Love in an English Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  Laurence cleared his throat. ‘So, how’s the music?’

  Tilda puffed out her cheeks. ‘I’m kind of taking a break.’

  ‘But I thought you and Morton were just getting going again.’

  ‘So did I.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  She closed her eyes and groaned. ‘He – he made a move on me.’

  ‘Morton?’

  She nodded. ‘God, it was awful! He just sort of lunged at me one day in the studio. I was in the middle of singing a new song and it was going really well when he suddenly flew at me. He knocked the mic over and nearly knocked me over too!’ She paused, hiding her face in her hands. ‘I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘I take it his move wasn’t wanted by you?’

  ‘No! It certainly wasn’t. I thought we were business partners. I thought I could trust him. But he’s just like everyone else – he wants something from me that I can’t give him.’

  ‘When did all this happen?’

  ‘Oh, a few weeks ago.’

  Laurence felt hurt by this admission. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t bother you with something like that.’

  ‘Yes you could.’

  She looked at him and there was a tenderness in her eyes now. ‘You’re sweet. Thank you.’

  He nodded. ‘What will you do now?’

  She sighed. ‘Find another producer? One who doesn’t want to change my image or force themselves upon me?’

  ‘Well, they say third time lucky, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they do.’

  ‘You’ll find someone.’

  ‘Will I?’

  She was looking at him again with those blue eyes and it was all Laurence could do not to move forward and kiss her. But she wouldn’t want that, would she? She’d just been complaining about how men were always trying to take something from her. If he made a move on her now, she’d probably push him into the pond, which might make for a memorable fete but probably wouldn’t be the most comfortable of experiences.

  ‘You’ll find someone, Tilda,’ he told her, and her hand reached out and took his and they looked at each other for an inordinate amount of time.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she began.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been thinking that I’ve never gone out with an older man before. I’ve only dated men my own age.’

  ‘And how’s that worked out for you?’

  ‘Terrible!’

  He laughed and then he seemed to realise the significance of the moment with him standing there in the garden holding hands with her.

  ‘Well,’ he began slowly, ‘I’m only about five years older than you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not enough to get worried about, is it?’

  Tilda frowned. ‘Are you kidding? It’s half a decade! That’s a lot in music terms.’

  ‘Hey, I can still enjoy the same music you do.’

  ‘Well, as long as you like my music. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

  ‘I love your music!’ he told her.

  ‘Good,’ she said with a little laugh.

  They stood holding hands a moment longer and then Laurence cleared his throat.

  ‘Tilda?’

  ‘Yes?’

  He took a deep breath to steady himself, hearing his father’s words once again: Don’t waste a single moment.

  The time had come to tell her – to show her.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Back to the house.’

  ‘But the fete—’

  ‘It won’t take long, I promise.’

  Still holding hands, they walked away from the crowds, sneaking into the house like naughty children. Laurence could feel his heart racing as they crossed the hallway, stopping at a door to a room he hadn’t known existed until the day before. The blue drawing room.

  If there was one thing he’d learned from his relationship with his father over the last few days, it was that time should never be wasted. Every minute counted and, if you didn’t voice the feelings that you carried inside you, then you might well live to regret it just as his father did with his mother.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Tilda asked. ‘Laurie?’

  ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, sounding the word slowly, anxiously.

  Laurence opened the door into the blue drawing room, so called because of the beautiful old damask wallpaper, and Tilda gasped.

  ‘Laurie!’ she cried. ‘It’s a fountain of flowers!’

  He nodded. ‘There’s no disputing that really, is there?’

  She looked back at him. ‘How did you know? I mean, how did you find out?’

  ‘I was talking to your mum about the fete and she told me that, every year, your father would arrange a great fountain of flowers from the garden for her and that she wasn’t allowed to see it until the very last person had gone home. It was his way of making the wonderful day last even longer.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tilda said. ‘I remember every single display he made for her. Jassy and I would often help him choose the flowers from the garden. It was so much fun imagining Mum’s face when she saw it.’

  Together, they looked at the enormous display in front of them. It was placed on a small round table in the centre of the room and absolutely dominated it. Full of the best blooms of summer from roses and phlox to sunflowers and dahlias, the colours seemed to explode in the middle of that elegant room and the great spires of blue delphiniums shot into the air like jets of water. The fragrance was heavenly and Tilda automatically walked forward so she could inhale deeply.

  ‘I can’t believe you did this, Laurie,’ she said, tears sparkling in her eyes.

  ‘Well, I had a bit of help from your mum, Jonathan and Jenna. A lot of help actually.’

  ‘But how did you keep it hidden?’

  ‘Your mum assured me that you rarely come into this room and that you were so busy with your stall for the fete that you wouldn’t realise that something was going on in here.’

  ‘And what are you going to do with it?’ she asked, reaching out a hand to caress the silky petals of a scarlet dahlia.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, a little confused.

  ‘I mean, are you going to raffle it at the fete?’

  He frowned. ‘No!’ he said. ‘This is for you, Tilda. Just for you! I made a donation to the fete to cover the cost of the flowers because I know your mum’s been picking them from the garden to sell, but this is yours, Tilda. All yours.’

  She looked genuinely surprised by this declaration and didn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before,’ she said at last. ‘I mean, I’ve been sent flowers. Bouquets people have bought from florists, but nothing like this – not all picked by hand by the person giving the flowers.’

  ‘Well, again, I had a bit of help,’ he confessed with a sheepish smile.

  ‘I love it!’ she told him, sounding quite breathless. ‘I really love it! Mum always said that Dad’s fountain of flowers made her feel cherished and adored.’

  ‘I know,’ Laurence said. ‘She told me that too. It’s why I wanted to do this for you, Tilda. I wanted to show you how I felt.’ He took a step towards her. He’d never felt more nervous in his life or more certain as he bent forward to kiss her.

  ‘I cherish you, Tilda. I adore you. I love you.’

  ‘And I love you too, Laurie.’ She smiled up at him and there was something in that smile that spoke of the future.

  As the sun slowly slipped westwards and the shadows began to lengthen on the lawn, Jonathan took Vanessa’s hand and led her away from the stall.

  ‘I’m so glad we did this,’ she told him. ‘The garden looks so alive again.’

  ‘It likes being shared and looked at,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a great big flirt.�
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  He laughed and they walked across the grass.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Vanessa asked.

  ‘I want to abduct the good lady of the manor.’

  ‘You mustn’t keep calling me that!’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asked, stopping to look at her.

  ‘You know I don’t.’

  He tilted his head to one side. ‘That’s a shame, because I find it very attractive!’

  She shook her head in mock annoyance as they sneaked away from the crowds, making their way to the privacy of the walled garden and stopping in the cool shade of the fruit trees.

  A blackbird ran down the red-brick path and disappeared behind the greenhouse and a song thrush was singing at the top of one of the apple trees.

  Slowly, sweetly, Jonathan removed Vanessa’s hat and bent down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the warmth of his mouth and the feeling of being loved.

  After losing Oliver, Vanessa had never thought she’d fall in love again, but here she was, standing in her beloved garden with the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and she knew she couldn’t be happier.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Roy, Ruth, Gael and Judy. And to Emilie, Sammia and Sophie and the rest of the wonderful team at Amazon Publishing – I love working with you all!

  Thank you to the National Trust staff at Bateman’s in East Sussex. And a special thank you to Monty Don for his wonderful TV series and book Growing Out of Trouble, which inspired part of this story.

  Author Biography

  Photo © 2016 Roy Connelly

  Victoria Connelly studied English Literature at Worcester University, got married in a medieval castle in the Yorkshire Dales and now lives in rural Suffolk with her artist husband, a young springer spaniel and a flock of ex-battery hens.

  She is the author of two bestselling series, Austen Addicts and The Book Lovers, as well as many other novels and novellas. Her first published novel, Flights of Angels, was made into a film in 2008 by Ziegler Films in Germany. The Runaway Actress was shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Romantic Comedy Novel award.

  Ms Connelly loves books, films, walking, historic buildings and animals. If she isn’t at her keyboard writing, she can usually be found in her garden, either with a trowel in her hand or a hen on her lap.

  Her website is www.victoriaconnelly.com and readers can follow her on Twitter @VictoriaDarcy.