***
The days that passed until the end of January were cold, wet and grey. During the odd fine hours, Hamish did what he could outside in the garden, but, because of the almost incessantly dreary weather, he spent much of his time in the studio, painting. Thanks to Liana’s constant supply of fresh blooms he had no shortage of perfect blossoms as subjects for his canvases. In the early weeks of February, at her suggestion, they cleared out the glasshouse. Liana had described to Hamish the beautiful exotic plants that she had once tended there. They had been plants that would have succumbed to England’s harsh winters if they hadn’t been grown indoors such as orchids, hibiscus, bromeliads and pitcher plants. He liked the idea of growing such exotic plants, with the added bonus that they would be wonderful for him to paint. It took days to clean the thick green lichen and mildew from every pane of glass and Hamish bought a set of mobile self-supporting scaffolding to allow him to reach the inside apex of the glazed roof. The outside panes he managed with the tall garden ladder an extending mop and some precarious balancing acts with the garden hoe while scraping away at the muck, but by the time they had finished the glass sparkled. This had the unfortunate side-effect of showing up the poor state of the paintwork,...the originally white-painted timbers were cracked, peeling and grey with age, all of the metalwork was sorely in need of attention and the plasterwork around the base of the building needed redoing, not to mention several panes of glass had been cracked or broken before the clean-up.
In its former state, full of weeds and with its glass obscured by the viscous green coating of mildew Hamish had all but ignored the forlorn little building. There had been more pressing things to attend to in the garden, but now, weed-free and with clean panes, he could see its potential. He made a call to a local builder and painter, and soon a small team of men were industriously sanding, plastering and repainting the structure. By the end of another week it was back to its former glory with all the glass intact ...now a pretty little jewel of a building alongside the gardener’s shed.
The builders also rebuilt a small trellised shade-house that had all but fallen down, and this now filled the space between the glasshouse and the tool shed; the white-painted timbers mirroring the delicate outline of the glasshouse. Liana had said that she recalled growing clematis, honeysuckle and roses over the trelliswork so Hamish hoped that by rebuilding it he would encourage her to become more involved with its reincarnation.
Liana’s physical health improved steadily, though, when not thinking herself observed, Hamish noted with concern, the tired drooping of her shoulders and world-weary demeanour that enveloped her. She took to spending long periods out in the garden and woods, warmly dressed at least, at Hamish’s insistence. He wished he could do more to help her overcome her grief, but knew that there was little more that he could do that would ease her pain. While the builders were there, Hamish suggested again the idea of converting the summerhouse as a home for her and she agreed. She was already, he knew, spending considerable amounts of time down in the lower garden with the swans. Attila had accepted her with an ease that Hamish found difficult not to envy. He had discovered her, more than once, seated on the stones alongside the pool with her arm companionably around the swan, staring into the waters of the now weed-free pond. Both Attila and his mate appeared to treat her as their bosom friend, happily sitting with her for hours on end, occasionally planting gentle swan kisses on her hands and face. It was only when Hamish approached that the birds hissed and adopted their more usual threatening posturing.
When the builders left, three weeks later, the summer house had been transformed. During that time, the weather remained unseasonably warm and calm, so much so that spring arrived earlier than normal. All around the garden, plants were bursting into fresh vibrant green leaves and bright swathes of bluebells, primroses and anemones carpeted the woods. Liana had fled the pool glade while the builders were working; abandoning the noise-filled space for the quieter outer reaches of the woods. Attila and Nefertiti hovered around the edges of the construction work, frustrated at not having full use of their pool and hissing malevolently at anyone foolish enough to venture too close. The builders soon learnt to confine themselves to the path from the driveway and the close environs of the summerhouse after a couple of nasty nips from Attila’s beak taught the more venturesome of the construction team that if provoked, he meant business. From then on, the building team and the swans set up an uneasy truce that lasted until the work was complete. Hamish thought, privately, that the two swans, especially Attila, had probably contributed to the job being finished several days before its projected completion date. The builders claimed that it was solely because of better weather than they had originally expected, but Hamish gave Attila an extra helping of grain as a treat for services rendered the day the construction crew packed up for the last time.
The morning of the day after the builders had gone Hamish carefully led Liana down the steps alongside the rill. While still in the upper garden, he had insisted on placing a makeshift blindfold around her eyes. She protested, batting away the silk scarf as he attempted to tie it around her head.
“Oh, come on,” he said, persuasively, “You’ll ruin my surprise if you don’t.” She acquiesced and he deftly tied the band at the back of her hair before guiding her, one hand at her back, the other firmly holding hers until they were alongside the marble statue. He removed the blindfold, saying, “There, now you can look.”
Despite her insisting over the past weeks that she was not particularly interested, Liana could not resist moving forward to inspect what Hamish hoped would be a more suitable home for her than the woods or the dovecote. Cherry trees either side of the summerhouse had burst into bloom, their delicate pink blossoms framing the building and their fresh spring scent hanging in the warm morning air. He had left the summerhouse doors ajar, inviting her in and this had the desired effect.
“I like the colour well enough,” was all she said as she entered the space.
He wasn’t sure if she was referring to the cherry trees or commenting on the freshly painted lavender window and door frames, as she pushed the doors further open. The wide double doors filled one complete side of the eight facets that made up the original octagonal structure. To either side of these there were expansive windows with sills at around knee-height, the glass divided into a multitude of small panes that looked out to the flowering cherry trees. The solid oak construction of the summerhouse had meant that little had needed done to the walls or supporting roof timbers, only the timber roof shingles themselves, worse the wear for half a centuries’ neglect, had needed replaced. Hamish had used the opportunity to add layers of insulation to the ceiling ...now together with the refurbished wood stove and a new wall-mounted radiator the room should be cosy on a cold winter’s day. He had been surprised to find, under the dirt and rubbish, a beautiful tiled floor, flower-themed, in white, green and lavender and had used this as a decorative starting point for the scheme.
When Liana stepped into the room, her sudden indrawn breath was the only indication that she might be impressed with what she saw. Hamish followed, giving her time to take everything in before he spoke. The octagonal room had been transformed into a sort of kitchen cum sitting cum bedroom, but that was the only similarity it might have had to any ordinary bedsit. The wall on the left-hand side now housed a small but perfectly formed kitchen, with a solid beech bench top that was rounded on the ends to prevent anyone catching themselves on sharp corners. In the centre of the room, the tiled wood stove had been refurbished and was now lit; Liana went to stand close by its warmth, as she surveyed the rest of the space. The low electric radiator under one window would provide heat when she did not want to light the stove. A comfortable armchair with loose-fitted covers and large enough to curl up in, sat next to the door. On the far side of the kitchen was a tall armoire, full of Liana’s new clothes and linen, painted a faded white with tole-work birds and flowers decorating the drawers and door fronts. Then
there was the bed with a round cloth-covered table adjacent ...Hamish had returned to Tunbridge Wells, and had spent an entire day hunting for the right furnishings ...he had eventually unearthed the bed in the last antique shop he had visited and had known instantly that it was the one he was looking for. It was a delicate feminine thing of white painted metal; the paintwork was chipped and worn in places with age and use, but he had elected to leave it that way, preferring this rustic look to newly painted metal. From four cast iron bedposts the metalwork arched upwards to meet in a pretty coronet of flowers and vines. There wasn’t any piece of furniture that would have looked better in the setting. Sara had helped him choose bed linen, again with the lavender, green and white theme and with a new bedcover, pillowslips, feather-filled cushions and soft moss-green chenille throw, it looked fresh and inviting. The bed sat angled into the centre of the space in front of windows identical to those near the doors, enabling Liana to wake surrounded by the scene of her beloved garden and woods. The builders had added folding white-painted louvered timber shutters to all of the windows to afford the room some privacy.
Liana was nonplussed. “I really don’t know what to say. Thank you seems a little inadequate for all this.” she said, looking somewhat dazed, as she turned to take in the altered summerhouse.
“Thanks aren’t required,” Hamish countered. “It’s more than enough to know that you like it. Besides, I’ve never properly thanked you or told you how much I appreciated what you did for me with my sculptures at Christmastime.” Liana’s wide-eyed expression of surprise told him that he’d guessed rightly about whom was responsible for the daisy-covered forms. “But you haven’t seen everything yet.” He pointed to a newly installed set of French doors in the wall opposite the entrance. “After you…”
Liana crossed to the doors, turned the brass handle of one and went through to find herself in a glass-roofed addition to the original summerhouse. This room was smaller than the first, of almost monastic simplicity, with a floor of plainly polished concrete. A natural stone dividing wall that ended just above head-height gave privacy from the original summerhouse with a toilet and hand basin behind. An elegant tall ladder-like towel rail that doubled as a heater graced one outer wall. Over this Hamish had hung thick Egyptian-cotton lavender bath towels which provided the only splash of colour in the room other than that of the trees coming into leaf beyond the windows. Directly in front of wide glazed folding doors that could open up the space entirely to the woods was a deep sleek bathtub with floor-mounted taps. The tub was filled with pink camellia blooms and lavender-scented candles floating on the water.
“I thought it was my turn to provide the flowers this time,” Hamish spoke quietly behind Liana. The room had a serene quality and a sense of being among the trees, though still indoors.
Liana was entranced, “It’s wonderful,” she breathed.
“You like it?” Hamish asked. “I hoped you would. It was a good thing I’d applied for permission to do this straight after Christmas ...the local council took a bit of convincing, but they finally came round to the idea. I don’t think the planners were too keen on concrete at first, but when I explained that I wanting nothing that would compete with the floor in there,” he pointed back to the ornately tiled main room, “and that there were heating cables running through the flooring, they eventually, no pun intended, warmed to the idea.”
Liana smiled, as Hamish had hoped she would. It was an expression that had been sadly missing more and more of late.
After Liana had opened and closed the bi-fold doors they returned to the main room. “I’ve filled the fridge and cupboards with food for now ....if you let me know of anything else you need, I can get it.” He hesitated on the doorstep, “Well, I suppose I should go and let you settle in,” ...he waited a moment more, but when she didn’t say otherwise, he left. When he turned back for a last look from the steps near the top of the rill she was seated in the armchair with her face turned away from him, contemplating the room, so he continued up to the cottage.
The house felt empty without Liana’s coming and going for meals through the day and by that evening Hamish was wondering if he had done himself a disservice by renovating the summerhouse so completely. Perhaps he should have left it so that she needed to come back to the house for food? He was tempted to a wander down through the garden for an evening stroll, then thought, no; he would allow her time to settle in properly to her new surroundings. Perhaps then, he might issue a dinner invite. He found his thoughts continually wandering back to her and how she was faring, and spent a restless evening prowling along the library shelves in search of something to read that might take his mind off this train of thought. Eventually, running out of distractions he rang Rosetta, to inform her of the new paintings.
“Wonderful!” she cried joyously when he told her how many paintings he had completed. “Glorious you! How many did you say?” When Hamish repeated the number, “So many of them! Lovely, lovely, lovely.” Hamish could almost see her calculating the commission. He liked and respected Rosetta, but she was, above all things a business-woman. “You left such a lot of buyers panting for your art after the last exhibition that I’ll have them all sold within the week without ever having to hang them. If this work is up to your usual high standard, which I’m absolutely sure it is, then all your previous sins are forgiven.”
She handed out absolution as if she was a Catholic priest, Hamish thought sourly, although, he couldn’t quite see Rosetta, in her snappy little London suits, hidden away in a confessional. Still, if it meant he didn’t need to stage another exhibition, with all its attendant hand-shaking and role-playing that was fine by him. Rosetta was at home and in a chatty mood, so they talked for a few minutes more. Hamish mentioned that he was planning a visit to Sissinghurst Castle.
“The nuisance is,” he said, in mild complaint, “that the gardens aren’t open to the public until closer to the end of March, and I imagine, that when they do open the gates, there will be a tide of visitors wanting in, since it’s pretty much the most-visited garden in Britain. I have someone that I wanted to take there, but it won’t be nearly as pleasant if the place is full of people.”
“Hamish, my sweetheart, you’re talking to the right person!” Rosetta crowed. “I have some friends in, if not high, at least very interesting, places. You’re lucky that I’m feeling so pleased with you tonight,....now, I’m going to hang up,....I’ll phone you back as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take long, so keep that phone with you!” With that command, she was gone before Hamish could question what she was up to.
True to her word, in less than ten minutes, his phone trilled its insistent ring. “I’ve done it!” she said, triumphantly. “Auntie Rosetta has fixed it so that you and your friend can go and see the garden, and the castle, if you want ...though I hear it’s all in bits, not a real castle at all,” she couldn’t resist adding. “Anyway, how does March fifteenth sound? That’s just a few days away ...now, my friend says you can turn up any time during the day. I’ve given him your name ...he adores your work, by the way and has insisted on first refusal of these latest paintings, so I didn’t have to work very hard to get you in. Anyway, just turn up and say who you are ...he won’t be there, but someone should let you in. He did say, please, please don’t disturb the gardeners, as they’ll all be frantically working to get things ready for the public opening on the following weekend,....oh, and there’s some fashion shoot for a magazine, Vogue, Marie-Claire, one of those glossy publications,...it’ll be going on in the grounds somewhere or other that day as well, so you’ll have to stay out of their way too, but that shouldn’t be an insurmountable problem,....he said it’s almost impossible to find a time when the place is completely empty of people,...unless, of course, you wanted to visit in the dead of winter?”
“No, thank you, the fifteenth will do just fine,” Hamish replied. He thanked Rosetta again for her kindness, said goodbye and ended the call. Trust Rosetta to know the right person, he thought
. That woman had more connections than a phone company. Then it hit him, only five days to get Liana to agree to his and David’s trial-by-fire experiment! He spent the rest of the evening thinking about how she could be convinced to attempt something that had proved so unhealthy for her in the past.
As it turned out, he had wasted his time on forming all his arguments as to why Liana should try to prove the theory right or wrong. She had, he found, when he broached the subject the next morning been giving it a lot of thought herself and had come to her own conclusions.
“Yes, I’ll go,” was her instant reply to his first mention of Rosetta’s organisational abilities. She was sitting in the sunshine on the doorstep to her small house, arms hugging her knees and her head down, as if surveying her bare feet. They peeked out from under the hem of one of the pretty flower-sprigged dresses Sara had chosen for her. Hamish couldn’t help thinking that she should be wearing socks or slippers but guessed that he should be thankful that she’d at least donned a warm mohair cardigan.
“But, you have to, otherwise you’ll never kn....,” he had already launched into his argument before what she had said sank in. “…You’ll WHAT?” He was incredulous.
“I’ll go.” She looked up at him. “I’ll go,” she repeated. “O.K.?”
“Why the change of heart?” he couldn’t stop himself asking. “Did something happen?” She looked away then back and he stared more closely at her face noticing that she was looking pale and unwell again.
“Not just one thing.” She shrugged. “Several things. And it’s made me wonder if what you said about me changing might not be true, after all.”
Flowers in the Morning Page 29
