‘These roses date back to medieval times,’ she told Julian now, the spirit of her grandfather deep within her. ‘The red is Rosa Gallica Officinalis, also known as the Apothecary’s Rose, and it’s believed to be the red rose of the House of Lancaster.’
‘Ah! The War of the Roses,’ Julian said, at last recognising something.
‘We like to plant it with the striped Rosa Mundi here,’ she said. ‘Another lovely old Gallica rose and a sport of the red one.’
‘A sport?’
‘A child if you like,’ she explained. ‘And these are the Victorian roses – the Bourbons are amongst the most beautiful. They have gorgeous double blooms and deep rich colours and the most heavenly of scents. No garden should be without at least half a dozen Bourbons.’
Julian bent down and sniffed. ‘Delicious,’ he said. ‘I must buy some from you for Myrtle Cottage.’
‘Gertie would be thrilled to help you choose.’
They walked down another path and under an arch, the scent of roses seeming to saturate the air.
Julian shook his head. ‘I think I’m beginning to see the magic in roses now.’
‘They do get a hold of you,’ she said. ‘There’s a story about a rose grower called Joseph Pemberton who was obsessed with roses from a young age. He went to boarding school and took a bloom of Souvenir de la Malmaison with him in a barley sugar tin. It disintegrated, of course, but its scent would remain until the Christmas holidays.’
Julian smiled. ‘And did you ever do anything like that?’
Celeste nodded. ‘I’ve got a collection of pressed roses in an old book somewhere but it always seemed so sad to flatten them so I gave up and just tried to remember them instead. I suppose that’s why Grandpa Arthur bought so many lovely rose paintings. The winters can seem so long and lonely without the company of roses and I really miss the long, light summer days of being in the garden too. Nothing gives me as much peace as roses.’ She smiled lightly. ‘I can be in the foulest of moods but a walk around the garden and a glance at a rose can dispel all sorts of horrors.’ She looked wistful for a moment and then added, ‘To sit in a walled garden on a sunny day is to be in heaven.’
They paused by a scarlet rose bush.
‘What’s this one?’Julian asked.
‘That’s a hybrid tea. They’re the most popular roses now,’ Celeste told him, ‘but I prefer the old roses. They do have a lovely centre, though, don’t they?’
They were walking back towards the house when Julian stopped and commented. ‘The manor certainly is huge,’ he said.
Celeste nodded. ‘I often wonder what it would have been like to have grown up in a modern house – just an average little terrace somewhere with central heating and double-glazing. It would definitely have taken the pressure off everyone and we wouldn’t constantly be stressed out and yelling at each other.’
‘But – other than the money worries – you all get along?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Celeste said.
‘I was best friends with my father,’ Julian said. ‘He was sweet and gentle but totally driven by his work. He always gave everything a hundred percent. He didn’t know any other percentage.’
Celeste smiled at this.
‘He was passionate about art and so we always had some common ground – always something to talk about. But he could never relax. He was always working. He never switched off. There was always some painting to chase or some way of improving business. Nobody was surprised when his second heart attack took him.’ Julian sighed. ‘I miss him. I miss hearing his voice. And I know I’m just a shadow of the man he was.’ He stopped talking and looked momentarily baffled. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘For rambling on so much.’
‘But you’re not,’ she said. ‘Anyway, it’s all so interesting.’
‘Really?’ he said, a tiny smile on his face.
Celeste smiled back and he seemed to relax more. ‘And you’re happy in your work?’ she said, encouraging him to continue.
‘I am,’ he said, ‘but I do have this dream of opening up an antiques centre one day. You know – leaving London and setting up a business here in Suffolk.’ His face took on a reflective quality.
‘And giving up the auction house?’
‘More like handing it over to somebody else. I’d still manage things but take more of a back seat,’ he said.
‘Well, Suffolk is full of antique centres,’ Celeste said. ‘Are you sure you’ll make a living?’
He smiled. ‘If I could do what I truly loved, I’d be happy just to get by.’
She nodded. ‘I feel the same way about our roses. None of us have ambitions to become millionaires but we do want to be the very best that we can. Oh, and keep a roof over our heads.’
Julian held her gaze for a moment. ‘Excuse me if this sounds rude, but have you ever thought of selling the manor and buying a smaller place?’
Celeste turned away from him for a moment. ‘We’ve actually been discussing that,’ she confided. ‘But it’s not going very well. I know it seems that it’s doing nothing but sucking all our money whilst falling down around us but my sisters really love it. It’s hard to imagine Hamilton Roses being based anywhere else but we might have to rethink things – and soon, too, because I just can’t see how we can go on living here.’
‘It is a very special place,’ he said.
Celeste nodded. ‘Our grandparents poured their hearts and souls into it.’
‘And your parents felt the same way?’
Celeste’s took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think our dad ever really had that connection to the manor because it wasn’t his family home. He sort of endured it for Mum and spent as much time away from it as he could. His work took him to London a lot and, when they divorced, he couldn’t get away fast enough. I don’t think he was ever really a part of this place or the rose business and, when he left, Mum made sure our names were changed to her family name, Hamilton. Dad never forgave her for that. She said it was just good business sense but I think there was more to it than that.’
‘And he’s in London now?’
Celeste smiled. ‘Funnily enough, he isn’t. He ended up buying the sweetest little cottage near Clare and lives there with his new wife, Simone.’
They continued walking along the bank of the moat towards the gatehouse.
‘So,’ he said, ‘how are you coping with everything?’
Celeste gave a little shrug and Julian nodded knowingly.
‘When my mother died,’ he began, ‘it was as if everything had been turned upside down. None of us seemed to know what to do for the longest time. It was the worst kind of pain. Nothing can prepare you for it and there’s no right or wrong way to deal with it either. Everyone’s different. So don’t worry if it takes time to deal with everything. It’s normal.’
‘Thank you,’ she said in a tiny voice. That was what people said if somebody expressed sympathy, wasn’t it?
‘You were close?’ he asked and Celeste’s eyes snapped wide open at the question. ‘Sorry,’ he added hurriedly. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
She took a deep breath. She’d spent a whole lifetime wondering how to answer that question. Whenever people asked her about her mother, she always felt completely lost. What was she meant to say? That her mother made her feel like she had no worth at all? That she belittled her, mocked her and called her names? Was that the normal behaviour of a mother? Celeste had had enough friends growing up to know that it wasn’t. She’d visited their homes and seen that mothers could be kind and loving; they could be fun and open. They could be real people. And that was the problem for Celeste. Her mother had never felt real. There’d been nothing genuine about her, which was a puzzling and disturbing thing for a daughter to realise, but there it was. And how exactly was she meant to explain that to this man? It would be
easier not to, she decided.
‘It was very kind of you to call,’ she said as they reached his car. ‘Keep me updated about the paintings, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, pausing for a moment. ‘Celeste?’
She’d turned to go but looked back at him. ‘Yes?’
‘If you want to talk about this – any of this – I’m a pretty good listener. It doesn’t have to be just about the paintings. Anything you want to talk about.’ He gave her a smile and a little wave before getting into his car and leaving her standing there feeling completely baffled.
14.
Gertie drove the company van through the lanes of the Stour Valley back towards Little Eleigh, passing the church with the leaning wall before descending the hill and crossing the river. She felt as if she’d been away for an age – certainly longer than two nights.
Turning down the tree-lined lane to the manor, she looked at her watch. It was a little after one o’clock on Monday. They’d left it as long as possible before saying goodbye but James had said he couldn’t delay it any longer.
‘Can’t we have lunch together?’ Gertie had asked him.
‘I wish we could,’ he’d said, kissing the tip of her nose, ‘but I’ve really got to get back. Samantha –’
‘I know,’ Gertie had said with a sigh. ‘She doesn’t realise how lucky she is to have you all the time.’
James had laughed. ‘She doesn’t see that,’ he’d said. ‘I often think she resents me being there.’
‘How can she resent you being there in your own home when you do so much for her?’ Gertie had stroked her fingers through his fair hair.
‘Because she’s not as kind-hearted as you are,’ he’d told her. ‘I’ve never met anyone as sweet and caring as you are, Gertie.’
‘Then be with me,’ she’d said. ‘All the time.’
‘I will,’ he’d said, ‘and soon.’
‘You know, our little dream of moving abroad might be a lot closer than you think,’ she’d told him.
‘Really?’ He’d sounded surprised. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, just something I’ve been working on,’ she’d said. She hadn’t wanted to divulge too much about the idea of selling the manor just yet in case it all fell through, but she’d needed to be able to feel as if things were moving forward with James. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it all. I get so excited when I imagine our future together!’
‘Me too,’ he’d said. ‘Tell me about that little villa of yours again.’
She’d laughed. ‘Well, it’s set high up in the hills above a pretty village and it has blue shutters and vines clambering up around it. The soil in the garden is perfect for roses.’
‘Of course!’
‘Of course! And we’ll grow all our own fruit and vegetables and eat outside on the terrace before going up to bed each night.’
‘Just the two of us.’
‘Yes.’
‘That,’ he’d said, kissing her sweetly, ‘makes me so crazy for you!’
Driving through the gates now and crossing the moat, she tried to relive the moments she’d shared with James.
‘I don’t want to go home,’ she’d told him that morning as they’d left the hotel with their overnight bags. ‘Can’t we stay here forever?’
‘I wish we could,’ he’d said. ‘Maybe we can do this again sometime.’
‘Sometime soon,’ she’d said. But when? He hadn’t committed to anything and she knew it would probably be next week before she could see him again.
She parked the van and got out. There was a part of her that felt mortified that she was seeing a married man. She was a romantic at heart and her idealised view of falling in love hadn’t ever factored in a married man. But life was messy and unpredictable. It didn’t conform to romantic notions and she had to accept that. James might be married but the marriage was over – he’d told her that a thousand times. She just had to be patient and wait for the right moment.
‘And then we can be together,’ she told herself, taking a deep breath before going inside, knowing that if she agreed to sell the manor then her dream would be closer than ever before.
It was lunch time. Gertie could hear her sisters’ voices from the kitchen downstairs, and the welcoming barks of Frinton soon alerted them to her arrival.
‘Gertie!’ Evie said, rushing to greet her as she walked into the room a moment later. ‘How was Cambridge?’
‘Good,’ Gertie said, bending down to pat Frinton’s head as he bounced on the spot in an attempt to get closer to her.
‘Yeah?’ Evie said. ‘So, did you do a deal?’
Gertie shook her head and walked across to one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘Not yet,’ she said, taking out a can of vegetable soup.
‘No?’
‘No,’ Gertie said.
Evie looked at her, head cocked to one side and bright eyes narrowed as she watched her sister’s movements. ‘Cambridge wasn’t about roses at all, was it?’
Gertie was busying herself with a pan and wooden spoon and didn’t turn around. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you didn’t go to Cambridge on business, did you? And you didn’t stay with some old friend, either.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Gertie said, turning wounded eyes upon Evie.
‘Because you’re being all weird and vague,’ Evie said.
‘I am not.’
Celeste, who’d been quietly observing the scene whilst drinking a cup of tea at the table, spoke now.
‘Evie – leave Gertie alone.’
‘Oh, so you’re in on this big secret, are you?’
‘I just don’t think you should go poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted,’ Celeste said.
‘I bet it’s some old Cambridge professor who wears tweed and reads poetry to you whilst punting you along The Backs and tells you that you’re like a maid from Arthurian legend!’ Evie continued with a giggle. ‘Anyway, an old friend wouldn’t have bought you such a pretty locket either,’ Evie said.
Gertie’s hand flew up to her neck. ‘What nonsense you talk, Evie. I bought this myself ages ago.’
‘Really?’
Gertie nodded.
‘You’re an appalling liar, Gertie,’ Evie said with a laugh.
‘Evie – stop it,’ Celeste said. ‘Haven’t you got something to do in the garden?’
‘Probably!’ she said, pouting at being thus dismissed.
‘Then I suggest you get on with it,’ Celeste said.
Evie sighed. ‘God, Celly, you’re turning into Mum,’ she said.
‘Don’t you ever say that,’ Celeste retorted and the two of them glared at each other.
‘Sorry,’ Evie said. ‘I was wrong. You’re nothing like Mum. She was always nice to me! You’re just mean.’
Evie left the room, muttering under her breath.
‘Are you all right?’ Gertie asked, bringing her soup to the table and sitting down opposite Celeste.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. Their eyes met and they smiled at one another. ‘How about you?’
Gertie nodded and began to eat. Celeste watched her, wondering if she was going to volunteer any information.
‘Did you have a good weekend?’ Gertie asked.
‘Yes,’ Celeste said. ‘I got through a whole heap of paperwork in the study.’
Gertie smiled. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said. ‘Evie texted me that Julian called this morning.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’
‘And?’
‘It was a business thing,’ Celeste said.
‘Then why didn’t he just ring?’ Gertie asked.
Celeste picked at a finger that she’d caught on a Hybrid Musk thorn earlier that morning. ‘I expect it was easier to talk to me in person.’
Gertie finished her soup. ‘I like him,’ she declared. ‘He’s sweet.’
‘He’s not here to be sweet. He’s here to get us the best price for our paintings.’
‘Celly – you know he likes you.’
She shook her head. ‘I know nothing of the sort.’
‘Of course you do! You always know when a man fancies you,’ Gertie said gently.
‘Well, I’m not interested, okay? I have far too much to do and I haven’t got time to think about men at the moment even if I was ready. Anyway,’ she added, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love again.’
Gertie looked as if she’d been slapped in the face with a trug. ‘You can’t really think that, can you?’
‘I haven’t had time to think about it,’ Celeste said.
‘But love isn’t something that you pop in your diary. It just happens. You can’t timetable it or hope it fits in with your busy routine because it never does. It never happens the way you think it will happen or plan for it to happen,’ Gertie said. ‘It’s messy and wonderful and unpredictable.’
‘And time-consuming,’ Celeste said.
Gertie smiled. ‘There’s always time for love,’ she said.
‘Not for me,’ Celeste said. ‘Not anymore.’
Gertie sighed. ‘You’ll change your mind when the right man comes along.’
Celeste stared into the bottom of her teacup, hoping that the conversation was over.
‘You know, Evie was right,’ Gertie suddenly said in a voice barely above a whisper.
‘What do you mean?’ Celeste asked, looking up again.
Gertie chewed her lip before answering. ‘I did go to Cambridge to see someone.’
Celeste frowned. ‘Who?’
‘I can’t –’ She paused.
‘Remember?’ Celeste said with a smile. ‘You got drunk and can’t remember who it was?’
Gertie reached across the table to hit her sister’s hand. ‘No!’
‘Then what? You can’t tell me?’
Gertie’s eyes fixed on the table as her finger circled one of the dark knots in the woodwork. ‘It’s a bit complicated,’ she said at last.
The Rose Girls Page 12
