by Emma Davies
‘If he flies off inside, I’ll have a devil of a time trying to catch him. They usually end up beating themselves to death against the window.’ She shuddered. ‘I can’t bear it.’
The path to the shop, which passed through a small front garden, was flanked on either side by a low wall and Amos sat down on it, hoping that the flowers behind him might prove more interesting than he was. Grace sat down beside him and glanced at her watch.
‘Good job we’re not busy today,’ she said. ‘You weren’t in a hurry, were you?’
‘Not especially,’ said Amos, squinting towards the sun.
‘Well, thank you for not running off, screaming,’ said Grace. ‘Bees don’t sting unless provoked but you’d be surprised at the number of people who become almost hysterical.’
‘Ah,’ said Amos. ‘Well, I figured I’m in safe hands. If the beekeeper isn’t worried, neither should I be.’
Grace turned, a perplexed expression on her face. ‘How do you—?’
Amos laughed, and fished in his pocket for the note that Flora had given him. ‘I’m staying up at Hope Corner,’ he said. ‘And I’m afraid I know all about you.’
Her eyes crinkled. ‘I did wonder where the eggs had come from,’ she replied as she quickly scanned the note. ‘Well, Amos, I’m pleased to meet you,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘And I’d already worked out that you’re a friend; this little chap seems to have taken a remarkable liking to you.’
Amos shook her hand, instinctively knowing the moment before his hand touched hers what it would feel like. He saw the flicker of surprise cross her face too, but then he dropped her hand and, bending down, picked a forget-me-not from the side of the path. He held it out.
‘Do you think this might help?’ he suggested, smiling to himself as his purpose in Hope Corner suddenly became clear.
Grace took the flower and held it against Amos’s shoulder, murmuring a stream of encouragement to the tiny creature. ‘Aha! There you go, see, isn’t that better?’
She turned and transported the bee from the forget-me-not onto the middle of a rose head that was poking over the top of the wall. They both watched it for a few moments as it explored its new home, cheering when it finally flew off.
Grace glanced at her watch again. ‘Right, where were we?’ She stood up, a troubled look crossing her face.
Amos followed her back inside the shop, sensing that the relaxed atmosphere that greeted him when he first arrived would be gone, replaced by something… He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not hurried or fraught particularly, but changed somehow.
Back behind the counter, Grace pulled the basket of eggs towards her and began to remove the trays it contained.
‘Three dozen?’ she said.
Amos nodded.
‘I have Hannah’s money here from the last lot,’ she added. ‘Would you like to take it for her?’
Amos was torn. He wasn’t sure whether Hannah would appreciate him dealing with the money on her behalf, and yet if he didn’t take it, it would mean another trip to the shop for someone to collect it.
‘We can leave it on the tab…’ prompted Grace.
Or indeed Amos could be the one to return…
‘I think I’ll leave it,’ he said, before his head had even fully considered the options. ‘I can always pop back if necessary.’ His own words surprised him.
Grace smiled. ‘Right you are then.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘Was there anything else?’
Their business was concluded but Amos was still staring at her, feeling a little like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He should say something, but he had no idea what. And then it came to him.
‘I might just have a look around, if that’s okay… in your other room. I didn’t get the chance when I was here yesterday.’
Grace waved her hand. ‘By all means. It’s a bit of an Aladdin’s cave; gifts, handmade crafts, local produce. There are some wonderful things and then some of it is… well, absolutely dreadful actually…’
She gave him another smile, but much tighter than the relaxed welcome of earlier. There was a new tension he just couldn’t quite put his finger on.
The shop bell sounded and Amos backed out of the room, nodding gratefully at the customer who had just entered. It made his exit rather less awkward than it might otherwise have been. The shop, previously a house, was essentially two front rooms either side of a central hallway and as he crossed into the other room he was immediately struck by a series of botanical prints facing him on the top shelf of a display cabinet on the opposite wall. They were simple in design and beautifully composed, printed mainly in black and white, but here and there a flower head or two had been splashed with colour and accented with gold highlights. They were modern but nonetheless had a timeless quality to them which Amos greatly admired. He stood for a few moments considering each print individually before standing back and taking them in as a group. Amos didn’t own much, but these he would be happy to take possession of.
He moved away, looking at the other items for sale, smiling when he reached those which Grace had quite correctly described as dreadful. Still, they were the results of someone’s proud labours and Amos didn’t doubt that one day, somewhere, they would find the perfect home. As he browsed, he kept one ear on the sounds of conversation drifting through from the other room; not because he wanted to eavesdrop but simply to garner when the customer might be about to leave. Hearing such a cue, he returned to stand in front of the prints and then carefully removed one from its shelf.
Pausing by the doorway into the main shop, he stood aside to let the customer pass by him. He was about to speak when he realised that Grace was staring out through the window of the shop, utterly lost in thought. At first, he assumed she must have been looking at something in the road until he realised that her look was vacant, seeing only the things inside her head and nothing of what the outside world had to offer. He hesitated, unwilling to break her reverie, but then, as he watched, she gave a sudden start, checked her watch again, and frowned.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, moving forward.
Grace looked up, startled, seemingly having forgotten that Amos was still in the shop, but then she recovered herself and the smile was back in place.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ She gestured towards the print in his hand.
‘Only you’ve checked your watch at least three times in the last couple of minutes,’ he added, ignoring her comment. ‘And on none of those occasions have you looked particularly happy. Are you waiting for someone? Or something?’
Grace sighed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that—’ She broke off and made a noise that sounded almost like a growl. ‘It’s just so… frustrating!’
Amos waited to see if she would continue to explain, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t something appropriate to share in public, or with a complete stranger like himself. He smiled, nodded encouragingly and waited some more while Grace chewed the corner of her lip.
‘It’s the not knowing, you see,’ she said. ‘Whether anyone is even going to turn up… And if they do turn up what they’re going to say. I can’t be there, obviously, because I’m here. If I’d have had more notice, I could have arranged with Bill to change my shifts. Which is of course exactly why Paul planned it for today.’ She stared at Amos, as if waiting for his reaction. ‘In fact, if it hadn’t been for his secretary tipping me off, I still wouldn’t be any the wiser.’
‘No, quite…’ murmured Amos. ‘Is there anything… perhaps I can help?’
Grace was just about to reply when she suddenly stopped. ‘Oh, God, listen to me. I’m so sorry, Amos,’ she said, searching his face. ‘I don’t even know why I did that; blathering on about things which you know nothing about and which I had no right to trouble you over. Goodness, I’ve only just met you…’ She touched a hand to her hair as a slow flush spread up her neck.
But Amos smiled. ‘Perhaps it’s just that it’s easier to talk to a comp
lete stranger…’ He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. ‘I’ve been told I’m a good listener…’
Grace cocked her head, thoughtfully. ‘You are, aren’t you,’ she said. ‘There’s something about you. Something still… and calm.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it wouldn’t be at all fair. I’m not going to move house whether an estate agent turns up today or not, and I absolutely meant what I said yesterday. If my husband thinks—’ She broke off. ‘I’m doing it again. Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ She turned away and moved back behind the counter.
Amos looked down at the print still in his hand, her words tumbling through his head, the memory of raised voices from her garden pricking at him.
‘Grace?’ He stood still, waiting for her to look up. ‘Can I help?’ he asked again. ‘I could go to your house, not inside, but stay in the garden, and just see if anyone appears? At least then you’d know.’
‘But you don’t understand anything about this.’
‘Do I need to?’ Amos was thinking fast. ‘I could just say I’m the gardener or something…’
Grace looked at her watch.
‘When are they due?’
Her sigh was audible. ‘In ten minutes… but you don’t even know—’
‘I know where your house is, Grace, I realised I was at the bottom of your garden last night when I went for a walk. Flora had mentioned it, you see, she talked about your bees… So I could just climb over the fence and, hey presto, I’m in the garden, just like I said.’
‘I don’t know, it doesn’t seem right.’
Amos smiled. ‘Look, you don’t need to tell me anything. All you’re interested in is whether an estate agent arrives to value your house today, is that right?’
Grace nodded. ‘Yes, but I—’
‘So, I can go and see if anyone turns up and report back to you. End of story. I don’t need to know any more. And I won’t talk to them, I’ll just act like I’m a clueless gardener – which won’t be hard under the circumstances.’
The clock was ticking and Amos could see how aware Grace was of this fact. She looked at him again, and then back down at the slip of paper on the counter, the note that Flora had given him. She picked it up, read through it once more, a small smile gathering at the corners of her lips.
‘Right,’ she said decisively. ‘I must be mad, but yes, it would be great if you could go and see for me… please. Just observe though – if anyone comes, don’t talk to them, okay…?’
Amos rushed forward, placing the print on the desk. ‘I’ll come back,’ he said, already turning and heading for the door. He paused as he got to the doorway. ‘What’s your last name, Grace?’ he asked.
‘It’s Maynard… why?’
But Amos had already gone.
4
Amos was more than ten minutes away. It would take at least that length of time to walk back to the farm, and then he would have to cut through the yard, across the garden and through the flower field beyond before climbing the hill into Grace’s garden. But perhaps the estate agent would be late? And they would need time to look around as well, they could well be at the house for half an hour or so…
He broke into a run. He had told Grace that he wouldn’t say anything while he was there, but Amos had no intention of doing that. That wasn’t the point at all.
Not owning a car and choosing to walk everywhere he went had made Amos pretty fit over the years. He wasn’t used to moving quite this fast, but he didn’t feel too bad at all as he turned through the gates of the farmyard, shot around the house, and into the garden. He was just about to vault the fence into the field when he met Flora coming through the gate. He raised a hand to wave.
‘I’m sorry!’ he shouted. ‘On an errand for Grace! Got to run, I’ll explain later!’
He didn’t wait for a reply, smiling at Flora’s astonished expression as he charged past her.
It was the slope up into Grace’s garden that did for him. As he stood among the trees gasping for breath, he looked at his own watch. It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to get there, but that should still give him enough time.
He dropped his head, sucking air into his lungs and trying to gather his thoughts at the same time. He was pretending to be Grace’s gardener. It was a warm day and it would be okay for him to look a little hot and bothered, but he needed to aim for nonchalant as well; look as if he were comfortable in his surroundings, industrious but not manic. He looked around, searching for a task that would give his presence credibility. With any luck there would be a shed somewhere…
If Grace had designed this garden herself she had done an incredible job. It was beautiful. Every path, hedge, flower bed and area of lawn looked like it had evolved naturally, nothing forced, nothing contrived or overly perfect; cared for but still wild and carefree. Amos had spent a considerable amount of time looking after gardens for other people and he knew none of this was a happy accident. It would have taken careful planning, back-breaking work and a lot of patience to achieve. And, in the middle of it all, elegantly framed with roses and wisteria, was the most beautiful cottage Amos had ever seen. Amos felt the line of his jaw harden, suddenly understanding perfectly why Grace wouldn’t ever want to be forced to move from such a place. He’d only just got here and he felt like he never wanted to leave. There must be some way he could help, and all he had to do was find out what that was. Keep your eyes and ears open, he thought to himself, it had always served him well in the past.
As he neared the cottage, he saw a large greenhouse sitting to one side with a shed beside it and he prayed neither would be locked. It wasn’t until he got closer, however, that Amos realised there was already a car parked on the driveway. He picked up his pace, frowning when he saw the luxurious make and model of the agent’s car; this wasn’t some friendly local agent, this was someone from a swanky city office with an expense account to match. He paused for a moment, making sure there was no one in sight, and then he sauntered over to the greenhouse looking to slide the door open with the confidence of someone who did it every day.
Fortunately, it glided back with ease on well-used runners and, sitting inside on a bench, was exactly the prop Amos needed. Reaching for the pair of secateurs, he began to whistle, looking around for something in the front garden that needed deadheading. Making his way around the side of the house, he looked around him, and then peered back at the car with narrowed eyes. He approached it cautiously, circling it as if it were a wild animal, and then looked around him once more before moving forward to peer through one of the tinted windows. Then he went around to the rear of the car, leaned nonchalantly against the boot with one foot up on the bumper and pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket.
It took less than a minute for the muddy Doc Marten boot on the bumper to have the desired effect as the front door to the house swung open and an agitated, slim man in a crisp suit came out carrying a clipboard.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
Amos pointed to his chest. ‘Me?’ he mouthed, looking around. He removed his foot from the bumper and stood up. ‘Not sure it’s me that needs the help.’ He peered past the man as if to see inside the house. ‘Missus Maynard isn’t home,’ he said. ‘Mister Maynard neither. So, what you doing here then?’
The man’s eyes rolled in exasperation and then narrowed.
‘And who might you be?’ he asked.
‘The gardener,’ muttered Amos. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? I know where I am and what I’m doing. It’s you I’m not sure about.’
‘I’m Evan Porter, from Porter and Robinson, Estate Agents. I’m here to value the property.’
‘But Missus Maynard didn’t say nothing about there being any visitors today.’ He frowned. ‘For all I know you could be one of these scammer people you see on them TV programmes.’
‘And they have keys, do they?’ The agent dangled a brass keyring in front of Amos. ‘I’m here because Mr Maynard instructed me.’
‘Even so. I think Missus Maynard
would have mentioned summat. I’d best check with her if it’s all the same to you.’
Amos put the secateurs down on the boot of the car to get a better grip on his phone. The agent winced and shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he fished about in his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out a dark-blue, square business card and handed it to Amos.
‘There, see.’
Amos studied it for a few moments. ‘Looks genuine enough, but you could have had these done somewhere. Doesn’t mean you are who you say you are.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake…’ He pulled off a piece of paper from his clipboard. ‘This is an email from Mr Maynard with his instruction to come here today. Or are you going to quibble about that and say the email could have been from anyone? And while we’re on the subject, my client didn’t mention that there would be a gardener here today. How do I know you’re who you say you are?’
Amos bit back the sigh. And then screwed up his face and scratched his head. ‘Well now,’ he said, slowly. ‘I don’t have none of them fancy bits of paper, but see that there?’ He pointed to a fragrant plant that was climbing up the front wall of the house. ‘That’s a lonicera periclymenum and, over there, that purple flower is a passiflora caerulea. Or, if you want it without the Latin, honeysuckle and passionflower. Will that do you?’
The agent nodded. Touché, thought Amos.
He looked again at the piece of paper in his hand and nodded his head, pretending to be mollified at last.
‘I reckon that all looks to be okay, Mr Porter,’ he said, handing it back. ‘And I’m sorry for giving you a hard time. No offence or nothing, but I’ve worked for the lady of the house for many a year now, and a fine lady she is too. Just looking out for the place, you understand…?’ Amos gave a wide smile, but then his face fell and he hesitated, looking a little embarrassed.
‘I didn’t know they was thinking of moving though,’ he said. ‘That’s rather set me wondering, that has, about my own job. I’m getting on a bit, Mr Porter, not as young as you, that’s for sure. Jobs aren’t always that easy to come by.’ He stared away into the distance.
