A chirp from the turret roof behind him had Hamish craning his neck upwards. A robin was perched near the edge of the roof turning its head to peer down at him. It chirped again, took off and flew around his head before landing back where it had started from.
“Don’t tell me you’re the same little guy that gave me the Cook’s tour of this place when I first floundered through the woods.” The bird sat preening and looking as smug as a robin could. Hamish turned to rest his back against the parapet. “Well, it’s good to see you again. I wondered where you’d got to. Oh …and a very Merry Christmas to you.” The robin chirruped once more, flew up to perch briefly atop the weather vane above the turret then flew off down the garden. Hamish watched the little fellow until he disappeared from sight into the trees near the carriage house. Checking his watch, he could see that it was time he was away himself.
He ducked through the tower door and turned his body to go down the ladder, humming the tune he’d been thinking of while up on the walk ...careful not to bump his Christmas present to himself and the other reason he had made the climb to the tower. It was a new celestial telescope, bought shortly after moving into White Briars but before he had realised that the tower was more than ornamental. He’d left it in the packaging until this morning ...he and Elaine had always opened their Christmas gifts in the morning before going off to church, and he had wanted to retain some semblance of the tradition even if she wasn’t there to share it with him. Steve and Linda had left gifts for him while they were down, after trying unsuccessfully to convince him to come back to London for the holiday. Hamish had already phoned to wish them and the children a merry Christmas ...Jamie was beside himself with excitement at the Thomas the Tank Engine rail set that Hamish had bought for him and Steve had said that he REALLY wished that Hamish had been there in person to help put the tracks together at six a.m. that morning.
Hamish left the house by the front entranceway, planning to wander down past the yews on his way to church. It was a perfect morning for a walk ...there was a stillness in the air, as if everything in the garden was holding its breath on this most sacred of mornings. Like a small boy, he enjoyed leaving footprints in the pristine surface of the snow ...as he approached the top terrace steps he stopped and looked behind at his tracks. Ideal snow for making a snowman ...he felt a sharp pang at the reminder that he had no one to make a snowman with, or for, then let it pass ...the snow was still beautiful, regardless of him having anyone to show it off to or not ...beautiful, and cold, ...he had two pairs of woollen socks inside his boots and wore thick brown corduroy trousers, a warm merino wool polo-neck and forest-green pullover, coat, bright red scarf and gloves. He hoped the walk would warm him before he arrived at the church. Those old buildings, he knew from experience, with their thick stone walls could be worse than ice-boxes if they weren’t heated.
With the coating of snow, the yews looked more fairy-tale-like than ever, marching in their double rank either side of the central garden. This morning, appropriately, they resembled huge plump Christmas puddings with whipped cream on top. Hamish had brought the camera with him and spent several minutes photographing before he moved on towards the gap that led to the pool. He knew that he could have avoided the lower garden altogether by taking the path up through the trees to the carriage house but it seemed silly on a day like this to miss out seeing any part of the garden when it was decorated so especially for Christmas. He stopped at the top of the divided flight of stairs, looking down over the rill to the pool with its white marble statue, to the summerhouse at the far end of the glade. The summerhouse was a one-roomed octagonal structure, a mirror to the shape of the pool, set among the trees. As it was well down his fix-it list Hamish had taken little notice of the small building since his arrival ...it was in a run-down state and would take considerable time if he was to repair and paint it himself. Now that he was here he should check it to make sure that his runaway houseguest hadn’t sheltered there.
The rill and steps had collected snow in an enchanting way so he took more photos before going down and around the pool on the side closest to the marble lady and farthest away from his own sculptures, not feeling quite ready to look upon the damage the rain must have done to them. Still, he couldn’t ignore them completely, and the harder he tried not to look the more they drew his gaze. From what he could see they were well-covered in snow ...they both looked as white, now, as the marble statue of the woman. She was as beautiful as ever, frozen in her act of grace, placing her snow-capped flower wreath upon the water. He went past her and peered through the grimy windows of the summer house ...nothing in there other than years of accumulated dust and dirt and an ancient wood stove in the centre of the room. It was surprising though, the space inside was larger than he had first thought. That first night he had found the pool and sculpture he had overlooked the summer house completely, more than half-hidden as it was, subsequently he had been preoccupied with working in other parts of the garden and had given it little thought, but if the heating could be improved and basic facilities added it might make a charming guest studio. It was something to think about ...he was musing on the possibilities as he carried on round the pool towards the path that would lead him up to the gardeners shed and the track to the village.
As he approached the entrance to the path he was also getting closer to the figures of the woman and child ...it was odd, he thought, how the snow had adhered to every part of the sculptures, not just the upper surfaces. Curious, he went closer. He was within reach of the larger figure when he realised that what he had assumed to be snow was, instead, thousands upon thousands of tiny daisy-like white flowers, in clusters so tight there was no space between them. He went across to the figure that was his little daughter …she too was enveloped in the same delicate floral skin. He knelt in the snow beside her and touched the miniscule petals. The gently tantalising scent that his touch released into the cold air was divine and he breathed it in deeply. For the second time in that glade, tears coursed freely down his cheeks. This time, though, his weeping sprang from joy as he tried to take in this beautiful gift that was nothing short of a small miracle, and that someone had seen fit to give him this Christmas day.
“Thank you.” he said, simply, to the open air ...as he walked around and around the two figures, taking photographs to capture the scene for later reflection. By the time he was satisfied that he had enough, his footprints had made a deep figure eight in the snow surrounding the sculptures. Surely the flowers couldn’t last long in this cold ...they would be like some ephemeral Andy Goldsworthy sculpture, here for a few hours only. The photographs would help him to remember.
It was time to leave. He looked at his watch; he would have to hurry now if he wanted to make it to the service on time. He turned and exited the glade, making for the path to Thornden.
Arriving puffing slightly but not late, he slipped quietly into a rear pew. To his amusement, the organist was playing a spirited rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ and somewhat to his surprise, the church was pleasantly warm so he took off the coat and scarf and stuffed his gloves in a pocket. Saint Michaels looked wonderful. Someone had looped long garlands of holly and fir, entwined with ribbon and bright red berries along the walls and on the end of the pews were flat circular wreaths ...each made of berries in a variety of hues....red, orange and gold, deep purple, green and white, some with circlets of tiny cones or sprigs of green fir around the edges. The use of the berries and natural greenery rather than artificial decorations fit perfectly with the timber and stonework of the old country church.
It was pleasant just to sit quietly at the back and be something of a spectator. Several people smiled in his direction as they came in and said ‘Good morning’ or wished him a ‘Merry Christmas’ and by the time the service started the pews were full. Hamish found his thoughts drifting a little during the sermon ...to other Christmases growing up in Scotland and with Elaine in London. David kept his address short, undoubtedly in deference to the k
nowledge that people had places to go and turkeys to baste. The children sang a version of “Away in a Manger’ in various keys and a woman with a lovely contralto voice sang ‘O Little town of Bethlehem’, then the service was over. Hamish put his coat and scarf back on and prepared to leave.
David greeted him at the porch. “A Merry Christmas to you, Hamish. You’re looking very festive this morning. Any sign of your mysterious lady?” he queried.
“And Merry Christmas to you too David. No, I haven’t found her yet. I came through the garden and the woods this morning but there were no human footprints other than my boots.” There were people behind him, waiting to speak to their vicar so he added, hurriedly...”I must tell you later about the most amazing Christmas gift I received ...”
“Whatever it was, you look happy. That’s good enough,” David paused, seeing something in Hamish’s face that hadn’t been there before… “You wouldn’t reconsider my offer of Christmas dinner at the vicarage with me and my family, would you? I promise you, there is always enough to feed several extra mouths. My daughters are here with their families and you would be most welcome. You can turn up anytime between now and midday...I can’t promise you a quiet afternoon but the food is sure to be good....especially since I’m not cooking. My children tend to think I am inept in that area and it may be that they are right.”
“Actually, I would love to come, thank you. Now that it appears that I’ve lost my own house guest, I don’t need to stay at White Briars for the day. ...You haven’t heard any mention of her from your parishioners, have you?”
“Lovely, we’ll set a place for you. Please don’t feel you need to bring anything. And, No, I’m sorry, I’ve heard nothing. If I do, you’ll be the first to know, but perhaps she doesn’t want to be found? I hope she’s not out and about in this cold weather ...I’m only managing to stand here because one of my daughters was kind enough to give me thermal underwear for Christmas. Not the world’s most scintillating gift, I’ll admit, but a practical one all the same ...and just what I needed.” He smiled broadly, before turning to greet the next group. Hamish continued on his way.
He had passed under the lych gate and was striding along the path towards the kissing gate when a loud voice called his name. “Mr McAllister, hey there, wait up!” Arthur Blaine, coming down the church path, had seen him and was waving his hand. He was accompanied by two others, both muffled in hats, scarves and coats. Hamish backtracked to the church gate to speak to them.
“I wanted to introduce you to my grandson.” Arthur said, after Christmas pleasantries had been exchanged. “This ‘ere is my daughter.” Hamish shook hands with the bright red mitten that was held towards him but could see little of her face, her woollen scarf and hat hiding all but her eyes. The short greeting she gave him was somewhat muffled by the thick layers of her scarf. “And,” Arthur put a hand on the boys’ shoulder, “this is ‘er son, Matt.” …at a narrow-eyed glance from his daughter, “…er, Matthew, that is. Anyways, e’s been ‘ounding me to talk to you ever since I told ‘im you’d moved in. He’s keen to take on the job of mowin’ your lawns over there at White Briars come spring-time, if ye want ‘im to ...fer pay, that is. An’ any other odd jobs he could do for you. He’s savin’ up for one o’ them BMX bike things ...’e’s dead keen on anything that ‘e can try an’ break ‘is young neck on, ...bikes, skateboards, you name it, if it’s got wheels an’ goes fast, ‘e’s keen.”
“I got the helmet and safety pads for Christmas, but my mum says I have to save up for half the bike by myself, before she’ll put up the other half of the money.” Matthew said enthusiastically. His mother was silent on the matter.
Hamish considered the boy, trying to hide his own smile and doing his best to appear serious, “I see no reason why you couldn’t do that, Matthew. Though, I’m thinking of buying a ride-on mower, so you would need to learn to drive it -safely. With your mother’s permission of course?” He glanced questionably at Matthew’s mother. She shrugged her shoulders but didn’t respond.
“Awesome!” Matthew was obviously happy with the prospect of zooming around the lawns on a ride-on. “I’m twelve, but I’m strong for my age ...you ask mum. I do all sorts of stuff at the nursery. Don’t I mum?” Matthew turned to his mother pleadingly, looking for her support. From the little that Hamish could see of her, she looked very young to have a twelve year old son … Matthew was already several inches taller than her. Hamish wondered how such a small woman managed the day to day jobs around a nursery.
She shrugged once more in acquiescence. “I’ve already been pestered so much that I’ve had to agree to this plan. Not that I’m entirely thrilled with it. But Matthew is a big help...I think Dad’s already told you I run the nursery nearby.” As she spoke she was unravelling the scarf from around her face and dragged off her hat – revealing first, short white blond hair with coloured tips, although unlike the previous time they’d met the tips had changed to a brilliant shade of red, then Sara’s grinning face emerged from behind the scarf, her eyes merry as she gave Hamish the once-over. “Look at you,” she said laughingly, “All settled into White Briars. …So, you found the cottage then? I was wondering if you’d open your eyes enough to see what was right in front of you, that day we met.” Her father made a questioning noise and she turned to him, explaining, “Hamish and I have already run into each other, so to speak. Although, if I recall correctly, it was more a case of Hamish skating into a patch of ice.” Looking speculatively at him, “I trust your rump has recovered from the falls?”
“Thank you, yes. But it wasn’t just my rump …you fell too if I remember rightly.”
“A minor bump in comparison to your spectacular oopsie,” she rejoined. “Anyway, I didn’t know that it was you that Dad was talking about when he said someone had taken over White Briars. He didn’t mention a name. Just said you were ‘foreign’, by which, I now realise he meant, Scottish.” She turned back to her father with a bemused expression. “Really Dad? ‘Foreign’? Scotland’s been part of Britain for quite some time now and last time I looked you didn’t need a passport to go backwards and forwards across the border.
Her father made a non-committal “Harrumph.” Sara just shook her head, causing the red tips of her hair to bob about in an interesting way.
“And to think, I stopped running through the garden because I thought some ‘foreign gent’ owned the place and wouldn’t like me trespassing. It was a good excuse to stop, anyway.” Sara changed the subject, “No matter … I’ve been intending to come and speak to you myself. Just hadn’t got around to it with the Christmas rush and all. Dad said you might need some plants for the garden at White Briars and I’m always on the lookout for new business. And if you’re interested, I can get you a couple of swans for the pond. I know someone who is keen to get rid of a pair that they bought before realising that they’re not the most sociable of pets for a small garden.”
“And Granddad said there’s a dovecote at White Briars ...we breed white pigeons,” Matthew added enthusiastically.
At Hamish’s blank look, Sara added, “Yes. Pigeons. Birds. With feathers. That say “coo” and live in lofts. Or in attics. Or in dovecotes, like yours.”
“Granddad and I breed them. To sell, that is.” Matthew was keen for Hamish to know that the pigeons were not part of the same package deal as the swans.
Evidently business acumen ran strong in this family, thought Hamish wryly. In less than two minutes he’d been propositioned with someone to mow the lawns and do odd jobs, additional plants, swans and now doves. He was impressed. “I’ve already cleaned out the dovecote and was thinking about restocking it so I’m definitely on for the doves. Pigeons. Cooing birds. Whatever.” He gave Sara a hopeful look. “But I don’t know how many? Perhaps you could advise me on that?” he said, “And I guess that the swans might be a good idea to help keep the pool free of weed. As long as they’re not too unfriendly?”
“Oh no, they’d be fine. They just need a bit of space, that�
��s all.” Sara said unconcernedly, “I can bring them round tomorrow if you like?”
Phew ...these people didn’t muck around, he thought. “I guess that would be O.K.,” he concurred, wondering what he’d got himself into. He looked down at Matthew, “as far as the lawn mowing goes, you’ve got yourself a job. Come round with your mother and we’ll agree on a rate ...but you won’t be able to start until the weather improves a bit. I doubt the even you would want to be mowing in the snow?” He looked back at Sara, “and you, please feel free to trespass any time you like. I know how much you love jogging and I’d hate to discourage you from cutting through the garden on your runs.” Sara’s grimace was answer enough.
“Choice!” Matthew said, grinning from ear to ear. “I promise you won’t regret it, Mr McAllister.” he was already skipping away, chanting... “BMX ...here I come...”
“Thank you very much,” his mother said. “I appreciate you doing that.” She looked up at Hamish for a moment before asking, “Um, do you have any plans for Christmas dinner? Because you’d be welcome to come and join us ...if you haven’t got something organised already. It’d be nothing fancy. It’s just dad, Matthew and me.”
“Thanks for asking, but I’ve already accepted an invitation to the vicarage.” Hamish said. “It’s very kind of you, though. And now I’d better get going if I want to make it back to White Briars to grab a bottle of wine to take with me.”
“I see you got that path through the woods clear again.” Arthur inserted himself back in the conversation. Hamish had the feeling that little that happened in and around the village escaped Arthur’s notice. Once he had Hamish’s attention, Arthur enquired, “Seen anythin’ interesting in that garden yet?”
Flowers in the Morning Page 19
