The Garden of Little Rose

by Suzanne Snow

  It was busier than a normal Monday morning, presumably because the house wasn’t open yet and few visitors wanted to brave the garden in the rain. Flora squeezed past a couple of people and disappeared into the stockroom behind the till. Grumpily, she flung herself down onto a chair. As usual, the small room was cluttered with DVDs of the latest production to be filmed in the grounds and spring catalogues crammed with last year’s woodland pictures.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  The voice belonged to Sheila, the shop manager. Small and round, with curling grey hair, Sheila was highly competent, and in her twelve years at Middlebrook she had come to know every inch of the house and its gardens. ‘It’s not like you to be miserable, Flora. I thought you liked taking groups out.’

  Flora stifled a sigh. ‘Sorry, Sheila, of course I do. Do you know how many? I haven’t seen the list yet.’

  ‘I heard sixteen, one or two last-minute additions this morning. Come on, tell Auntie Sheila, I’ve got big ears and a little mouth.’

  Flora laughed. She knew that Sheila was entirely trustworthy and whatever she learned would not be repeated. ‘Another time,’ Flora said, feigning brightness as she leapt to her feet. ‘I’d better go and round them up.’

  The rain was heavier when Flora returned to the courtyard and she tugged her cap down, trying to divert the water from her face. The volunteers were still toughing it out with their plants and she went over to have a word.

  ‘If it doesn’t stop,’ she told them sympathetically, admiring their commitment to the cause, ‘you can move the stall underneath the gatehouse and catch people on the way out. I’ll send somebody over to help.’

  They thanked her as she moved away and she switched on the radio attached to her belt, so that she would be in contact with the rest of the team whilst working. She noticed a few bedraggled people hovering on the lawn in the centre of the courtyard and headed towards them quickly.

  ‘Hi,’ she called, turning up the collar on her coat, trying to prevent the rain from trickling down her neck. ‘Are you waiting for the garden tour? Okay, come with me. I’m Flora; I’m going to be taking you round today. We can wait underneath the gatehouse – might as well stay dry for as long as we can. Have you come far?’

  Flora listened to the chatter as they headed for shelter, but by the time she had found everyone and brought them together, she was soaked, even though the rain had ceased and a patch of blue sky was looking promising. She frowned as she did a quick head count again and checked her watch impatiently. Fifteen – one missing.

  ‘Two minutes,’ she called to the group over the noise of polite chatting. ‘We’re just waiting for one more, but if they’re not here shortly then we’ll go. The weather’s probably put them off.’

  Flora peered over heads and checked the courtyard once more, but nobody seemed lost and she decided to begin the tour. ‘Okay, everyone,’ she called loudly, pausing for a moment as people turned towards her. ‘Thank you for coming today; welcome to the Middlebrook Estate. I’m Flora Stewart, one of two assistant head gardeners, and I’m going to show you around the garden, parts of which are still undergoing restoration. If you’d like to follow me?’

  Flora led the group across the courtyard towards the entrance to the garden and then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a man running towards them. She turned her head to look at him properly, guessing that this was her missing guest. He slowed down as he neared the group, and the blood rapidly drained from her face. It was Mac Jamieson.

  He had obviously just arrived; he was still dry, and carrying a messenger bag slung across one hip and wasn’t wearing a coat. Her mind went completely blank as she stared at him, terrified that her expression would betray her feelings. Flora knew that she looked decidedly different from the glamorous bridesmaid of two weeks ago, with no make-up, soaking hair, and wet and muddy jeans clinging to her legs.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said in a low voice. She saw him taking in the details of her bedraggled appearance. ‘I was held up in traffic.’ He smiled at the group and one or two older ladies softened at the gesture, but Flora was determined not to be quite so forgiving. She noticed his tanned face and the realisation of where he’d very recently been on holiday didn’t improve her mood.

  ‘We were just leaving,’ she said shortly, desperately trying to regain her composure, as she turned towards the garden. ‘You can follow at the back.’

  She didn’t care if anyone else thought she was being rude, as every memory she had stored away came rushing back into her mind. She remembered his voice and the lilt of his accent; she knew his eyes and how they could soften when he smiled, and most of all she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers and what it was like to be held in his arms. Absolutely livid with him for turning up at her work after two weeks of silence, she tried frantically to drag her mind back to the garden and focus on the rest of her group. She saw that Mac had obediently positioned himself at the back, as she had requested.

  ‘Once we’re in the garden, I’ll explain a little bit of its history, what we’re currently doing to restore it and the Trust’s plans for its future. I’m very happy to answer questions as we go along and there will be time at the end if you would like to know anything else. The garden today covers approximately forty acres and the tour will last about an hour and a half. Lunch will be provided for you in the restaurant, and then this afternoon you’re free to explore the house and grounds on your own. Thank you, I hope you enjoy your day.’

  Flora was amazed that her words made sense and people were following her, as they were supposed to do. For all she knew she could have been speaking utter gobbledegook, and she was still finding it hard to remember what she had planned to talk about this morning. She sensed Mac watching her as she held open the entrance door, but she didn’t wait for him; she scurried through and left him to fend for himself. She waited as the group huddled around her and then she began, concentrating carefully on what she knew.

  After a few minutes they moved on and as Flora continued with the tour, she was still feeling uncomfortable, despite her attempts to relax and enjoy it. Bad enough that she had allowed herself to think of Mac, to become attracted to him, but much worse was having to deal with him in person, here of all places, where she had always felt at home. She struggled to keep anger at bay, as she wondered why he had kissed her and then simply walked away. And now he was suddenly back, and she would have to begin the process of forgetting him all over again.

  She had led the group to the rose garden, and as she completed her talk and answered questions to bring the tour to a close, she was already eyeing an escape route so that she would not have to deal with Mac. The group murmured their thanks as they drifted away, and Flora saw her opportunity. Whilst Mac’s back was turned, she bounded up a short flight of steps that skirted the edge of a deep pond and disappeared through a small summer house into the folly garden behind. Surrounded by tall yew topiary and dominated by a square tower, this corner was secluded and filled with shade-loving plants.

  ‘Flora, wait!’

  She heard his voice and ignored him, her pace increasing as she crossed the lawn. She intended to sneak away into the expanse of the huge parkland beyond the boundary of the formal gardens.

  ‘Please, Flora. May I just speak with you for a minute?’

  Mac’s voice was louder and she heard his footsteps right behind her; he had easily found her route and quickly caught up. Hating the realisation that she was reduced to skulking around her own garden in order to avoid him, she whirled around to face him.

  ‘What?’ Her baseball cap had skewed to one side and she grabbed at it impatiently, loosening her damp ponytail. Her wet hair cascaded over her shoulders and she tried to ram the cap back into place to tame it. She noticed his eyes narrowing as they followed her movement. ‘What could you possibly want with me, Mac? Why are you here?’

  Her voice had dropped to a muffled hiss, as a family strolled past, the mother wheeling a pushchair and eyei
ng Flora curiously. She smiled blankly, hoping to project that all was well but knowing that she hadn’t convinced them, as they turned to stare at her again before wandering slowly out of sight.

  ‘I have two things I’d like to say to you.’ Mac spoke quickly, nervously. Flora realised, with a jolt of surprise, that she had never seen him like this. ‘I’d like you to come and look at the garden properly, on the island. I haven’t done anything with it yet and I’d be really grateful if you would advise me.’

  An unexpected thrill of elation raced through Flora, as she listened to his request. To be the first to document such a garden as the one on Alana – to search for plans, uncover its history and reveal its secrets little by little – was everything she sought to do, and she could hardly believe he was offering her such an opportunity. But then those thoughts abruptly disappeared, as she remembered their time together at the wedding. How they had talked, the way he had offered comfort when sorrow for her dad had found her again. And, at the end of the evening, the incredible kiss she had been utterly unable to forget. She had no idea if she could return to the island, feeling the way she did about him. Confused, hurt and afraid, she feared being overwhelmed once again. And yet, the garden: undiscovered, asleep, untouched.

  ‘And the second?’

  Flora saw his eyes narrow again as he watched her. His expression had become serious; he had reverted to the cool and distant man she had met on her first evening on Alana.

  ‘There’s something you need to know, and I’d prefer if you heard it from me.’

  She was ahead of him and keen to appear unconcerned by anything he might say. ‘Oh, you’re not going to tell me about you and Chloe, are you?’ Flora laughed lightly, her eyes glittering with something she hoped he recognised as dismissal, still feeling the unwelcome flare of colour in her cheeks. ‘That’s old news, surely? How great that the two of you are back together again.’

  She’d stunned him, that much was clear. He stilled, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out and then falling straight back. ‘You knew?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone? Isn’t that the point of social media?’

  ‘I guess. Well, right. So you know.’ Mac was mumbling and it gave Flora a strange satisfaction to see him rattled for once. ‘Have you seen the pictures? What do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure you both look fabulous together.’ She was incredulous at this question and choked back an even more sarcastic retort. ‘And why the hell would it matter to you what I think? She’s your girlfriend, Mac, not mine. It’s your life. We barely know one another – surely you didn’t expect us to see each other again?’

  ‘So, the dare, the wedding… our kiss. Are you saying it’s all over and forgotten?’

  ‘It was a silly dare, a day out. Just a kiss, Mac, nothing more.’ Flora willed herself to relax, to remove the tension from her shoulders, and she deliberately allowed her attention to wander. ‘People do it all the time. We’ve both moved on since then, haven’t we?’

  The pointed question seemed to take him by surprise and his nod was uncertain as he swallowed. Another thought struck her, and she voiced it quickly, before she could change her mind.

  ‘Is that why you really came to the wedding? To ask me about the garden?’

  ‘It wasn’t the only reason. But then you knew that,’ he told her quietly, his composure almost recovered. ‘I had a really great day and there didn’t seem to be a moment when it was right to ask you about the garden.’

  ‘That was quite an act you put on,’ she retorted, struggling to keep bitterness from her voice. ‘Some people actually thought we were a proper couple. Anyway, thanks – you certainly managed to convince everyone that I’m over David. And I already have a job. Goodbye, Mac. I’m sure you can find your way out.’

  Rain was beginning to fall heavily again as Flora brushed past him, intending to return through the rose garden and disappear into some secret corner where he couldn’t follow. But Mac was quicker, and he took her arm, heading across a patch of lawn to the shelter of a small wooden hut out of the worst of the weather. She furiously shook her arm free, as he dragged a hand across his face to wipe the raindrops away. She noticed that his shirt was already damp and beginning to cling to his skin, outlining the shape of a chest that her hands had already explored, and looked up sharply.

  ‘Please, will you think about it – the garden?’ he asked, gentle and serious all over again. ‘I saw the way it made you feel, and how you immediately understood its history and what it could be in the future. I have no expectations, Flora. I only want to say that I’d very much like you to come.’ He paused, a frown creasing his brow. ‘If you agree, then of course I’ll make sure that everything between us is purely professional this time.’

  The radio on Flora’s belt began to squawk and she picked it up, listening to the voice speaking through it. ‘I have to go; I’m needed back at the house.’

  ‘May I call you in a couple of days? If you say no, then of course I won’t bother you again. I’ll accept whatever decision you make.’

  She nodded and hurried away to the house without saying goodbye, all too sure that she had allowed her imagination to take flight and soar to somewhere she obviously now had no right to be.

  * * *

  She tossed and turned for the next two nights, as she considered every possibility. The most sensible decision, on a personal level, would be to refuse his offer and have nothing more to do with him. Professionally, she knew that the garden was a marvellous opportunity for her. But, as she kept reminding herself, she had her cottage and had recently been promoted; she loved her job and the role she was playing in the estate, and she really didn’t want to give it up just yet.

  On the third evening, she was at home, heating pasta in the microwave, when Mac called. Briskly, she told him her decision and all too soon the conversation was over. She had accepted his invitation, trying to convince herself that the only reason for going back to Alana was the work opportunity. But it wasn’t only that. She so wanted to be the one who would reveal the garden’s secrets, to share with him how every story the garden would tell fastened its history so firmly to its future.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I think you’re mad,’ Mel said incredulously when she heard what Flora was planning to do. She almost tilted a full wine glass at Flora to emphasise her point but hastily tipped it upright again, just in time. ‘He’s totally messed you around, and you’re going to go back and poke around in that grotty old garden for him? Why? What about your job?’

  Sophie and Mel had arrived to spend the weekend with Flora – their first together since the wedding – and they were crammed into her cottage, eating a Thai takeaway and already on a second bottle of red wine. Flora had planned to cook something nice for supper, but the idea had to be shelved once she had been delayed at work, so she had texted her friends to ask them apologetically to pick up something en route from the station.

  ‘I’m not giving up my job,’ Flora said patiently, reaching for the last shrimp spring roll as she glanced at Mel. ‘I know you’re angry with him, Mel. I’m only taking a couple of weeks’ holiday and I’ll spend it on the island, doing preliminary work on the garden, until I have to be back in Thorndale for Annie’s cottage. Mac has at least one of the original designs and I’m just going to see what’s left and try to gauge what’s needed, if he decides to restore it, and point him in the right direction for professional help.’

  ‘I still think you’re mad. What about him? How are you going to manage, seeing him every day, feeling the way you do? I can’t believe he turned up at my wedding, cool as you like and pretending to be your date, when he already had a girlfriend. She’s away, so he’s coming out to play. The lousy little—’

  Flora shot Sophie a cross look and interrupted Mel before she could vent any more of her temper. ‘Soph, I thought that conversation was just between us. And, anyway, apparently they weren’t together when he was at the wedding w
ith me.’

  Sophie shrugged, unconcerned, as Mel continued to glare, refusing to allow her opinion to be swayed. Sophie then informed them that Chloe Berkeley was currently filming a television drama series in South Africa, and her Instagram was full of stunning locations and cute animals, as well as the odd bikini shot, which endeared her to the thousands who followed her. ‘Sorry, babe. But it’s only the three of us; you know we’ve always shared everything. And I don’t think you’re mad, by the way. I think it’s a great idea, spending all that time with him.’

  ‘He almost certainly won’t be around.’ Flora hoped she had successfully concealed the little pang of disappointment that she hadn’t quite come to terms with yet. ‘He’s made it quite clear he’ll be working or seeing clients, probably in Edinburgh, so there won’t be any misunderstandings between us this time. And when this silly crush passes – and it will – I know I’ll never regret the chance to work on that garden.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Sophie sounded suspicious as she tipped the last of the bottle into their glasses and crossed to the fridge for another, throwing her friends a glance over her shoulder. ‘I’m not so sure, Flora. You can pretend it’s business as much as you like, but I saw the way you were looking at each other at the wedding.’

  ‘Don’t, Sophie, please,’ Flora pleaded, replacing her cutlery on her plate with a sigh as she pushed it away, her appetite gone. ‘The whole thing at the wedding was just a game, I can see that now. And I really am only going back because the garden is such a marvellous opportunity.’

  ‘Huh,’ Mel snorted, refusing more wine and jumping up to switch the coffee machine on instead. ‘Anyone else want a cup whilst I’m making it? You’re so much prettier than Chloe is, Flora. At least you would be if you didn’t live permanently in jeans and muddy boots. And look at your nails! How do they get in that state so quickly?’