flops, barbecue tongs in one hand. She’d changed into a pair of surprisingly brief denim shorts, showing off toned, slim legs which had previously been hidden beneath slightly starchy headmaster’s-wife cigarette pants. A blue-striped apron was tied around her waist. She looked amazing. She leaned across to give Daisy a kiss.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘No problem. Grab a drink.’
A wide metal bucket stood on the patio, filled with ice cubes and stuffed full of bottles of beer and white wine. The barbecue was smoking hot, neat rows of sausages already beginning to spit. Elaine stood turning them, bottle of beer in hand. It was a million miles from their first night here, where they’d sat awkwardly on the chairs in the orangery making stilted conversation.
‘Where’s Jo?’
‘Ah,’ said Elaine, with a conspiratorial smile. She pointed discreetly to the far end of the garden, where their friend stood, her pale hair glowing in the lowering sunlight, deep in conversation with . . .
‘Oh my God.’ Daisy turned to Elaine. ‘Is that – Tom?’
‘Martha’s gone for a sleepover with friends in the next village. He rang when we were leaving the fête to ask if Jo fancied getting together.’
Daisy peered up the garden. Jo and Tom were leaning against the low wall, chatting animatedly. She watched as his arm described an arc before they both bent over, collapsed in laughter.
‘D’you think there might be a happy ending there?’ Daisy turned back to Elaine, picking up a plate which she held out helpfully as her friend stacked the cooked sausages in a heap (again, thought Daisy – the old Elaine would have had them in perfect rows, camera out, photographing everything as evidence of her domestic goddess status).
‘I think there might well be.’ Elaine peeled off the lid from a packet of burgers.
Daisy looked at her, eyebrows shooting upwards. ‘You bought burgers?’
‘I was going to make them this morning but I was otherwise engaged. So shoot me,’ said Elaine with a cheeky grin, clinking her bottle against Daisy’s.
‘I don’t think the Martha stuff’s going to be plain sailing,’ she continued, ‘but y’know, Martha’s a lovely girl. They’ll work it out, the three of them.’
Daisy was still holding onto her own news, waiting for the right moment.
Elaine took a quick glance at her phone, checking the time. ‘Daisy, would you do me a favour, my lovely, and grab the salads from the fridge? I’ve only done a couple.’
Daisy gave her a look.
‘Two salads does not a control freak make, thank you,’ said Elaine, before she could be called out on her latent Martha Stewart tendencies.
‘Only when we’ve got you eating microwave meals for one in front of the Coronation Street omnibus,’ Daisy said, darkly, ‘will the assimilation be complete.’
She ducked, laughing, as Elaine threw an olive at her head as she turned for the kitchen.
‘Get that, will you?’ Elaine shouted through the window of the kitchen as the doorbell chimed. Standing there was a beaming Thomas, a slightly awkward-looking Flora on his arm.
Daisy stood there, not moving.
‘Are you going to let us in, my dear, or are we having a party on the front step?’
‘You said you were going to the pub!’ Daisy looked at Thomas, realizing as she did so that she sounded far ruder than she meant to. Flora smiled at her affectionately.
‘Ah, you don’t want to go listening to old folk like us, Daisy. We get a bit forgetful.’ His eyes sparkled.
‘There you are,’ said Elaine, giving him a kiss. Jo and Tom had made their way down the garden.
‘Tom, this is Daisy,’ Jo, her face suffused with happiness, turned to her new old friend.
‘We’ve met,’ said both Daisy and Tom, laughing, remembering their encounter in the hall of the hideous B&B.
‘If you could call it that,’ said Tom, his Manchester accent still strong despite years spent living and travelling abroad. ‘I’ve heard all about it.’ He turned to Jo, nodding. They looked so comfortable together, and he was so laid-back and relaxed, that it didn’t feel awkward having someone new there at all.
‘Right, everything’s ready. Help yourselves – and grab another drink if you need one.’ Elaine waved a hand in the direction of the huge ice bucket. ‘Thomas, what would you like?’
‘I’ll have a beer, please, my dear.’
They’d finished their main course, everyone so full that they were sitting back, stuffed, when Daisy found the moment to speak.
‘I spoke to the estate agent earlier.’
Jo and Elaine groaned in sympathy. They’d been subjected to the delights of Mike Redforth’s attentions on numerous occasions, and knew he’d been driving Daisy bonkers.
She shook her head
. ‘No, this time it wasn’t bad news. It’s amazing, in fact.’
Elaine leaned forward in anticipation.
‘The O’Haras pulled out of the sale.’ There was a cheer, led by Thomas, who gave Daisy’s hand an affectionate squeeze. Flora beamed at her.
‘But that’s not all. Apparently a couple from London fell in love with the place during Open Gardens weekend. And not only are they buying it for a price that’s made my parents ecstatic – they just happen to be looking for a gardener.’
Jo jumped up, rushing over to Daisy, putting her arms around her. Elaine was a split second behind her. Daisy, lost under a sea of kisses, tried to make herself heard. The girls stepped back, giving her space.
‘Thing is, I’m going to need somewhere to live – my parents have offered to give me some money to help me out and find a place, if I want to stay here in Steeple St John . . .’
‘If you want to stay,’ said Jo, laughing. ‘You’ve not been secretly looking forward to London life all the time you’ve been moaning about it, have you?’
Daisy smiled. Much as she loved her sister, she’d got the impression, when she rang quickly as she made her way along Cavendish Lane, that Miranda was even more relieved not to be adding two extra residents to her little flat.
‘Not that I don’t adore you, Daise,’ Miranda had added, laughing.
‘Likewise,’ Daisy had replied. Having spoken briefly to her delighted parents, she couldn’t quite believe that they had offered to put ‘a little something’ in the bank for both their daughters, just to make sure they had something to fall back on.
‘I’ve decided,’ explained Daisy – it hadn’t taken much thinking, because it was what she’d been dreaming of all along, and somehow, amazingly, it was coming true – ‘that I’m going to use some of the money to set myself up with my own gardening business. Get a decent van that doesn’t conk out on hills like my ancient car. I just need to start advertising for clients.’
‘Well, you’ve already got two,’ said Elaine. ‘Orchard Villa, and – if you’ll have me, I’d be honoured.’
It was Daisy’s turn to hug Elaine in return. ‘I’d love to.’
‘And –’ Elaine began, carefully, ‘I don’t want you to make any decisions right now – think about it. But I’m living in this place, and it’s miles too big for one person. If you’re looking for a flatmate . . .’
Daisy looked up at the beautiful stone of the Old Rectory, glowing in the late summer sun.
‘I’d love to.’
There was a gentle knock at the side gate. Daisy, who’d spent the last hour painfully aware there was one person she wished was there to witness the celebration, felt her stomach flip with nervous anticipation.
‘D’you want to get that?’ asked Elaine, busying herself with the plates. ‘Thomas, why don’t you stay where you are for a moment? I’ll go and get the pudding from the kitchen.’
Jo and Tom looked up briefly from their conversation as Daisy slipped along the terrace, opening the gate to reveal Ned, his sleeves pushed up untidily, sandy hair flopping over one eye. He pushed it back, giving her a brief smile.
‘Daisy, hi.’
‘Are you coming in? We’re just about to have pudding if you’d like – or a beer? Come and have a beer.’ Daisy was talking far too quickly, her heart thumping in her ears so loudly she felt sure he could hear.
Ned straightened his shoulders, looking at her intently. ‘Can’t stay for a beer, I’m on call at ten, but I just wanted to –’
He frowned for a second, as if doubting himself, before shaking his head.
‘Daisy, I know you’re moving to London. And I know I’m hopelessly disorganized and half the time I’m covered in straw and the other half I’m late, but the thing is . . .’ He reached out then, taking her hand in his. ‘The thing is – I know you’re going to be in London, but it’s only a train ride away. And I’d like it very much if you’d come out with me sometime. Please.’
Daisy looked into his eyes, feeling the same uneven thump of her heart that she’d tried to ignore earlier that afternoon at the fête.
‘I’d love to.’
Ned’s face was one huge smile. ‘That’s brilliant. Amazing. Have a great evening. I’ll give you a call later –’
He had dropped her hand and was stepping backwards as he said this, bumbling and gorgeous and disorganized . . . Daisy followed, a few steps apart from him, laughing. She hadn’t noticed that her friends were gathering on the path behind her.
‘Ned.’
He turned, one hand on the gate. A lock of hair, which Daisy longed to push back into place, fell down again over his eyes.
‘Daisy?’
‘There’s just one thing. I’m not moving to London. I’m staying right here.’
And at that, Ned let go of the gate, covering the space between them in three long strides. Impetuously he pulled Daisy close, so that she could feel his heart thumping through the fabric of his shirt. She reached up, pushing the disobedient strands of hair out of his eyes, and they kissed in the garden, surrounded by the flowers she’d tended, and the friendships she’d made along the way.
It had been a long road, but she’d made it home.
The End
Acknowledgements
This book has several threads of real life woven through it. I met a lovely old man in a hospital waiting room one day, and he told me all about his life. I knew I wanted to write him into a story, and so the character of Thomas was born.
Secondly, although my heart will always be in the Highlands of Scotland, I’ve lived in England for a long time now and, until recently, always in little villages. Whilst I love living by the seaside, I do miss the gossip and intrigue of village life, my lovely allotment, and being roped in to help out on the stalls at the village fête. So this book is for all my friends in Wendover and Gawcott – and no, I didn’t base any of the characters on you lot, I promise.
The same goes for all my friends in the blogging world. I promise Elaine is a figment of my imagination – apart from her name, which I borrowed from one of my Twitter friends, Elaine Alguire of Louisiana. (Thank you!)
To everyone on Twitter who makes me laugh and cheers me on, and to the gang on my Facebook page who’re always happy to chat when I’m in procrastination mode – thanks, all of you. It’s lovely to have you all living in my computer, and even nicer still when we get to meet up in real life.
Enormous thanks, and a large gin and tonic, to Amanda Preston: agent, friend, sanity saver. I couldn’t have done it without you.
To Caroline Hogg, for being the best combination of editor and cheering squad any writer could want, and to Natasha Harding for always being so lovely – thank you both.
Huge thanks to my friend Jacq Mitchell, BVSc MRCVS, for advising me on the effects of chocolate on greedy dogs.
To my sister Zoe and my niece, Mae – thank you for providing me with a Scottish escape this summer, just when I was beginning to wonder if I’d be writing forever. (Does this make up for taping over your Madonna video?)
To the children: Verity, Rosie, Archie, Jude, Charlie and Rory – yes, I’m really finished now, and yes, we can watch Doctor Who and have hot chocolate.
To Ross, who juggled six children, the house, the school runs, and everything else whilst providing me with love, coffee, and chocolate – thank you, darling.
Last of all, this book is dedicated to the memory of our beloved Pollydog.
My Favourite Gardens
Writing about gardens has been bliss for me. Before I started writing full time, I wrote a gardening blog, and used to spend long hours tending to the garden and the allotment, taking photographs and writing about what I was up to.
Now I’m living in town and no longer have 100 feet of lawn to mow, I find I have a lot more time for exploring my favourite gardens. I thought I’d share them here so that you can go and discover them too. Most of them come with a tea room attached, which is always a plus in my book.
B
ack home in Scotland, I have a huge affection for the gardens of Mount Stuart House on the Isle of Bute. I lived in a cottage there when first married and it was the inspiration for my first novel, Sealed with a Kiss. The gardens there cover an amazing 300 acres. You can explore everything from a beautifully kept kitchen garden to the wilds of the woods that lead down to the rocky shoreline, and then there’s the exotic Wee Garden, full of plants from all over the world – a bit of a misnomer, as it’s five acres in size. Take a pair of sensible boots and allow yourself a whole day to explore, or better still, stay in one of their self-catering cottages. You might even find yourself in my old house!
Hidcote Manor Garden in the Cotswolds is another of my favourites. It was designed by Major Lawrence Johnston in the early twentieth century and it’s set out as a series of garden rooms, which start off very formal and neat and become wilder as they stretch away from the gorgeous manor house. You can wander down grass paths, surrounded by huge herbaceous borders, and discover the gorgeously old-fashioned bathing pool. There’s a beautifully kept vegetable plot there, too, which I had in mind when writing about Elaine’s garden. And of course, as it is a National Trust property, there is cake – and lots of it.
When we were living in Buckinghamshire we spent many weekends letting the children run wild in the grounds of Waddesdon Manor – country retreat of the Rothschilds, built a century ago in the style of a French chateau. In contrast to the looser style of Hidcote, all of the gardens at Waddesdon are more formal – in particular the precisely planted parterre at the front of the house, which is immaculate all year round. My absolute favourite place is the rose garden, which was created in 2000 and is home to over 600 roses. The smell is heavenly – and it’s not far to walk to the cafe, where you can grab a drink and sit looking out over the amazing view of Aylesbury Vale, or take a walk around the grounds and through the woodland.
Closer to home, I’ve fallen in love with the gardens of Rufford Old Hall: fourteen acres of beautifully maintained woodland, manicured lawns and my favourite herbaceous borders, which are a rainbow of colour in early summer. You can sit by the canal and watch the boats slowly chug past, and their lemon drizzle cake is to die for. Once you’ve had your fill of the gardens (which are beautiful all year round) you can take a tour of the sixteenth-century Tudor house, where the huge Great Hall is reputed to have played host to a young Shakespeare.
Coming Up Roses Page 28
