Wayne looked unconvinced, but said, ‘That pirate that bought Old Grace Hall probably came back dripping with treasure.’
‘I really don’t think so,’ I said dismissively. ‘But I’m sure the house has been searched several times over the centuries since, so anything hidden there would have been found.’
‘Unless he was cunning and it’s out in the garden somewhere,’ he suggested.
‘Not in the Grace Garden, it isn’t. That wasn’t created until the seventeenth century and this rose garden was where they kept the hens and pigs till long after that.’
He looked first dampened and then wary as James suddenly came round the curve of the path.
‘What are you doing skulking about there, young Wayne?’ he demanded.
‘Just talking to the new gardener, like. Warning her what a curmudgeonly old sod you are.’
‘I’ll have less of your sauce,’ James told him angrily. ‘Ned said he caught you messing about in the stables earlier.’
‘I’ve already told Ned I was only looking for a bit of chain for a gate.’
‘A likely story,’ said James. ‘I’d take yourself off, before Ned spots you.’
‘I got a right to walk up a public road, haven’t I?’ Wayne said belligerently, but he slouched off, all the same.
‘He’s a bad lot,’ said James. ‘The Vanes are a dour and bad-tempered family, but at least most of the rest of them are honest and hard-working.’
‘James!’ came a bellow from the direction of the Grace Garden and he started. ‘Forgot why I’d come for a minute! They just rang Ned’s mobile to say they were delivering the signs, but they’ve brought a van too big to go over the bridge, even though he warned them about the access. They’re unloading them on the other side, so we’ll have to carry them from there.’
We all trooped out and over the bridge, and Charlie came out of the pub to lend a hand, too.
‘If we don’t hang about, we can move them across before the café gets busy and people start getting in the way,’ Ned said. ‘Let’s stack them on the patio behind Lavender Cottage first – I’m sure Elf and Myfy won’t mind – then we can take our time shifting them from there.’
So we did that, Charlie and Ned taking the bigger ones and James guarding the slowly diminishing heap by the bridge, as if afraid sign thieves would hurtle down the one-way road and steal them.
I had barely got back to the pruning when I was summoned yet again, this time to help carry in a plant delivery, though actually it wasn’t just plants; there were small trees and shrubs, too. At least this time they’d arrived in an open-backed truck that had been able to be driven over the bridge and into the courtyard next to Old Grace Hall, where the contents were offloaded.
The plants now stood in a group on the cobblestones, like a lot of nervous sheep in a field, and all had to be carried across the path, through the visitors’ gate and then on into the garden, where they were lined up on the paths near where they were destined to be dug in.
‘We might as well have a bite of lunch and a brew, before we do anything else,’ Gertie said as we walked back once we’d finished.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a sandwich back with me, so I can get on,’ I said, so in the Potting Shed, Gert fished out a plastic box and shoved several sandwiches and a slab of foil-wrapped lardy cake in it.
That should keep me going for a bit, I thought, as I headed back.
It was some time later, and I’d hacked back quite a bit of the path down the other side of the giant central bed of Apple Rose, when Ned appeared, carrying a bucket of soapy water and a brush. He was wearing waders.
‘I’ve been planting up the pond with the water plants that came,’ he explained, seeing my quizzical look.
‘You’re the biggest garden gnome I’ve ever seen,’ I said, and he grinned.
‘Forgot my fishing rod. But while I was fairly waterproof I thought I might as well clean down this marble bench James told me you’d found.’
‘Pity you didn’t do it earlier, before I sat on it,’ I said ungratefully. ‘I’ve got a mossy green bottom.’
‘If it’s permanent, we could advertise you as a garden feature,’ he suggested. ‘Speaking of which, Wayne seems to be becoming a garden feature too, though an unwelcome one,’ he added. ‘James said he found him talking to you over the wall, earlier.’
‘Yes, and he’d have had the rake, too, if he wasn’t too thick to realize the head of it wouldn’t fit through the railings.’
‘Nothing’s safe,’ he said. ‘Did James tell you I found him in the stables very early this morning?’
I nodded. ‘I suppose he was up to no good there, as well.’
‘He had an excuse, but it wasn’t a good one.’ He looked at me, amber eyes serious. ‘What was he saying to you earlier? I hope he wasn’t making a nuisance of himself again?’
‘Not really. He’s got hold of a copy of Elf’s book, because someone told him his family was mentioned in it, but he seemed more interested in the chapter about hidden treasure. He’s got a metal detector. I must tell Treena to warn Luke, in case he tries to use it at the dig site.’
‘He’ll be sorry if he does, because Steve’s sheepdog will bark his head off if he hears anything at night, and if he’s let out, Wayne will be sporting a set of toothmarks up his legs for weeks.’
‘He asked me if I thought your pirate ancestor had really hidden treasure here and I told him no, because if he had it would have been found.’
‘He’d better not try digging up my garden!’
‘He won’t. I reminded him the Grace Garden wasn’t there until long after Nathaniel, so if there had been anything there before, it would have been found.’
Then something connected in my head and I said, ‘That old sundial with the galleon in the middle – the words round the edge mention golden bars, though of course they meant sunshine. But perhaps someone reading that got the wrong idea and it started the rumour?’
‘It’s surprising how little it takes sometimes, so you could be right. But it’s probably just wishful thinking – though I could really use a chestful of pirate treasure right now!’
He went to change, leaving a gleaming white bench and a trail of soapy water behind him. He and James were going to sort out all the new signs next and start putting them up.
Later, they came in and cemented one in the rose garden, while I was packing up my tools and gathering the full bags of prunings together: River Walk time, again.
‘Just leave all that,’ Ned said. ‘We’ll put it away. You’ve done enough for one day.’
‘I am a bit stiff, but nothing a hot shower won’t fix,’ I agreed.
‘Never mind, you’ve got all tomorrow to recover.’
I stared at him: ‘You only have three more days before the garden opens! You can’t possibly think I’m going to take all tomorrow off.’
‘Nor Gert and me – and Steve says he’ll be round when he can, between jobs.’
Ned looked taken aback. ‘But—’
‘Nor do we want paying. We’re a team effort, aren’t we, young Marnie?’
I liked being called ‘young’; it reminded me that I still was. ‘We certainly are,’ I agreed.
‘Well … thank you,’ he said. ‘Marnie, I could do with some help in the office first thing, if you wouldn’t mind – and then perhaps we’d better finally go and distribute the leaflets everywhere we can think of. Or maybe Charlie could? His sister, Daisy’s, taken over helping in the café now it’s her school holidays and he said earlier he could give me a hand with anything I wanted doing, before he starts on that dig.’
‘What about the expense?’ I teased him.
‘Charlie’s coming cheap, as long as he gets cash in hand,’ he said. ‘I wonder what he’s like at putting wooden walkways and bridges together?’
‘They’re all brought up on Lego; it’ll be a doddle,’ I told him.
21
Flower Power
For the ne
xt few days I knew I’d have to devote myself to the Grace Garden, so I spent a quiet early morning hour trimming the remaining lavender bushes into pleasant hummocks, ready for the new growth later in the year. One of the bushes had been half-pruned into a sort of Mohican, presumably by Myfy before inspiration made her wander off again.
Ned wasn’t expecting me for a little while yet. He’d rung me briefly the previous night to make sure I really did want to work today. He’d had another word with Gertie, James and Steve, too, and in the end persuaded them to take the day off, in order to prepare themselves for a very busy two days getting the garden as ready as possible for the opening – and all the visitors we hoped would come over Easter weekend.
Of course, I’d given my new, permanent mobile number to Elf and Myfy as well as Ned, since they were my employers … though after the Paranoid Years it felt odd that anyone other than my family and my solicitor should know it.
Ned had suggested that I meet him at the office around nine, when Charlie was also calling in, because he and a friend were now going to distribute the garden leaflets all over the district, which was a much better idea than Ned doing it.
Charlie must have been early, because he was just leaving the office when I got there, carrying three boxes.
‘Hi, Charlie,’ I said. ‘Are those the leaflets?’
‘Yeah, and a list of places to leave them, though I’ve got a few ideas of my own, too,’ he said slightly indistinctly, since he was pinning down the list on the top of the boxes with his chin, so it didn’t blow away. ‘I’m not coming back with any, that’s for sure.’
He headed off towards the visitors’ gate and I went into the office, where Ned was sitting at his desk in front of a laptop, looking slightly harassed.
‘I hadn’t realized Charlie had a car,’ I said. ‘That’s handy.’
‘If you can call it a car, though he swears it has a full MOT.’ He looked at the screen again and sighed. ‘I made the mistake of checking the website inbox and loads of people have been emailing me, mostly with questions.’
‘What kind of questions? Interesting ones?’
‘No, so far they’re all stuff like what the opening times are, how much a ticket costs and how to find us – all the information they can already find under their noses on the website.’
‘There’s nowt so queer as folks,’ I said, going and looking at the corkboard wall, which was now liberally covered on one side of the old garden plan with Ned’s to-do lists, some marked Urgent! There was also a three-phase long-term plan.
He’d already ticked off one to-do list and right at the top of the next was, ‘Lay wooden walkway around top marshy area, then plant up.’
‘Jacob’s here – he’s down by the new water feature, fixing up his kinetic flower sculpture, or installation, or whatever he calls it,’ he said rather morosely, swivelling round in his chair and watching me run my finger down the lists. ‘Myfy spent last night up there, so she helped him carry it down. She said I should be honoured to have it.’
‘So you should! It’ll be a popular attraction and you’ll probably get art lovers making a special trip to the garden to see it.’
But my finger had stopped at ‘The Project – Phase 1: Marnie to complete the restoration and any necessary replanting in the rose garden and open paths to public.’
I read on, but Phases 2 and 3 didn’t provide any surprises: the low beds with lavender borders to be dug over and replanted, more mid-height planting in three of the central mid-level segments within the circular walk, and the long strips of vegetable-style beds created, with lawn walkways in the fourth.
All the usual weeding, hoeing and watering was taken for granted, a bit like breathing.
‘Feasibility of new visitor facilities, museum and shop area’ was still stuck in Phase 3, though it did have a red ring drawn round it.
‘I’ve been thinking about the loos,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘And a delightful thing to ponder over on a bright April morning,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Who could blame you?’
‘Get lost, Mars. I’m the sarcastic one, remember?’ I pointed out. ‘It occurred to me that the current outside visitor toilet might be incorporated into the new part of the building later, so you accessed it from inside the shop. You’d just have to block up the outside door and turn everything around. The new door would be the disabled loo.’
‘Oh – easy then! What about the staff one, don’t you want to drag that into your expensive alterations too?’
‘No, because it’s right on the end, so it can stay as it is, with the door onto the yard. I mean, if we’re muddy, we won’t have to traipse through the shop, which would be locked in the mornings anyway.’
‘I suppose we could look into it – if knocking the two buildings into one is feasible, anyway.’
‘Well then, get someone in to look at it and give you an estimate. We must have proper facilities for the visitors,’ I said, abandoning the wall and going to fill and plug in the kettle. I spooned a generous amount of ground coffee into the large red cafetière.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, still being sarky. ‘Eat my biscuits too – they’re in that Dundee Cake tin.’
‘I think you should eat some,’ I told him. ‘You’re so grumpy this morning that your blood sugar must be rock bottom.’
‘It’s just … all the extra little things that need doing before we open that keep cropping up. And then as soon as I got in here this morning, the phone started ringing!’
‘That’s only to be expected, if the number is on the website.’ I looked round. ‘It’s not ringing now … wherever it is.’
‘Under the sofa cushions. I shouldn’t have put that advert for the opening day in all the local papers. It wasn’t so bad until they came out.’
‘Yes, you should, if you want the garden to be a success.’
‘One of the local papers is going to cover the opening event, which I suppose is good,’ he admitted. ‘But this morning, someone from regional TV rang me and wants to film me in the garden, telling them about what I’m recreating here,’ he said, even more gloomily. ‘The last place I ever wanted to be again was in front of the camera.’
‘I expect it’ll only be a tiny bit of a local interest feature in the programme, won’t it?’ I consoled him. ‘They won’t be interested in last year’s something-and-nothing bit of scandalmongering. That’s old news.’
‘Old news,’ he repeated, then his narrow mouth quirked up at the corners into a smile. ‘Thanks, Ellwood – I think that cuts my life crisis and meltdown to size.’
‘Everything has its season. You’re hoeing a different row now.’
‘I suppose I’m being over-sensitive … and about the visitors to Jericho’s End who want me to pose with them for selfies.’
‘It’s the new autograph and you’re just a personality to be snapped with. I mean, they’re not shouting, “Oh, look, there’s the lecherous love rat, Ned Mars”, are they?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed recently,’ he agreed gravely. He ran his hands through the tawny mane of hair in a familiar fashion. ‘You’re right, and most people already know where I live. I’m not hiding out. There was a small piece in the local papers when I inherited Old Grace Hall, about my moving my garden planning business here and how I was looking forward to the longer-term project of restoring the old apothecary garden. Nothing about the scandal.’
I remembered that couple who had stared at him in the pub last Friday evening … but they hadn’t bothered him, just been excited to recognize someone fairly famous.
‘I’m sure your novelty value has long since worn off, but even if you were a notorious philanderer, it would still bring the punters flocking to see you, as well as the garden, so it would be win-win.’
He winced slightly. ‘When the garden’s open, I’m hoping to spend most of my time down at the bottom of it, in the roped-off areas.’
‘And I’ll be making sure I’m well out of sight when there are any jou
rnalists or cameras about,’ I told him. ‘I really am hiding out and I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.’
‘You’re not still nervous about your ex finding you, are you?’ he asked curiously. ‘I thought you said he stopped trying to track you down ages ago and found someone new.’
‘N-oo …’ I said slowly. ‘I mean, I know he hasn’t got any power over me now – and I can’t understand how I ever let him have any – but he might think it was amusing to turn up, if he knew where I was. And I don’t know how I’d feel, seeing him again.’
I gave a shiver, somewhere between irrational fear and anger.
Ned gave me a look I couldn’t read, but didn’t say anything.
‘Butter paddles …’ I murmured, following an inner train of thought.
‘What?’ he said, surprised.
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘Mike’s not interested in old gardens – or any kind of garden – so as long as I keep my name and face out of the media, I’m safe enough. But Jericho’s End hasn’t turned out to be quite the quiet backwater to lose myself in that I hoped it would be.’
‘That’s true, but for a small village up a dead-end road, it has a lot going for it,’ he said. ‘Only in the middle of winter is it really quiet, especially if we get bad weather. The road in snows up, the bus is cancelled and Elf closes the café.’
By now he’d drunk the coffee I’d put in front of him and eaten two gingernut biscuits and a bourbon cream. He looked slightly less frazzled.
‘What do you want me to do this morning?’ I asked as the phone, muffled by the cushions, began to ring.
‘If you could bear it, hold the fort in here for a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘Answer the website emails, open that stack of mail I haven’t got round to, and put anything urgent in a heap. Then if you could answer the phone—’
‘It sounds like a morning of unadulterated pleasure – not,’ I said.
‘I’ve made a list of some other things you might have time to do and here’s a list of passwords and stuff you might need to know.’
The Garden of Forgotten Wishes: The heartwarming and uplifting new rom-com from the Sunday Times bestseller Page 22
