The Garden of Forgotten Wishes: The heartwarming and uplifting new rom-com from the Sunday Times bestseller

by Trisha Ashley

‘No, especially since he was actually carrying them out to his van when I accosted him. Anyway, nothing went missing on days when he wasn’t there, so unless the peacocks had turned light-fingered, it had to be him.’

  ‘He must have known that made him the obvious suspect, but I suppose it was better just to let him go quietly than make a fuss about it?’

  ‘Except he’s not going quietly. He came round here on Monday, blustering and threatening – said if I didn’t give him redundancy pay, he’d take me to an employment tribunal!’

  ‘Could he do that?’

  ‘Not really. He’s self-employed and he always wanted to be paid in cash, so I reckon he wasn’t declaring all his income. He shut up and went away when I suggested HMRC might be interested in investigating his tax returns.’

  ‘Checkmate!’ I said.

  ‘I hope so, and that that’s the end of it, but if he bothers you again, let me know and I’ll deal with him,’ he said grimly.

  ‘OK,’ I agreed, then changed the subject. ‘Myfy told me that James won’t let anyone help him with the front borders, so I won’t touch those.’

  ‘Much better not. They’re his pride and joy, though his taste in spring and summer bedding plants is a bit garish, to say the least. Still, he helps out with the rest of the gardening when his rheumatism will let him and he’s going to man the ticket office when we open to the public.’

  ‘What about Gertie?’

  ‘She’s quite spry, but her real love is the vegetable garden and the greenhouses, which are outside the Grace Garden itself, through a gate at the bottom. I’ll show you in a bit, but first, perhaps we’d better go to the office, where you can see a blown-up photo of the original plan.’

  He strode off through the gate and took the path past the Alchemist rose to the arched entrance, trailing me and the peacocks behind him.

  Last time I’d visited the courtyard I’d been too focused on the coming interview with Ned to take in what was there, so this time I stared around curiously. It was a large, rectangular cobbled yard, the brick walls a little lower than those around the garden. Straight ahead was another arch, this one with a closed gate, which must lead to Old Grace Hall, for I could see the twisty chimney-pots and roof above it.

  To my right, Ned’s office and a long building with a sign on the door proclaiming it to be ‘The Potting Shed, Private’, stood at right angles to each other.

  There were more buildings against the wall on the other side and a smaller gate, presumably the visitors’ entrance. But there was no time to linger, for Ned had already thrown open the door of his office and vanished inside. I hurried after him, closing the door on the peacocks.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Ned, when I joined him in front of the corkboard wall. ‘The original plan of the apothecary garden, begun in the late seventeenth century.’

  I moved closer. ‘I spotted this yesterday and thought that’s what it might be. You’re very lucky to have it!’

  I studied the unusual layout, with a large circle within the square and a criss-cross of paths to the four corners.

  ‘I know I’m lucky to have it – and it’s a very early example of an apothecary or physic garden, especially so far out of London. I suppose I’d better give you a potted family history, so you can understand the context.’

  I dragged my gaze away from the plan with an effort and said, ‘Go on then, I’m listening.’

  ‘The Grace family were local minor gentry – Grace was a corruption of a Norman name – and as the family fortunes flourished, due to a tendency to marry money, they remodelled the original house that was here into the Tudor one you see now.’

  ‘I’m sure this flat area must have been inviting for building on, but how did they get across the river, before the bridge was built?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘There was an earlier one of slabs on stone piers. You can just see the remains of it above the present bridge, where the channel narrows.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have fancied that on a dark night, with the Devil’s Cauldron waiting below!’

  ‘Nor me,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, a bit later on, the then Grace heir excelled himself by marrying into the minor nobility, to a Miss Lordly, and the family decided this house wasn’t good enough any more and built Risings Manor on the hill opposite. That was when they changed their name to Lordly-Grace, too.’

  ‘How very pretentious! What happened to this house?’

  ‘They sold it to a Grace cousin called Nathaniel, a rollicking Elizabethan character, somewhere between an adventurer and a pirate – the distinction was a bit hazy back then. He’d made enough out of it to buy the Hall, marry and settle down here. And this is the point where it gets interesting, Marnie, because one of his descendants married a Tradescant, which is where the beginning of the Grace Garden lies.’

  ‘Not one of the famous London plant-collecting Tradescant family?’

  ‘The very same, and she too had a fascination with plants and their medicinal and culinary uses. Not long after the marriage, the walled garden that already existed here was enlarged and the plan drawn up.’

  ‘She must have been a girl after my own heart!’

  ‘She was certainly interesting. Uncle Theo found several of her letters about plants to and from her relatives in London, together with the garden plan, in a chest full of family documents. She corresponded with other keen gardeners up and down the country, too, and often exchanged seeds and cuttings. It gives us an idea of what she was growing here, though of course there were already herbals in print, like Culpeper’s, listing hundreds of plants and their uses.’

  ‘It’s wonderful to still have all that original material, though,’ I said. ‘It’ll really interest the visitors.’

  ‘I’ve put a bit about it in the garden guide we’re going to sell, but I might eventually have room to make a display of facsimiles of the plan and letters, and perhaps some antique garden implements,’ he said. ‘There’s an old outbuilding adjoining the other side of the wall from the shop, so it might be possible to knock through into that to create the space. But that’ll have to be later.’

  ‘You’ve got a shop?’

  ‘The other end of the ticket office. It’s not ready yet, though. We’ll have to get a shift on with it, because Easter’s at the end of next week.’

  He turned back to the plan on the wall and said, ‘So, that’s how the garden came about. The circular layout is unusual for the time, though not unique.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought, and I noticed it wasn’t flat, either – it seems to rise towards the middle.’

  ‘Only a bit, but the mid-level planting in the central beds makes it look higher. It slopes down slightly to a little sunken round herb garden in the middle, with an old sundial.’

  His fingers traced the outlines of the quartered mid-level beds. ‘We’re trying to plant these up mainly with things that would have been there before, but this one at the lower end of the garden was the area flattened and used for vegetable growing during the war. It’s just an overgrown mess at the moment and I haven’t quite decided what to do with it.’

  ‘And then there are two more tall beds beyond it, at the bottom of the garden, matching the ones at this end?’ I guessed.

  ‘Yes, and low beds on either side of the central circle.’

  ‘I think I’ll grasp the layout a lot better when I actually walk around it,’ I hinted, but first he insisted on showing me, with printed transparent overlays, the later tweaks and changes that generations of Graces had made to the original.

  ‘And I’ve added a couple of new features of my own,’ he said, indicating the right-hand corner at the further end of the garden with one long finger. ‘This is a boggy area where a spring rises, so I’m turning it into a wetland habitat with a wooden walkway … and in the corner opposite is the Poison Garden.’

  ‘Poison Garden?’ I echoed.

  ‘You’ll see – come on, I’ll give you a guided tour all to yourself. It’ll be good practice for when we o
pen.’

  We took the wide gravel path between two beds of trees and large shrubs towards the heart of the garden, crossing the circular path on the way. I had to admit, it all made much more sense, now I’d seen the plan.

  ‘Last year I began by restoring all the original paths and a few later ones that led to seating areas among the mid-level herb beds … or what will be the mid-level herb beds, when I’ve finished replanting them.’

  ‘You’ve made a good start,’ I said as we walked down the gentle slope to a shallow, sunken garden.

  ‘Hyssop, herb of grace, valerian, common Solomon’s seal, chamomile, feverfew …’ he said, like an incantation. ‘So many herbs, so little time!’

  The small herb garden right in the middle looked in good order, though, with brick paths radiating out from the sundial.

  ‘The pointer on that sundial is a sailing ship – that’s unusual,’ I said. ‘It looks very old.’

  ‘It is, and the ship is a galleon.’ He looked down at the herbs, all low-growing kinds, like thyme, mint and marjoram, and said: ‘Luckily, Gertie likes this small herb garden so she’s kept it in good order … and James has maintained and renewed the dwarf lavender hedges around the side beds, even if he’s ignored the overgrown beds themselves! Really, those two are a law unto themselves.’

  ‘You said they were part time – what hours do they work now?’

  ‘I pay them from twelve till four at the moment … but they appear and disappear at will, any time between about ten and five. That’ll have to change a bit when we open to the public, though.’

  I expect Ned, being tall, had a view out of the sunken garden in all directions, but I could see only the lower end, the great segment of hummocky grass and weeds that Ned had mentioned.

  ‘That’s where you said they put the vegetable plot during the war, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. According to some old photos, they were in long, narrow beds with grass paths between,’ Ned said. ‘I’ve wondered about keeping that layout, though with something other than vegetables in the beds, of course.’

  ‘I think that would be a great idea, and the grass edging and paths will tie in with those of the two side beds, won’t they?’

  ‘Yes, though without the lavender borders,’ he agreed, leading the way out of the far side of the sunken area and heading for the bottom right-hand corner. ‘My new wetland and water feature is this way.’

  He’d narrowed the low bed on this side to make more room for his new project.

  ‘The spring always came up in the corner, but it’s been left to go boggy. I’m channelling the stream, so it’ll run through a marshy area and down a small waterfall, into this pond I’ve dug out. The runoff will go through an old drainage culvert under the wall.’

  It was certainly a boggy mess at the moment, but either Ned or a giant mole had been busy excavating a large hole. On the far side, against the wall, were steps up to a platform.

  ‘Marshy plants, like marshmallow and mullein are going to love that top part. What are you going to put in your pond?’

  ‘I thought blue water iris and maybe katniss – arrowhead – in the shallows.’

  ‘And what about watercress?’ I suggested. ‘What’s going up on that round platform over there?’

  ‘A domed wooden gazebo – I’ve got it, I just need to put it together. It’ll be the one place where you’ll be able to see most of the garden. I’ve got a small bridge to go over the stream, too.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ I said, even if I couldn’t quite imagine what it would look like yet.

  He might have guessed what I was thinking, because he said, ‘Take it from me, it will be. And now for my other new feature, the Poison Garden.’

  We walked along the circular path past more tall shrubs and trees, and he pointed out the small gateway to the vegetable garden but said I could see that another time.

  The black metal structure that I’d spotted earlier now came fully into view: a tall, wrought-iron fence, curved inwards like claws and set with a very Gothic-looking gate, shut off this corner.

  ‘I thought it might be better to collect the more dangerous plants in one section, behind a fence, to stop the visitors killing themselves. Though some of the other plants won’t do them a lot of good if they touch them, or try and sneak cuttings, despite the warning signs,’ he said. ‘That Irish yew at the back was already here, so it seemed the perfect spot.’

  He’d obviously devoted quite a lot of time to planting up this part. There was another tall black metal structure in the middle.

  ‘That fence is like a cage, keeping everything from escaping,’ I said. ‘And actually, there seems to be a cage within the cage.’

  ‘The railings give the right impression, especially now I’ve got James to paint them black. They came from a architectural antiques place in a village not far away, and that really is a cage in the middle of the Poison Garden – a Victorian aviary, with a rosary pea in it.’

  I stared at him. ‘But those are hugely poisonous – deadly!’

  ‘I know, that’s why it’s in a cage in a cage, and the gate locked. Later on, I’ll take small groups round it occasionally, and I’ll look after this part of the garden myself.’

  ‘You’re welcome to it,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t mean that – I’ve got a brugmansia – angel’s trumpet – that’s already six feet tall, and lots more interesting things, like deadly nightshade, foxglove, rat’s bane and hemlock. I think I might put some mandrake in there, too, because its history is really interesting,’ he enthused.

  ‘I can hardly wait to see it,’ I said, though since I’d never seen an actual rosary pea or an angel’s trumpet, I was only half-joking.

  ‘Of course, some of the things in there, like foxgloves, you can find anywhere,’ he said. ‘Amazing how many ordinary garden plants are quite poisonous.’

  ‘I know, like laburnum, which just looks so pretty.’

  ‘I pinched the Poison Garden idea from Alnwick Castle, though mine’s a lot smaller, of course.’

  I could see the Poison Garden was Ned’s baby, just as much as the vegetable garden and the borders were Gertie and James’s.

  We began to retrace our steps towards the courtyard, along the circular path and past the wide, low bed on that side.

  ‘I’m obviously promoting the garden as a work in progress, but I thought that would be a draw – I’ve ordered information boards to put up round the garden, explaining what we’re doing in each area, and leaflets to give out with the tickets if they don’t want to spend the money on the glossy brochure.’

  ‘I think you’re right: seeing the restoration in progress will be a big attraction.’

  I stopped and turned for another look as we reached the archway again.

  ‘What with the war and lack of manpower, I can see why the garden has got into such a state, Ned,’ I said. ‘Especially if there wasn’t much money. It needs an awful lot of work to bring it back to what it should be, though.’

  ‘I think Uncle Theo just let it go after my aunt Wen died.’

  ‘It’s still a magical garden,’ I said encouragingly. ‘It’ll really come alive this year, you’ll see!’

  ‘You don’t feel … daunted by it?’ he asked, looking down at me seriously.

  ‘No, of course I don’t! It’ll be a wonderful challenge and I’m so lucky to be part of restoring it to its former glory.’

  ‘It’ll be good to have someone enthusiastic to help me,’ he said, and then gave me the first really warm and genuine smile I’d seen since I’d arrived.

  I smiled happily back but his quickly disappeared before he said, ‘OK, enough messing about, Ellwood – time to get to work.’

  He’d always called me Ellwood at college, when he wanted to wind me up, especially when we were filming that stupid documentary, and I felt he really was beginning to relax his guard and accept me back as a friend again.

  Or maybe, in our mutual enthusiasm, he’d just forgotten to be cauti
ous …

  12

  Bed of Thorns

  Whichever way it was, I did feel we’d made progress and, as we headed back into the office, Ned seemed to have forgotten we were going to get straight to work, and, instead, put the kettle on.

  ‘You aren’t making coffee, are you?’ I asked.

  He looked at me in amusement. ‘I went straight out and bought one of those cafetière things after your comments about my instant coffee. I got a bag of ground Java, too.’

  ‘Your visiting clients will love you for it, and be able to leave the office without wanting to throw up.’

  ‘I don’t think it was that bad before!’

  ‘You have to be joking. That, or your taste buds have withered and fallen off.’

  I made sure he was spooning a generous amount of coffee into his new cafetière, before wandering off to stare at the original garden plan again.

  Over coffee, we talked about the Chelsea Physic Garden, which we’d both visited.

  ‘Of course, the climate must be totally different up here,’ I said.

  ‘We do tend to be a few weeks behind – which is actually quite good, as far as the rose garden is concerned, because we could still get it all radically pruned back now. I was going to leave it till next year, but it would add a bit extra to the Grace Garden experience.’

  ‘Was the rose garden created at the same time as the rest?’

  ‘No, it’s a lot later, early Regency. That triangle of land between this garden and the cottages used to be where the pigs and hens were kept, until they were cleared out to make way for the roses.’

  ‘I wonder if any of the Regency roses are still there, Ned? There have been some amazing survivals from even earlier,’ I said eagerly. ‘I expect new ones were added later, anyway – the Victorians were gaga about them – so it’ll be fun finding out what’s there.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll go for it, then, and you can make a start there,’ he suggested. ‘James isn’t a rose man and, anyway, his rheumatism is pretty bad sometimes. Gertie would much rather nurture the rhubarb with her hoard of well-rotted manure, until it’s so big it takes over its bed.’