“I discovered that there was a natural amphitheatre here formed by the way the ground banks upwards between the orchard and the woods to the rear of the summerhouse and it sparked an idea to add a new element to the garden. Sort of leaving my mark on it, I guess” he spoke conversationally. “Sara managed to source some larger plants but they’ve still got a bit of growing to do yet before you can’t see over the top.”
As he was speaking he led her along a pathway through concentric hedging, meandering this way and that to reach a raised flattened central stone feature.
“Oh how wonderful!” Liana exclaimed, “A hedge maze.” As she walked, she absentmindedly ran her hand along the crests of the hedges.
“Hmmm, eventually, you won’t be able to see the stones until you walk through the final gate. The trees around the outside will take a few years before they are mature enough to flower, but they’ll look good when they do.”
Liana looked beyond the hedging, “Dove trees. A circle of them …they’ll be beautiful.”
“It seemed right to plant them.”
As they approached the centre feature, Liana understood his words. To one side of the large central feature, tucked up snuggly against the hedge was a stone seat with bronze figures seated. “It’s your wife and daughter,” her fingers holding his hand tightened a little in understanding.
The mother and child figures sat comfortably in the morning sun, Amy’s short stubby legs dangling over the edge of the seat as she leaned up against her mother’s torso. Elaine was holding a lightly-swaddled baby in the crook of one arm, the other cuddling her daughter to her. The bronzed folds of a delicately wispy summer dress cascaded around her calves and her feet were bare, as if the trio had just sat down after an impromptu tour of the garden. The little girl was dressed in summer shorts and tee-shirt, her shoes and socks lying discarded on the bench beside her. The head of the woman inclined towards the small girl, she looking up at her mother as if they were sharing some special secret moment. “I sculpted them as I imagined they would look sometime after the baby was born. I felt he needed to be included, and I wanted a more lasting memorial,” he explained.
“She was beautiful, your wife, and your daughter was lovely too,” said Liana, reaching out her hand to stroke the bronze cheek of the child.
“They were,” agreed Hamish, “and I never want to forget them, but they’re gone, and I’m here, and I need to remember that too.”
Liana turned her attention to the central feature of the space – like the herb garden, there were four repeated elements. Only here, in the place of the four interlocking hearts of that garden were four massively large blocks of solid stone fashioned into a tableau of raised interlaced triquetras, the interlocking trefoil knots long-associated with Celtic symbolism. Again, Liana reached a hand to touch the roughly hewn stone.
“I used red Scottish sandstone. Useful thing, having contacts up north of the border,” Hamish explained.
Liana read the inscription carved into the stonework of the red stone as she walked around the outside of the four trefoils, “Don’t come here to sleep or slumber ...” she recited, she turned to Hamish with wryly raised eyebrows,
“Hmmm, that’s a quote from something I once saw that stuck in my mind ...it was left by gardeners in Heligan, a garden in Cornwall that was a little like White Briars, in as much as it was lost for a long time, but has since been restored. The gardeners wrote that way back in august of 1914 and they all signed it ...I remembered reading it when I was down that way. I’d gone there to see an installation of ice-sculptures that was called ‘The ghosts of gardeners past’ - I think you’d have liked it, ...somehow, that quote seemed appropriate here,” he quietly said, hoping she wouldn’t take offence. “I added the last bit myself.”
…“but instead, to daydream and remember.” she continued. “I do like it, and you’re right, it is very... appropriate.” She had reached the heart of the four blocks, where, inset into the solid faces of stone that was the sculpture’s core, there were relief carvings of the heads and torsos of generations of men she had loved and lost, each one bearing a bronze casting of a tool in one hand that they had used in their lifetime. This one a chisel, that one a brush, another a quill pen, a mallet ...and so on. And arching over the centre, twining them all together, grew a metalwork vine, modelled off the one Hamish had first seen on the gate that day he had found the house. An oak bench had been placed opposite, and here she retreated, to gaze wordlessly at the gift that had been bestowed upon her, without him even knowing if she might return to see it.
“I simply don’t know what to say,” she was stunned. He sat beside her, unspeaking and the dog plopped himself down on the grass at their feet. Hamish pulled his sodden socks off and played a short game of retrieve the socks with Doug throwing the socks in place of a ball, giving her time to sort her thoughts. Then, after a long silence, she spoke, “I want to tell you where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing ...but first ... their faces look so lifelike, it’s as if they could speak to me from the stone. You never knew them or saw them. How did you accomplish that?
“That’s artists’ magic ...and not mine ...I commissioned an excellent sculptor who worked from material that I provided. There were some old photos and drawings in the library, here, but mostly, it was from research done elsewhere. Rosetta was very helpful, and I even went up to London and sifted through material there in the museums, galleries and private collections. I wanted to get photos, portraits and sketches from as many angles as I could so that the sculptor had as much information as she could to work, believably, in three dimensions. ”
“It’s absolutely wonderful. Thank you.” she said simply, leaning forward and intending to kiss his cheek. But he turned his head, so that the kiss ended on his lips instead and closed his eyes to better savour the sensations. It was minutes before they surfaced for oxygen once more. When they both opened their eyes, it was to a different scene than the one they had shut them to ...the surrounding circle of dove trees were now glowing white with wavering bracts like the wings of giant white butterflies, fluttering on the edges of the glade.
Before Hamish could speak Liana exclaimed, “It wasn’t me! Honestly, I didn’t do that ...I would have felt it happen, at least, I think I would have. It must have been the Garden. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s giving you its seal of approval.”
“Perhaps, giving ‘us’ its seal of approval?” he suggested.
“Yes, us.” she agreed. “I like the sound of that.”
“Shall we go? I haven’t had any breakfast yet.”
“Oh yes, lets! I’m starving.”
With Doug dancing delighted circles around the pair, they exited the maze and walked back up towards the cottage kitchen.
***
With one thing and another, it wasn’t until later that evening that she was able to tell Hamish the events of her year since she had left. The evening had cooled and they were sitting in front of the dying embers of the fire when she started her tale. It transpired, she said, explaining her long absence, that she had decided, in the weeks after leaving him in Paris, to embark upon a sort of pilgrimage to the homelands of all of her former lovers,...thinking to put them away from her, one by one, until she was able, either to return to White Briars or be free of their memories and the sadness of their loss. But, as it turned out, she had never gotten further than the first stop on her self- styled pilgrimage. She had travelling to the Languedoc-Roussillon region in France, in search of the birthplace of Jean-Marc. Detouring one day to visit Château de Montségur, arguably the site of one of the best-known of the Cathar strongholds, which was perched at the top of a rocky outcrop, sheer on one side and almost impossibly steep on the others, she had been distracted by the deep sense of sadness and loss about the citadel, and had tripped while descended the narrow path. The fall twisted her ankle badly enough that she could not easily walk. The first person to find her had turned out to be a former nun, now, she explained attac
hed to the Abbaye Sainte-Marie du Canigou as a cook for groups of world-weary souls looking to replenish their zest for life. The abbey had been decommissioned by the Catholic Church and was now run by a not-for-profit organization that was more loosely connected with the church. She had strapped the ankle before assisting Liana on her painfully slow journey back down the path. They had got to talking to take Liana’s mind off the pain - the two found common ground on a multitude of subjects, not least that of herbs and healing - it transpired that Marie, of the same name as her abbey, she joked, which made remembering her name a snap, was a herbalist of some repute and the convent was renowned for the herbal remedies which had been producing for hundreds of years on site. Wanting to continue the conversation, she had invited Liana to stay that night at her gîte in the nearby village. Aside from having no better options for the immediate future, Liana explained to Hamish, she had felt compelled to go with her new friend. One night had extended into a week, by which time the ankle was strong again and by the end of that week Marie had asked Liana if she would like a job at the convent, on a trial basis.
The abbey, it transpired was perched on a rocky outcrop in a verdant valley, accessible only by foot and dominated by steep hillsides and overhanging cliffs. Like something straight out of Lord of the Rings, its towers and cloisters seemed at one with the landscape, and rose seamlessly from the surrounding stone.
Upon entering the convent, for the first time in years, said Liana, she had felt a sense of peace and the potential for healing. One week had turned into several, then a month, six month and so on. Ironically, it seemed that she had traded one walled enclosure for another…by choice, this time around.
She began to deal with the ghosts of her past. In the quiet rhythms of the convent, she had used her knowledge to help in the kitchen and gardens and to assist with making and applying herbal remedies.
Liana felt that she had found a niche for a time. In return the sisters had given her counsel and prayer, had listened, without judgement, to her tale, and, in the end, helped her to see that it wasn’t White Briars that was the key to her melancholy. Eventually, she had let go of, not all her precious memories, but the accumulated sadness that had threatened to engulf her. Ghosts dispelled, the blackness lifted little by little, and when she felt certain that she no longer carried around the bulging sack of unhappiness and, as Hamish had so rightly pointed out that fateful morning in Paris, a monumental case of pity for herself, she had decided to leave there and return to White Briars to see if he still cared enough to forgive her.
***
It was late and the moon was up. Carrying fresh bed linen under one arm, the other looped around Liana’s shoulders, Hamish and Doug accompanied her down the garden to the Summerhouse. She had made it quite clear that for them to share the same space before their wedding was not something she would consider. Hamish supposed it was reasonable enough that Liana had quite olde-worlde sensibilities when it came to cohabiting but couldn’t resist ribbing her that they’d already shared a bed the first night of their acquaintance. The stern look she gave him was somewhat undone by the merry laughter in her eyes.
As they were traversing the yew garden the pale form of a white barn owl crossed the path of the moon. Hamish commented that he’d last seen that sight on the night when he had first explored the garden after dark and seen the statue of Liana alone on her rocky pedestal, but he hadn’t encountered the owl since.
Liana smiled, “Robin by day, owl by night. Just because you haven’t seen him doesn’t mean that he has not been keeping a close eye on you.” To prove her point, she bunched the arm of the jumper she was wearing into her fist so that it covered her hand and held her arm aloft. Within seconds the owl swooped from the branch where he’d been roosting and landed lightly on the back of her wrist. He sat there with his talons resting in the fabric of her sleeve, calmly surveying Hamish as if sizing him up as a suitor for Liana or as a potential meal ...from the unflinching gaze of those jet-black eyes in their snow-white mask Hamish was unsure which.
“And I suppose he’s called ‘Owl’,” was Hamish’s only reply to their performance.
Liana giggled with pure pleasure and Hamish laughed along with her. Doug ran fast circles around the yews to show his delight. They continued on their way to the summerhouse, where the owl fluttered up onto the roof, perching there as some sort of avian chaperone for Liana and staring down at the couple from his vantage point. A little discomforted by the bird’s intense gaze, Hamish turned his back on the creature before bending his head to kiss Liana.
After a prolonged ‘goodnight’ Hamish walked with the hound close at his heels back to the cottage, his heart alight, and with plans for their future together already swimming around in his head.
For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Chapter Twenty-Three
Spring, and the day had dawned bright and sunny, leaves unfurled, flowers opened, bees buzzed and birds sang, staking territories and busily building nests, …all of which should been auspicious for the day. However, every bit of this auspiciousness was lost on Hamish, who, unusually anxious, fidgeted first with his tie then his cufflinks, straightened his already straight sporran and then surreptitiously checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. “What on earth could be keeping her this long.” he hissed quietly out of the side of his mouth to Steve, who was lounging to his right, one arm stretched at full length along the back of the pew and looking annoyingly relaxed.
“Oh I wouldn’t worry, mate ...she’ll get here ...unless she’s done a runner, that is. She probably heard that you’re wearing a skirt and thought twice about getting hitched,” he joked, in what Hamish thought was ill-timed bad taste. Seeing Hamish’s sick look, he quickly added, “Come on mate, I was only giving you a bit of stick ...shoot, twenty minutes is nothing ...Linda kept me waiting an hour and a quarter. They had a ruddy flat tire and by the time she arrived they just about needed to give me tranquilisers. It might be the best day of their lives, but I reckon it takes ten years off ours.” He looked closely at his best friend’s face, frowning worriedly, “in fact, isn’t that a new wrinkle, right there,” he flicked his index finger at a point midway between Hamish’s eyebrows. Hamish, batting the hand away, relaxed enough to smile at his friend’s antics, thankful for Steve’ clowning and slightly relieved that someone, at least, appreciated what he was going through. If only she would get here, he thought. He wouldn’t feel completely happy, until he saw Liana walking towards him down that aisle. He pulled his dark green waistcoat back into place and was about to take another nervous look over his shoulder when the music suddenly changed from muted background chords to a louder rendition of the music which he and Liana had chosen for her to enter the church,...the not entirely traditional but jaunty Irish tune, ‘All for Mairi’s Wedding.’ He felt his heart leap in joy at the opening bars, and no small amount of relief, as the wedding guests arose as one to their feet to greet the bride-to-be....
***
…Alighting from the bridal car, a 1948 green and black Bentley Mark VI, left parked in the lane outside the church lych-gate, Sara was trailing behind Liana and David, who, at his own request had opted to break from tradition and accompany the bride into the church. Acting as Liana’s solo bridal attendant she had her head down, checking that Liana’s gown wasn’t catching on anything along the path. Sara’s eyes opened wide as her gaze was drawn to the ground where she couldn’t help but notice tiny clumps of snowdrops, violets and white primulas bursting forth from out of the cracks between the paving slabs as Liana passed by, spreading quickly t
o fill all of the nooks and crannies between the flagstones in the path leading from the lych-gate all the way to the church door. After her initial surprise, she simply lifted the hem of her own gown sufficiently to clear the flowers and carefully stepped over them in a pair of heels that would have set Rosetta’s heart pumping. As they came to the porch door she did wonder if she shouldn’t mention what was happening in the wake of the bride, but decided to keep mum. The church, after all, had such a solidly thick stone floor over its basement crypt that she fervently hoped it would be enough to discourage flowers from suddenly popping out of the stonework as they progressed inside. If it didn’t, it would certainly give some of the guests something to talk about! Still, she thought, it sure beat little girls flinging random rose petals about the place and the wedding guests’ eyes were supposed to be on the bride, not the floor behind her. She hoped.
And they were. Entering the church, Liana looked about as ethereal as any modern-day flower-fairy should, albeit sans wings but with more than a touch of her own brand of feminine lustre and an alluring style that was uniquely her. All eyes, especially those of her husband-to-be standing by the chancel steps, were drawn to her. She had chosen to wear a full skirted, sleeveless gown of deep lavender silk with an overskirt of fine white tulle, prettily scalloped along the bottom edge and hand-embroidered with sprigs of lavender, tiny lemon-and-white stars of Bethlehem and silk violets. The close-fitting boned bodice was sewn with a design of vines running from her slim waist to a square neckline that was décolleté enough to be interesting whilst sufficiently demure to satisfy her own somewhat old-world sensibilities. Satin shoes, peeping from below the hem of the dress had the same point de chainette embroidery as the dress and her hair was bound down her back with fine satin ribbons and seed pearls; a delicate coronet of amethyst-coloured glass and copper perched around her brow. The flowers in her hand were simple, complementing rather than competing with the gown; a small posy of lavender and champagne-coloured roses, bound with a satin ribbon. Sara, as maid-of-honour looked unaccustomly elegant in a form-fitting gown that matched the bride’s roses in colour, her short spring-green dyed hair slicked back over her ears and holding a posy of mauve and white freesias, rosebuds, white hyacinths and lavender.
Flowers in the Morning Page 36
