A Good Year for the Roses: A Novel

by Gil McNeil

  He pours more wine into my glass.

  “Let’s change the subject. Bea tells me the gatehouse is working out very well, and you’re ready to put the plans in for the stables? Still sure you want to keep things small?”

  Right. That’s it. Here goes.

  “I did want to talk to you about that, only I’ve been having second thoughts, and maybe you and Roger are right, perhaps I should be looking at a bigger development. Build something bigger, and make some proper money.”

  He can’t hide his delight.

  “Well good for you. I was sure you’d see sense eventually, and I’d be happy to invest, I really would and I’m sure Roger would too.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “He mentioned something about it, a few months ago, in passing, and I’m sure if we came up with the right plans, he’d be interested. He’s keen on expanding, I know that.”

  Damn, I knew it. I’m trying to remain calm.

  “Is he?”

  “Oh definitely, it has so much potential. It could be part of the marketing for the hotel, widen the offer to include apartments and cottages, with the Hall as the hub, with the front office and housekeeping and a few apartments. You could move somewhere new—there’s some land coming up along the coast. I’ve been tipped off about it by a contact at the council, and it would be perfect for you.”

  “Right.”

  He’s more animated than I’ve ever seen him.

  “I’m so glad you’ve thought this through Molly. So glad.”

  He takes hold of my hand. Bloody hell.

  “So what happens to Bertie?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Where would Bertie live?”

  “I think a project like this could transform things for all of you. We can find him somewhere safe, where he’s looked after as things start to deteriorate—and they will, you know.”

  “Enough. I’ve heard enough, thanks.”

  “Sorry?”

  “There is no project Stephen.”

  “But…”

  “I wanted to see how you’d react. It was a feminist trick question. You pressed a bigger button than you thought. I’ve already told you what my plans are, but clearly you weren’t listening.”

  “But I thought…”

  “Yes, I can see what you thought, you and Roger. Make a fuss of her, and she’ll go along with whatever grand scheme the two of you have been hatching to make yourselves even more money—was that the plan?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ve only spoken once or twice about it, nothing more. I think I may have given you the wrong impression. I only offered to invest as a sign of confidence. I thought you’d find it encouraging.”

  “Well I don’t. And the Hall is not being turned into a hub. Not while I’m in charge.”

  He looks furious now.

  “If you can’t see beyond the parochial, there’s really no point in talking about this. You need real vision to make the most of potential like that.”

  “I can see way beyond it, thanks. Way past the let’s-make-a-few-quid-and-bugger-everyone-else. Dig up the rose garden and stick Bertie in a home. Do you think they’d let him take Betty? No? I thought not. To be honest, I think it’s your vision which is parochial.”

  Actually I’m not entirely sure what “parochial” means, but I’m guessing it’s the kind of snooty thing architects say when you ask for something child-friendly and warm and they give you acres of steel and glass and no bloody bannisters on the stairs.

  “In what way? Do enlighten me. Jesus, I doubt you even know what it means.”

  He’s looking furious now.

  Good.

  “Oh I think I do Stephen. I just have to look at you and Roger and I get a pretty big clue. I’m keeping faith with what Helena wanted, and keeping my family safe and happy. Not lying on a beach somewhere stoned out of their heads on God knows what while I ponce about being visionary. Otherwise what’s the bloody point? Thank you for dinner, but I think it’s time I left now. I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your visionary time—it’s making me feel rather nauseous. But do enjoy your cockles.”

  I stand up, and there’s an awkward moment when I notice people are staring, including the waiter, and I’m shaking as I walk into the restaurant and back out into the street, literally shaking as I walk towards the taxi rank. Bloody hell, I keep thinking of other things I wished I’d said on the taxi ride home, but at least I said something. I didn’t just sit there. God, I wish I’d thrown my wine all over his white linen trousers—if we’d been drinking red, that would have been even better. I should have asked for a glass of red wine with my prawns. Bloody cheek. What a total knob, as Dan would say.

  I’m exhausted by the time I get home and the adrenaline starts to ebb. Celia and Eddie are sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea.

  “The boys were so amusing tonight, we’ve just sat down. Bertie is pretending not to be asleep in the library, but you won’t get any sense out of him, so I wouldn’t bother dear. Did you have a nice evening? You’re home earlier than I expected. Oh my dear, whatever’s the matter?”

  Much to my horror I’ve started to cry, and the more I try to stop it, the worse it gets.

  “Eddie, get the brandy.”

  “No, really, I’m fine.”

  Celia puts her arm around my shoulder.

  “Sit down and tell me, or don’t, up to you, but you need a drink.”

  “There’s nothing to tell really.”

  “I see. Well, good riddance then.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Pour her a proper drink Edward. She doesn’t want a sip, she wants a proper drink. He was nowhere near good enough for you, far too pleased with himself, fussy about his clothes too, and I never trust a chap who fusses about his clothes, very bad sign.”

  “Right.”

  Eddie hands me a tumbler with a very large brandy.

  “For what it’s worth, I thought he was a bit of a wanker too.”

  “So did I. It’s not that. I’m just furious, that’s all. I’m not heartbroken. And I’m starving. I hardly got to eat anything before I walked out.”

  “Oh, well, good.”

  “Give me some credit.”

  Celia chuckles.

  “Sorry my dear. Drink up.”

  “I don’t really like brandy Celia. What I’d really like is a cup of tea and a sandwich.”

  She takes the glass and knocks it back.

  “Follow me, I’ll put the kettle on. Oh I say, I’d forgotten how good a really decent brandy can be. That’s one thing you can always rely on Bertie for—he keeps a jolly decent cellar. Always has.”

  Ivy has clearly been updated by Celia by the time I get back from dropping Ben and Alfie at school the next morning.

  “Sit down and take the weight off your feet dear. I gather we won’t be seeing any more of Mr. Jackson then?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well good, because I never liked him. I didn’t like to say, but he’s not half as clever as he likes to think he is, with his fancy car and his special trousers. And he never visits his mum, I can tell you that.”

  “I don’t think I could have put it better myself, Ivy.”

  “Oh there you are Mr. Edward. Do you want a bacon sandwich, only I’m about to start on lunch and I can’t be doing with late breakfasts when I’m doing lunch.”

  “Yes please Ivy.”

  “Go and wash your hands then.”

  He winks at me as he heads into the scullery.

  “Will Dennis be coming in?”

  “I think so. He’s just putting some oil on the lawn mower.”

  “Fuss he makes about that thing. Surprised he hasn’t got a blanket for it when he puts it away at night.”

  Eddie and I exchange smiles. Dennis does have an old tarpaulin he drapes over the mower. He claims it stops the damp sea air getting in, but I don’t think we’ll tell Ivy that.

  “Cup of tea Miss Molly?”

  “Than
ks Ivy.”

  Bugger. It’s the last day of the summer term tomorrow and I’ve forgotten to buy treats for the class picnics for Ben and Alfie, so I’m up until half past eleven making fairy cakes and Rice Krispie cakes, and getting melted chocolate all over the kitchen counter. By the time I’ve tidied up and I’m heading upstairs, it’s nearly midnight, and I’m wide awake. I’ve got a tray with tea and a fairy cake, and a glass of water for the morning, and my To Do list so I can have a peaceful half hour scribbling and if that doesn’t do the trick, I’ll read. I’m having another go with the roses book which Ivy and Dennis got me for Christmas, and it’s starting to make a bit more sense. I’m halfway up the stairs when I notice I’ve left the light on in the pantry. Bugger. And then everything goes into slow motion as I turn, do some weird thing to my ankle, and the tray goes flying as I start to fall backwards.

  Fuck. This isn’t going to be good.

  Double Fuck.

  “Molly, can you hear me? Oh God, Eddie, phone for an ambulance. Molly, wake up my darling girl, wake up. Should I slap her, do you think?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous Bertie. She’s unconscious, not hysterical.”

  “Brandy, that’s what we need. Go and get some brandy Celia.”

  “She doesn’t like brandy. Let’s wait for the ambulance, poor girl, she’s cut her arm, quite badly by the looks of it. It must have been the glass. Bring a towel Edward, quickly, don’t just stand there.”

  “Molly, can you hear me? Please wake up my darling girl.”

  “Bertie, I, fucking hell that hurts.”

  “Don’t try to sit up my darling, just stay where you are. I’ve got you, and we’re all here. You’re safe now, and the ambulance is on its way.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Long Hot

  Summer (on

  Crutches)

  August

  Moss Roses

  Dating back to the 1700s, these roses have a mossy growth on their buds and stems which enhances the fragrance of the petals with resinous undertones of moss, pine, and balsam. Notable varieties include Madame Alboni, with large violet-pink curling petals which pale with age; Rene d’Anjou, with its copper-tinted leaves, soft pink flowers, and a memorable sweet fragrance; and William Lobb, a dark-purple rose which fades to a picturesque lavender with a deep rose scent.

  It’s nearly six o’clock in the morning by the time we get back from the hospital. Bertie and Celia came with me, and sat holding my hand, while Eddie stayed with the boys. The ambulance didn’t have the siren on when it arrived, so the boys didn’t wake up, thank God, and by the looks of it, they’re still asleep. But Ivy and Dennis must have spotted all the commotion, since they’re both standing by the front door, looking worried.

  Ivy walks towards the car, which Celia has parked as close to the house as she can get without actually driving up the front steps.

  “Well I never. Just look at the state of you.”

  She bursts into tears and lifts her pinny up to dab at her face.

  “Oh Ivy, it’s not that bad.”

  “Just ignore me. It’s the shock of seeing you all bandaged up, and what on earth you were doing making cakes in the middle of the night is anybody’s guess. Couldn’t it have waited until the morning?”

  “They’re for the boys, for their class picnics today at school.”

  “Well that’s as may be, but now look at you, and I’d have made them, you know that. What on earth your mother’s going to say I can’t imagine, but I hope you’ll tell her I would have made them for you, you only had to ask. The Lord knows how we’re going to get you upstairs.”

  Dennis tuts.

  “Leave the poor girl alone and let’s get her indoors and sat on the sofa, and then we can come up with a proper plan. Here, take my arm love, and me and Eddie will help you in.”

  “I’ve got crutches; I just need to work out how to get out of the car. Getting in was tricky enough.”

  “You take your time. Eddie, you stay here, and everyone else can go indoors and give her a bit of peace. You too, Mr. Bertie. You look completely done in.”

  “Not one of my better evenings I’ll agree, but all’s well that ends well. Brave girl, hardly a peep out of her when they did the stitches. Had to have a great big injection too. Wish I hadn’t watched now, but someone needed to keep an eye on them. Come on Ivy, people will be wanting a bit of breakfast and a cup of something hot, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  She nods and takes Bertie’s arm.

  “You come with me Mr. Bertie, and tell me all about it. Must have been a terrible shock for you.”

  “Yes, it was, but at least I managed not to burst into tears. And stop patting my arm woman, I’m not the invalid.”

  Celia smiles and heads after them.

  “Edward, do be careful, don’t rush her.”

  Dennis tuts.

  “Thought we’d never get rid of them all fussing about. Right, ready to try to stand now love? I’ll stand here and Eddie will be the other side of the door, so you just shuffle along and we’ll lift you out of the car—how does that sound?”

  I shuffle, and put my feet on the floor, or rather one foot and one plaster cast.

  “I’ve hurt my shoulder too Dennis. Pulled a ligament or something they think, so I’m not sure trying to lift me is such a good idea.”

  “Oh, well that makes things a bit trickier. Let’s think a minute.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, you’re getting cold. Just stay still.”

  Eddie opens the car door, and before I know it, he’s lifting me out of the car.

  “Eddie, please, I’m just—”

  “Do be quiet. And try not to move, or I’ll drop you, and then we’ll have to go back to the hospital.”

  Crikey.

  Dennis runs ahead and opens the front door as wide as it will go, and the double doors to the drawing room, and Eddie deposits me on the sofa.

  Bertie is clearly impressed.

  “Well done my boy. Excellent.”

  “Yes, thank you Eddie.”

  He’s blushing now.

  “Yes, well done Edward. Molly, should we call your mother now, do you think?”

  “Let’s leave it a bit longer Celia. It’s still very early, and she’ll only fuss.”

  Bertie puts his hand on my shoulder very gently.

  “Fair enough, although a word to the wise: I’d stand by for a fair bit of fussing over the next few weeks if I were you. Might as well resign yourself to it and enjoy it. Don’t see you’ve got much choice. Only problem I can see is how long it will take Ivy and your mother to come to blows over who’s in charge. You won’t get a look in, Celia. And neither will you, my dear.”

  “Oh God.”

  “I’d take a few more of your pills if I were you, and brace yourself.”

  Oh God.

  “Darling, I’ve brought treats. How are you?”

  “I’m fine Lola, until the drugs wear off. The ankle’s not too bad. They said it’s only a hairline fracture.”

  “How long will you be in plaster?”

  “Four weeks, they think, but that’s not the tricky bit. I’ve got seven stitches in my right arm and I’ve wrenched my left shoulder, so I can’t even get my PJs on by myself. Mum and Ivy are taking it in turns to dress me.”

  “Your mum told me about that, so I’ve brought you some white cotton nightdresses, with buttons all the way down the front—very Victorian chambermaid.”

  “They sound perfect, thank you Lola.”

  “My pleasure darling. How did you manage to get a black eye?”

  “God knows, but Mum and Ivy might be getting one too if they don’t calm down—they’re driving me crazy.”

  “I’ve brought vodka. I thought we could have it with lots of ice. Ice is meant to be good for swollen things, isn’t it?”

  “Not usually in vodka. I’d give it a go, only I’m not meant to drink with the tablets they gave me.”

  “Now that is truly tragic.”

  �
�Tell me about it. They won’t even let me get out of bed.”

  “Who won’t?”

  “Take a wild guess.”

  “Oh dear, you know I love you darling, but I’m not taking on your mum and Ivy, or Celia. They’ve sort of morphed into some sort of Molly Protection League. I practically had to get written permission before I was allowed to visit.”

  “I know. I’m going to have to put my foot down.”

  “Presumably not the one that’s in plaster?”

  “Very amusing, I’m sure. They won’t even let Bertie in unaccompanied, in case he leads me astray. Although God knows how he’d manage that, since I can’t actually use my crutches until my arms are a bit better.”

  “Maybe you could lie on the floor and roll along.”

  “Rolling downstairs is how I got myself into this mess in the first place, thanks very much.”

  “We could sit you on a tray.”

  “Sure. You first.”

  “Sounds like Eddie’s been handy, though?”

  “He’s been great, he carried me downstairs on Monday so I could have tea with the boys. Although he won’t be able to do it for much longer if Ivy keeps feeding me up—his knees were buckling already. The boys have been sweet too, but now they’re bored with it. Although they do like Ivy and Mum making their packed lunches for school—they get a lot more sausage rolls and jam tarts than when I make them.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and Eddie comes in.

  “They’ve sent me up with some tea and toasted cheese.”

  “Oh God, not another snack.”

  He grins.

  “I’ll eat it if you like.”

  “Please.”

  He puts the tray down on the bedside table and picks up a square of toasted cheese, before offering the plate to Lola.

  “No thank you darling.”

  “Anything else you need?”

  Lola gives him one of her best smiles.