Bryony laughed. ‘No, I believe you. It sounds just like you. But I didn’t do that, did I?’
‘Nope. It was always Polly who showed an interest in the garden. She’d follow me around, toddling into the shrubs and grabbing fistfuls of flowers. Sam went through a phase too, but didn’t really keep it up. You were always more interested in the fruit and flowers once they were picked.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Bryony said.
‘I used to love watching you and your mother arranging displays for the dining room. You had such a great eye for colour. Like your clothes – you were never afraid to play with combinations. Polly always preferred the greenery, but you loved the bold, bright colours – the dahlias, the zinnias.’
Bryony smiled. ‘I’d like to learn more. I’m helping Flo with all the weeding and maintenance, but I want to learn more about sowing and planting. Will you teach me?’
Her father’s face lit up. She knew she couldn’t have made him happier if she’d tried.
‘Come with me,’ he said and she knew where they were going – to the greenhouse.
There then followed a happy half an hour whilst her father took her through everything he was growing. It was quite impressive. Gardening, she realised, was a lot more than just wielding a fork – it took a great deal of planning. Planning and optimism. Her father didn’t shield his failures from her. Not every seed germinated and not every seedling made it to adulthood. There were so many variables and every year was different with what the weather threw at you and the myriad pests around.
‘It sounds like a kind of blood sport,’ Bryony said.
Her father nodded. ‘It can be a battle sometimes but, if you grow plenty, you’ll see the rewards and nothing – absolutely nothing – beats picking something you’ve grown to eat.’
Bryony couldn’t help recalling the years of teasing her father had endured at the hands of his children whenever he presented a plate or bowl full of home-grown produce. Of course, they loved it and everything would be wolfed down, but who could resist teasing a man who handled a cabbage as if it were a newborn baby?
‘I just remembered,’ Bryony said, ‘Mum put the kettle on.’
‘Let’s get inside then,’ her father said.
They left the greenhouse, careful to close the door behind them. Rabbits had been known to hop in and help themselves to salad.
They were half way back to the house when her father stopped walking and cleared his throat.
‘How do you feel about him being back?’ he asked. Bryony didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about because it could only be one person.
She gave a little shrug. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’ He didn’t sound convinced by her answer.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘The truth – whatever it is.’ He held her gaze and she knew that anything but complete honesty was out of the question.
‘I feel…’ she paused and tried again, ‘I feel mad and sad and baffled. All at once.’
Her father nodded. ‘I’m not surprised. I didn’t think he’d ever come home.’
‘I wish he hadn’t.’
‘Well, there’s not a lot you can do about it. He looks like he’s here to stay so you’ll have to work something out between the two of you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because this is a small town, Bry, and the sort of feelings you’re carrying around aren’t healthy. You’ve got to get things out in the open and move on.’
‘I wasn’t the one who messed things up between us. It’s not fair that –’
‘It doesn’t matter what’s fair,’ her father interrupted. ‘You’ve still got to sort it out. Ben’s a good chap and he wants to talk to you.’
‘What’s he said? Nobody’s told me what happened after I left on Sunday.’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘Dad?’
She saw him frown. ‘He told us – he told me – that he wants you back.’
‘When?’
‘He asked to see the garden.’
‘He knows that’s your weak spot.’
‘No, he was genuinely interested.’
‘Dad, he was just trying to get to me through you, wasn’t he?’
A little smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘Possibly.’
‘So, what did he say?’
‘It doesn’t matter because I wouldn’t do it anyway.’
‘Wouldn’t do what?’
‘Secretly set up a meeting between the two of you.’
Bryony’s jaw slackened. ‘He asked you to do that?’
‘He really wants to talk to you, darling.’
‘Yeah? Well, I don’t want to talk to him.’
‘You’ve made that very clear.’
‘Good.’
‘Don’t you believe in second chances?’ her father asked her.
‘No I don’t.’
‘Elizabeth and Darcy did.’
‘Don’t bring Jane Austen into this.’
He smiled as they continued to walk back to the house. ‘If your mother hadn’t given me a second chance, none of you would be here today.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bryony asked.
‘Did I ever tell you about about the time your mother played a trick on me?’
‘What trick?’ Bryony asked.
‘After I stood her up.’
‘You stood Mum up?’
‘By accident. We had a date all planned – cinema, a meal and I kind of forgot. It was such a glorious day, you see, and I lost track of time in the garden.’
‘Oh, Dad!’
‘I know. She’s never let me forget it.’
‘So what did she do?’
‘She wrote me a letter.’
‘You guys were so old-fashioned,’ she teased.
‘It was the days before texting and emails, you see.’
‘What did the letter say?’
He grinned. ‘It was beautiful – she knows how to turn a phrase, your mother. It was full of poetry and love and,’ he stopped.
‘What?’
‘Lies.’
‘Lies? What do you mean?’
‘I mean, your mother played a horrible trick on me. She led me right up the garden path.’
‘I thought you liked garden paths.’
‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘Well, I didn’t like this one. She told me to meet her at this little country pub in the middle of nowhere. She said it was special, with secret corners where lovers could meet. There was a river too where she said we could walk. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had all these romantic ideas –’
‘Which you’d better keep to yourself, Dad.’
‘Yes. I suppose I had.’
‘And what happened?’
‘She wasn’t there. She’d stood me up!’
Bryony laughed. ‘I think you deserved it after standing her up.’
‘I know. But I couldn’t believe she’d think to do something like that.’
‘Yes, it’s quite cunning, isn’t it? I didn’t think Mum had that in her.’
‘Never cross your mother,’ her father warned, shaking his head and smiling at the memory.
It was then that something occurred to Bryony. She could write to Ben via the dating website. She was her mother’s daughter, wasn’t she? And, like her, she’d always been able to turn a pretty phrase.
Slowly, a plan began to form in her mind and she smiled.
Chapter Eleven
How did such a short train journey cost so much money Ben wondered as he got off the train at Liverpool Street Station for the second time in a week? He objected to paying it, but what choice did he have? He’d just have to try and find a few more hours’ teaching a week. After all, he’d made a promise to Aria and he wanted to help her and that meant coming into London.
He caught the tube, getting off at Covent Garden and taking the lift up to street level. He was meeting Aria at a cafe off the main piazza. It was an Italian place which Aria had insisted upon bec
ause she needed a proper cup of coffee.
He saw her sitting inside by a window and waved, joining her and ordering an espresso.
‘You look pale,’ he told her. ‘Are you eating properly?’
‘I don’t like your English food.’
‘But you’re staying with Italians.’
‘They eat rubbish. It’s horrible. All pot noodles and stuff from tins.’
Ben grimaced, remembering his own student days. ‘Have you had a word with the owner here?’
She nodded. ‘He’s not heard anything.’
‘There are still plenty of others to try,’ Ben said encouragingly.
‘We can’t go around all the Italian cafes and restaurants in London, Ben,’ she cried.
‘We’re not – just the ones you have some connection to.’
‘But what if he’s avoiding those? What if he’s trying to hide from us?’
‘Would he really think you’d come after him?’
She nodded. ‘He knows I will.’
Ben sighed. Aria and her brother were so close. He knew how that was with his own sister Georgia. He’d hated leaving her when he’d gone travelling, but he’d done his utmost to protect her. Now, Aria was doing the same – she was looking out for her little brother.
‘Let’s have a look at your list,’ he told her as his coffee arrived. He sipped it as she opened her handbag and brought out an A4 sheet of paper with a long list of names and addresses on it.
‘It sure would be easier if he just rang you,’ Ben observed.
‘I check my phone every twenty minutes. He’s not returned any of my messages.’
‘But you’re sure he’s here in London?’
She nodded. ‘He always dreamed of coming to London.’
Ben grinned. He’d felt the same way about Rome. It was funny – that need to be somewhere different, somewhere one perceived to be slightly exotic.
‘Well, there are a couple of addresses within striking distance of here,’ he pointed out.
‘Which ones?’
‘There’s a restaurant just a couple of streets away and then this address here.’
She looked at the name he was pointing to.
‘Paulo’s,’ she said.
‘Who’s he?’
‘I don’t know,’ Aria said. ‘It was a name I found scribbled on a notebook when I was going through his things. I don’t know if it means anything or nothing.’
‘Okay, we’ll check it out,’ he said. ‘It’s probably another restaurant. Ready to go?’
Aria looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I was just wondering why you have a – what’s the word? Barbe,’ she said in Italian, stroking her face.
‘Beard,’ Ben translated for her, his hand flying to his own face.
‘Yes. Why do you have one?’ she asked him with a frown. ‘You’d look best without it.’
‘Better,’ Ben said, automatically correcting her. ‘You’d look better without it.’
‘Better, best,’ she shrugged. ‘It needs to go.’
He smiled. What was it with women and his beard?
They left the cafe and walked out into the main piazza of Covent Garden. The sun was shining down on the crowds and it was hard not to become caught up in the energy of the scene, but Ben knew that he wasn’t there to enjoy the London experience. They had serious business to attend to.
He glanced at Aria. She looked so anxious. He wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t been sleeping well. She had that drawn look about her.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he told her and she nodded, but he was worried about saying such things when he had no real idea about what was going to happen. London was a huge place and there were countless corners where Dario could be hiding. He might not even be in London at all, or the UK for that matter. Ben didn’t voice his doubts to Aria, though, because that wouldn’t do any good. They had some leads and that was enough for now.
The Italian restaurant on the list wasn’t hard to find. It was a small, family-run affair with a deliciously simple menu of oven-fired pizza without all the nonsense of thick crusts or tropical toppings.
Ben followed Aria inside and hung back as she broke into Italian, reaching inside her handbag for the photo of Dario she was carrying with her. The waiter shook his head, but Aria wasn’t giving up and he called through to the kitchen. A burly man with long dark hair came out and glanced at the photo and said something Ben didn’t quite understand. His accent was thick, probably from the south, he guessed but, by the look on Aria’s face, he hadn’t seen anything of Dario.
‘Grazia,’ Aria said and the two of them left.
Ben reached out to touch her shoulder and she sighed. ‘Lots more still to try,’ he told her.
‘I know.’ She delved into her bag and brought out her phone, checking it for messages. There were none.
‘This Paulo’s place is only a few streets away. A ten-minute walk at the most.’
‘Good.’
They marched on in silence, passing shops, offices and restaurants. One really only got to know the scale of a city when one was on foot, Ben thought, remembering the time he’d spent in some of the European capitals. He’d walked miles, soaking in the sites, locking it all away for the time he knew he’d come home. You could always tell the tourists from the locals wherever you were in the world, he thought, watching a couple strolling casually ahead of them, stopping to point at the buildings. Tourists saw things which locals had stopped seeing years ago; their fresh eyes noticed the original Georgian shop fronts, the pediments and the boot scrapers whilst the locals saw nothing but the time passing and the fact that they were late for their next appointment.
But Aria was a tourist of sorts and she didn’t seem to be taking any joy in the beauty of her surroundings. His heart went out to her as he wondered, once again, what she must be going through.
They found the street they were looking for. It was pretty much like the others they’d walked down with a mixture of boutiques, cafes and restaurants.
‘What number was it?’ Ben asked.
‘Venti-sei,’ Aria said.
‘Twenty-seven,’ Ben translated. ‘It’s the cafe over there. Look.’
They crossed the road, stopping outside the tiny cafe. There were two small tables on the pavement outside and a pretty red and white awning, but Aria hesitated at the door.
‘Want me to go first?’ Ben asked.
She nodded and he opened the door. There were a few customers in for late lunch and they soon caught the eye of a member of staff. He was tall with the dark hair and olive-coloured skin typical of an Italian and he seemed to clock Aria right away. Before Ben realised what was happening, Aria had charged out of the cafe, the door slamming behind her. Ben turned to the Italian.
‘Aria?’ the Italian whispered, a frown darkening his face, but he didn’t move. He then muttered something else in Italian which Ben couldn’t quite make out so he left the cafe in pursuit of Aria.
She was running down the street and he had a job catching up with her.
‘Aria – stop!’ he cried.
Had she heard him? He didn’t think so because she kept on running.
‘ARIA!’ he shouted louder this time and she was finally forced to stop at the end of the road. ‘What’s going on?’ She was breathing hard, her dark eyes startled. ‘What is it? Who was that guy?’
‘Nobody.’
‘But he knew you.’
She shook her head and mumbled something in Italian as she always did when she was stressed. Ben could only pick up bits and pieces of it, but he thought he heard her say something about mistaken identity.
‘But he knew your name. He called after you. Who was he?’
She started to walk away from him. Ben turned back to see if the Italian might be following them, but there was no sign of him.
‘Listen to me,’ he said, catching up with her again and placing a hand on her should
er. She flinched at his touch and he saw a hardness in her eyes which he’d never seen before. It startled him for a moment, but then he continued. ‘I can’t help you unless I know what’s going on.’
‘What are you saying? Are you threatening me? You don’t want to help me?’
‘Of course I want to help you. But I need to understand what just happened. Who was that guy back there? He clearly knew you. Is he a friend of Dario’s? Why didn’t you talk to him? He might know where your brother is.’
‘He won’t know,’ she snapped.
‘No? Are you going to tell me why he won’t know?’
Her gaze darted about uneasily.
‘I’m here to help you, Aria,’ he said, his voice softer now, reassuring. ‘Please tell me.’
She bit her lip. ‘He’s a friend of Dario’s,’ she said at last.
‘Okay,’ Ben said. That was a start at least.
‘But Dario won’t have been in touch with him. I wish I’d known.’
‘Known what?’
‘That it was that Paulo.’
‘Which Paulo?’
‘The one who hates me.’
‘Why would he hate you?’
Her eyes avoided contact with his. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Ben sighed. ‘That’s not really helpful.’
‘I’m too tired,’ she said. ‘I want to go back to the flat now.’
‘You’re kidding me, right? I’ve travelled all the way into London and you want to give up for the day?’ She walked away from him and he could see that he was fighting a losing battle. ‘Aria!’ He shook his head in annoyance. ‘Call me, okay?’
Ben hung around Covent Garden for a bit, but he really didn’t see the point in staying in London. He journeyed back to Liverpool Street Station and, as soon as he found a seat on the train, he closed his eyes, allowing the gentle movement to quieten his mind. Even though it had been cut short, it had been a stressful day. Aria’s unexplained departure and her unwillingness to talk to him about what was going on had angered him. Then he felt guilty about being angry but, still, he couldn’t help feeling mad at her cutting him loose like that. It made him wonder how much he actually knew about this woman and whether she’d been telling him the truth.
By the time he got home, his mood had softened and he made himself a cup of tea and checked his email before logging on to the Country Catches dating website on his sister’s laptop. His face soon creased with a smile of gigantic proportions. There was a message from Bryony.
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