The Winter Garden

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Because, like I’ve already explained, I wanted to get settled first.’

  It was ridiculous that I didn’t feel comfortable telling either her or Dad my whereabouts, but the turn the conversation then took more than justified my reason for not saying anything.

  ‘Well, whatever,’ she said, dismissing my explanation without further comment. ‘It says here that you’re working with him on this new Winter Garden project?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’ll have to let us know if you need any professional input,’ she offered.

  ‘I am the professional input,’ I said indignantly.

  ‘Well, of course, you are,’ she laughed, ‘but you know what I mean.’

  Unfortunately, I knew exactly what she meant. First Jackson had made out that I wasn’t up to the job his aunt had employed me to do and now my own mother was implying the very same thing. Either that, or she wanted to make sure she wasn’t missing out on a business opportunity.

  ‘Thank you for the offer,’ I said, biting my lip, ‘but I’m managing just fine, more than fine actually. You’ll be able to see for yourself when the garden is officially opened in a few weeks’ time.’

  I knew there was no point pretending there wasn’t going to be an official opening because Luke was bound to have mentioned it in the interview.

  ‘Not before then?’ she wheedled.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said firmly. ‘Luke’s very protective of his privacy.’

  ‘Um,’ she said, ‘I had heard that about him.’

  I was surprised by that, because I hadn’t. I’d only said it to keep her and Dad at arm’s length for a bit longer.

  ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I suppose we’ll have to wait for December twentieth. Now, Freya, let me give you an update on what’s happening at Broad-Meadows. You won’t believe—’

  ‘No,’ I said, cutting her firmly off. I wasn’t at all interested in hearing what Jackson was up to. ‘Sorry, Mum, but I have to go. I have a work meeting to get to.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘We never stop here,’ I said briskly. ‘Let’s catch up again in a few weeks.’

  I ended the call before she could say anything else and rang Peter for a quick video chat. I didn’t really have time, but I didn’t want to turn up at Prosperous Place carrying an aura tainted by the aftermath of a conversation with my mother.

  ‘Hey, Freya,’ he said, answering with a smile.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, my jangling nerves settling a little as I took in his familiar face.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Good,’ I said, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘Great.’

  ‘Are you sure? You don’t sound it.’

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone with Mum.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Peter knew full well that was enough of an explanation, but I elaborated anyway.

  ‘She told me to ask if I needed any professional input with the Winter Garden.’

  ‘That will account for the frown then.’

  I ran my fingers over my forehead, trying to smooth my brow.

  ‘Yeah,’ I swallowed. ‘Look, I don’t actually need any help to do this.’

  ‘Of course, you don’t.’

  ‘And practically everything’s already been approved, but if I email you my plan and proposal would you just have a quick read? Confirm that I’m on the right track.’

  ‘That Jackson guy really undermined your confidence, didn’t he? And your mother obviously hasn’t helped either, has she?’

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to agree out loud. It was enough carrying the evidence around in my head. The Mum and Jackson combo really had struck quite a blow.

  ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that everything you’ve planned is perfect, but by all means send it,’ Peter said kindly. ‘I’m really interested to see what you’re working on.’

  ‘Thanks, Peter,’ I said, feeling better.

  I took a moment to look at the detail around him. He obviously wasn’t at his place.

  ‘Are you in a restaurant?’ I squeaked, the second I realised I had interrupted what appeared to be an evening out.

  ‘I am,’ he nodded, turning the phone around so I could see a yacht-filled harbour and a very pretty woman sitting opposite him. ‘I’m actually on a date.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I said, cringing as he turned the screen back to his face, ‘I’m so sorry. Why did you answer?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he laughed.

  ‘Of course, it isn’t,’ I hissed. ‘I’m going now.’

  ‘Okay, but before you do, tell me, how’s that Finn fella you mentioned? Still an interesting character?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘He’s getting more intriguing by the day. I’ll email you later and please apologise to that lovely woman you’re with.’

  I hung up before he handed the phone over so I could say sorry myself. At least one of us had got our love lives back on track, that is, assuming she’d forgive him for taking a call from an ex in the middle of their dinner date.

  Nell and I jogged across the road, arriving hot and flustered in the Prosperous Place kitchen and full of apology for not getting there sooner. I noticed there was no Finn either.

  ‘Where’s Finn?’ I whispered as I slid into the empty space next to Chloe, and Nell headed for a spot in front of the range cooker with the cats. ‘I thought he said he wasn’t backing out.’

  ‘He’s not. He was here,’ she whispered back, ‘you’re sitting in his seat, but he spoke first and then excused himself so he could get back to work. His session is still going ahead.’

  ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘You’ll find out in a minute.’

  Having waited until I was settled in my seat, Carole then told us all about her grand cake and pudding plans. She was followed by Mark and Poppy and their delicious-sounding chutney and bread proposals. There was also a needlefelt session being run by Heather who had sorted childcare, planting up winter garden containers with Graham and making a woodland-inspired wreath, which was where Chloe came in.

  ‘I didn’t know you could do that,’ I said to her, once she had finished talking.

  ‘I’m full of hidden talents,’ she smiled. ‘I’m hoping you might give me a hand. But only in an assistant’s role,’ she hastily added.

  So that must have been the extra session Carole had signed me up for!

  Lisa and I were up next. Just like the others, we ran through what our schedule was going to include, timings for each section and what each attendee would need to bring. Had I not been helping out; I would have signed up to take part myself because it sounded wonderful. It all did.

  After a quick coffee break, Luke went through the formalities and handed around the contact details of each attendee to the relevant session leader – Lisa in my case – and we drafted out emails which we then read out, before all pressing send at the same time. It might sound silly, but it was very exciting and I wished Finn could have hung on to join in with the rest of us. Being in the thick of things might have lifted his spirits again, assuming they were still sagging.

  When I walked back to the square, I was tempted to knock on the studio door, but I didn’t. To be honest, I didn’t think he would have heard me anyway, because the radio was on full blast and it was accompanied by the sound of grinding metal. Even though he was cross with me for sticking up for him, I was still kind enough to hope that meant he had hit his creative stride and was happy in his work.

  It can’t have been easy to keep his dream alive when faced with Zak and his father’s steady stream of disparaging remarks. Jackson’s snide comments about my lack of qualifications had ensured I could empathise with some of what he was feeling and then there was my mother’s offer of professional input which hadn’t made me feel any better either. Perhaps I should point all that out to Finn. It might be a comfort to know that he wasn’t the only one striving to fulfil his dream in the face of adversity.r />
  Chapter 13

  That evening I emailed my plans, proposals and plant lists for the Winter Garden off to Peter, including further apology for interrupting his harbourside date, and went to bed early, wondering what the next few days would bring.

  The beginning of the week got off to a flying start, and I was able to indulge in one of the aspects of my job that I love the most. Luke had taken delivery of a huge plant order including shrubs, bulbs and a couple of small trees, and it was up to me to decide where they would be best placed.

  By Monday lunchtime I had everything marked out and was able to take him around, explaining why I had chosen to put things where and describing for him how it would all look, paying particular attention to the Winter Garden borders, in just a few weeks’ time.

  There was a certain irony in that I had just got on with it, rather than waiting to find out what Peter thought of my ideas. That clearly meant I had more confidence than I gave myself credit for and that, in reality, Jackson’s undermining (and to a lesser extent Mum’s) had no lasting power over me.

  In my mind’s eye, as Luke and I went around, I could already envisage the additional seasonal pops of colour that the new shrubs would bring and my nose was practically picking up the sweet scent of the sarcococca, which would start flowering soon after the new year. The viburnum x bodnantense with its tiny pink flowers was already providing a smell of what was to come and Luke was delighted with it all.

  ‘Winter is so often underrated,’ I enthused as we made our way back to the office, ‘but it only takes a couple of tweaks to keep real interest in the garden all year round.’

  Luke grinned as he held the door open for me.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I thought I was enthusiastic about the project,’ he laughed, ‘but you’re taking it to a whole new level, Freya.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, feeling my face flush with more than cold, ‘that’s what you’ve employed me to do so I might as well make a decent show of it.’

  ‘More than decent,’ he praised, joining in with my banter.

  I was delighted that he was so happy with the way it was all coming together and for me it was a relief to feel my creative spark burning brighter again. My former passion was finally back after its period of grieving for Eloise which had made it vulnerable to attack.

  ‘I’m going to start planting this afternoon,’ I told him, ‘and carry on with Chloe tomorrow.’

  ‘And I’m happy to help out,’ Luke said. ‘I was also wondering if we could get the girls out here to plant a few of the bulbs? As long as it won’t interfere with your schedule.’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ I told him. ‘In fact, I have a bit of a trick up my sleeve when it comes to bulb planting.’

  It wasn’t my trick, but it was a good one nonetheless. I was a massive fan of gardening enthusiast Beverley Nichols, who wrote passionately and prolifically about his horticultural endeavours, between the 1930s and 1960s. Eloise had introduced me to the books he had written about his various homes, gardens, friends and cats, and I had been hooked ever since.

  She had gifted me her exquisite hardback copies shortly before her death and they were my most prized possessions. He had not only written at length about his love of winter flowers and how a garden should have enough interest to tempt you from your fireside during the colder months, but also about his fun ways when it came to planting bulbs.

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ said Luke.

  ‘Good,’ I laughed, ‘I’m pleased, and I can guarantee you’ll be thrilled in a few months.’

  ‘You aren’t going to tell me what you’re planning to do with them, are you?’

  ‘Nope,’ I said, shaking my head.

  If I told him Mr Nichols’ methods for bulb planting now, there would be no surprises to come. As well as filling a wooden tray with bulbs, tossing them into the air and planting them where they fell to achieve a naturalistic look, he also liked to give his visiting friends a handful or two, along with a trowel and instructions about planting depth. Then, he would turn his back, send them out into the garden and eagerly look forward to the following spring when he could indulge in a treasure hunt in his own grounds to discover where they had ended up.

  That was what I intended to suggest to Kate. ‘Just bring Kate and the girls out tomorrow as soon as Jas gets home from school, and then go back into the house.’ I instructed Luke, my heart thrumming at the thought of playing the game Mr Nichols had invented.

  ‘You don’t want me to help?’

  ‘Nope,’ I told him firmly, ‘and I certainly don’t want you looking out to see what we’re up to.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he laughed, catching my enthusiasm, ‘I’ll stay hidden until you’re finished then.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I grinned.

  Thankfully, Jasmine was home early from school the next day. She’d had an afternoon dental appointment which meant going back to class was hardly worth it and was able to join me, along with Kate and Abigail and Chloe, just after half past two which gave us enough daylight to carry out my bulb planting plan.

  The sisters loved taking part and thought it was going to be great fun keeping it all a secret from their father, and Kate was keen too. It was almost dark when they finally headed back to the house and Chloe cycled home and most of the bulbs had been well hidden. I was going to plant the daffodils in what Luke called ‘the meadow lawn’ myself, and there were just a random few others left to distribute.

  There was no sound coming from Finn’s studio, but there was a light on and I wondered if I dared to knock and ask if he fancied taking part. If not in the dark that evening, then perhaps tomorrow or later in the week.

  I knew I was using the idea as an excuse to work out whether or not he had forgiven me sticking up for him in front of Zak, but it had all been preying on my mind and I really did want to try and explain to him that, with regards to family at least, we truly were paddling a pretty similar boat.

  I was also interested to discover what exactly he had said about me to his family. Zak had implied that he’d said something, but given that Finn had a complicated relationship with his father, I thought mentioning me at all was unnecessary, so it was most likely something and nothing, inflated by his half-brother to arouse Finn’s annoyance and my curiosity, and that of course had worked because I desperately wanted to know.

  The only problem was, you never knew which version of Finn you were going to be faced with. Would it be Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde who opened the door? Would I be treated to a warm welcome or a glowering scowl? I’d had a truly lovely afternoon, and the surly Mr Hyde would be a total mood killer. If I was still in Finn’s bad books, then I was really going to regret disturbing him, even though I would have been doing it with the best of intentions.

  I’d literally just decided not to take the risk when the studio door was wrenched practically off its hinges and Finn peered out.

  ‘I thought I heard someone loitering,’ he said gruffly, and I took another step away, swallowing down the gasp which had shot into and then out of my mouth.

  ‘I was just passing,’ I swallowed, readjusting my hold on the bulb bag and trying to sound placatory for fear of further rousing Mr Hyde from his lair. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just about to pack up for the day.’

  ‘In that case,’ he said, stepping out, reaching for my sleeve and pulling me in before I had a chance to free myself from his grasp, ‘come and give me your opinion before I bottle it and start to take them all apart again.’

  I had barely time to draw breath, let alone object to his gentle but nonetheless forceful manhandling, before I was over the threshold and the door had closed behind me.

  ‘Where’s Nell?’ he frowned, releasing me and thankfully putting a little space between us.

  ‘Asleep in the office,’ I told him.

  ‘Good,’ he said, biting his lip, ‘because I haven’t had a chance to sweep up yet.’

  I could see that. The place was littered with
all sorts of sharp-looking odds and ends.

  ‘So,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks and raising his eyebrows, ‘what do you think?’

  He nodded towards the back of the studio and I followed his gaze. Another gasp rose unbidden in my throat and this time I did nothing to check it.

  ‘Oh, Finn,’ I cried, abandoning the bag of bulbs and rushing over, all thoughts of our crossed swords, my good intentions and determination to wheedle out of him what he had said about me, instantly forgotten, ‘they’re incredible!’

  He came to stand next to me.

  ‘You really think so?’ he asked, running a hand through his wild hair and staring at me intently, a frown etched so deeply across his forehead it looked like a freshly furrowed field.

  ‘Of course, I do,’ I told him. ‘How could I possibly think anything else?’

  His shoulders dropped, the frown cleared and his expression was transformed. The biggest smile lit up his face and he looked like a completely different person. Dr Jekyll was definitely in the house. Or studio in this case and as far as being miffed with me for sticking up for him was concerned, I was pretty certain I was forgiven.

  ‘They’re for the meadow lawn,’ he told me.

  The huskiness of his tone told me he was clearly touched by my reaction.

  ‘They should be in a gallery,’ I said back, and I meant it too.

  ‘Well,’ he said, cocking his head as he started to study them again, ‘I don’t know about that.’

  All of the tension in him had disappeared and his tone was softer. It really would have been heresy if he had ‘bottled it and pulled them all apart again’.

  ‘Well, I do,’ I insisted, moving to admire them from another angle. I felt tears gather behind my eyes and knew my emotive reaction was not only the result of admiring his outstanding work, but also because of the dramatic change in him. ‘How on earth have you made them look so alive?’

  What he had created from various coils, springs, cogs and cylinders were a trio of hares. The first in the sequence was poised to leap, the second was at full stretch and the third had just landed. They were utterly mesmerising and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see them turn their elegant heads in my direction and blink. They were going to look perfect positioned in the meadow lawn.