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

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Not another list? You have been busy! But yes, I suppose I’ll be your PA and secretary and dogsbody – just for today.’

  ‘You get free run of the coffee and biscuit tin,’ he offered.

  ‘And what will you be doing?’ I asked as he got up, stretched cautiously, like a cat in a slightly too small box, and put on the jacket that was hanging on the back of his office chair.

  ‘I’m off to Great Mumming first, to get a master set of all the keys cut, to hang in the Potting Shed. We’ll have to be much more careful to keep the gates to the private areas locked against the visitors, because there are always some unable to read the signs and I don’t want them wandering round into the Lavender Cottage garden, or sneaking off to peer in the Hall windows.’

  ‘Would people really do that?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Anyway, the master set of keys will be in the Potting Shed and we all have a key to that.’

  ‘Good idea.’ I didn’t want to carry any more keys, because I already jangled like a gaoler when I walked, due to the bunch of Lavender Cottage ones, as well as those to the Grace Garden.

  When he’d gone I did help myself to more coffee and then settled down in front of the laptop (feeling a warm glow of pleasure that he trusted me enough to give me his password) and replied to all the emails he’d mentioned, though I think they might have been breeding in the inbox since he last looked.

  Ned had been right and most of them asked the questions the website had been set up to answer …

  Duh.

  But there was one from a married couple living locally, who described themselves as keen amateur gardeners, retired but very active, offering to work for nothing as volunteers. I noted down their names and email: this was the sort of help that would be invaluable!

  After that, I gingerly replaced the phone on its rest, but it had rung itself into an exhausted silence.

  I took the opportunity to work down Ned’s list of people to ring, chasing up a missing signboard from the delivery, checking the consignment of glossy brochures was on its way, and one or two more tasks.

  I’d only just ticked off the last thing on the list and replaced the receiver, when it rang and a posh, high-pitched, female voice asked whether entrance to the garden on Friday would be free to local residents.

  ‘Local residents are free to walk in the garden any time – so long as they’ve paid their four pounds entry fee,’ I said. I’d no idea what Ned’s policy was going to be on this, but I didn’t somehow take to that voice …

  There was a splutteringly indignant noise and then a sharp-pitched yapping in the background.

  ‘Do be quiet, Wu and Wang!’ she exclaimed, covering the phone inadequately and I was suddenly sure this must be Audrey Lordly-Grace!

  She came back on and said, ‘Surely, at least on opening day, entry will be free?’

  ‘No, though there will be free cold drinks and cake in the courtyard.’

  Elf was going to provide a couple of large jugs of lemonade and Gertie was baking a huge lardy cake.

  ‘All the details are on the website,’ I said helpfully. ‘You could become a Friend of the Grace Garden, though,’ I suggested. ‘For only twenty-five pounds, you get free entrance at all times and there’s a special garden party in summer.’

  I’d made all that up, too, but it was such a good idea I scribbled it down on the pad next to the phone.

  She made another outraged squawk and I nearly said, ‘Who’s a pretty Polly, then?’ but luckily, just as the words were beginning to slide out from between my clenched lips, she put the phone down on me.

  I added ‘Set up Friends of the Grace Garden on website’ to Ned’s urgent list.

  He came back just as I’d finished doing that and must have detoured by way of the house, because he’d brushed his hair and changed the brown woolly jumper with holes in the elbows he’d worn earlier, for one of a mossy colour and a less disreputable waxed jacket.

  I told him what I’d done so far and asked him if he wanted me to put in the order he’d left for a lot of scented geranium plug plants.

  ‘Only they might want to be paid up front.’

  ‘I haven’t dealt with them before, but they’ll probably send an invoice,’ he said. ‘Apparently, it’s the secret dream of James’s heart to plant up that big stone water trough in the courtyard with scented geraniums. Gertie told me he’d been drooling over the catalogue for this specialist nursery for ages.’

  ‘So, it’s his secret obsession?’

  ‘Not any longer. They’ve some really unusual new varieties. I doubt they’re all going to be hardy, but nurturing them through the winter will give him something to occupy himself with, when things are quiet on the visitor front.’ He grinned. ‘We won’t tell him – it can be a surprise!’

  As we put the order through, I thought how kind he was and that underneath his new wariness, he hadn’t really changed much from the young student Ned I’d known: generous, thoughtful and warm-hearted.

  As if to emphasize it, he’d brought me back a sandwich, too: smoked salmon and cream cheese on wholemeal bread – delicious.

  ‘I wolfed mine down in the car park before I came back, I was ravenous,’ he said, and just then his mobile rang and, when he’d answered it, he got up.

  ‘Here we go. The TV people have arrived. I’ll go and meet them.’

  When he opened the door I could see that nature had helpfully set the scene for him: the sun had suddenly popped out from behind clouds, Lancelot had appeared in the archway to the garden, tail spread, and the birds began to sing sweetly, as if auditioning for a Disney film.

  Ned returned looking more relaxed and said that once he’d started talking, he’d forgotten everything except what he was hoping to achieve in the Grace Garden, totally oblivious to the camera pointing at him.

  This ability to lose himself in his genuine enthusiasm for gardening was what had made him such a natural on TV in the first place: he just forgot the cameras and the millions of viewers.

  ‘Someone’s coming back on Friday, but just to add some film of the actual opening – and Clara Mayhem Doome. She’s a much bigger celebrity than I am,’ he said.

  I left him to it and popped out to the café for coffee and ice-cream with Treena, who had rung to say Audrey Lordly-Grace had called her out to the Pekes yet again, but she’d also seen Cress and had a quick look at the stables up the hill behind Risings and thought she might move Zephyr over at some point fairly soon.

  ‘I felt guilty about charging so much for the call-out to the Pekes, now I know it’s Cress’s house and she’s struggling to make a living from it.’

  I told her about the phone call to the garden office and that I was sure it was Audrey Lordly-Grace. ‘She was really indignant about having to pay four pounds like anyone else if she deigned to come and see the gardens, so she’s obviously penny-pinching in other ways.’

  ‘Since you heard her mention Wu and Wang, it has to be her,’ Treena said, then sighed. ‘They’d be much happier little dogs with less sugary biscuits and more walks. I keep telling her, but she doesn’t listen.’

  Treena couldn’t stay long and when she’d gone I walked slowly back to the Grace Garden and followed the sound of voices borne to me on a brisk breeze.

  Ned, Charlie and Jacob were grouped round the little waterfall that Ned had created above the new pond, watching small, iridescent metal flowers slowly opening and closing their petals amongst the mossy rocks and frondy ferns.

  Jacob looked up and smiled. ‘I had to go back to the barn and make a few small adjustments. But it’s all working now.’

  ‘It looks absolutely magical!’ I told him.

  ‘Yeah, it’s fantastic,’ Charlie said. ‘Really cool.’

  ‘You’re both right,’ Ned agreed, all doubts evidently vanished. ‘It’s so strange, but yet, it does look as if it somehow grew there.’

  ‘It did, with a bit of help from Jacob,’ I said.

  22

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  When Jacob had gone, Charlie and I helped Ned with the next task on his endless to-do list, moving the remaining boxes of stock that had been stored in the office across to the shop.

  Then we began to fill the empty spaces on the shelves and racks with books, souvenirs printed with Myfy’s pretty design, packets of seeds and flower-printed trowels and forks.

  True to his word, Charlie hadn’t brought back any of our leaflets, but he did have a whole box full of other people’s, pressed on him along the way. Some of them sounded really interesting, like the cracker factory on the other side of Great Mumming, which I remembered Ned mentioning once, too. I filled one of the clear plastic stands with those and stood it on a shelf near the entrance door. There was plenty of room, because the stock was a little sparse. I was going to have to take the situation in hand …

  We carried out a tiered plant stand and set it in the courtyard by the door, ready for Gert’s pots of herbs and other surplus plants. Then Ned said there was something in one of the old stables that might give her a bit of extra display room and he and Charlie went to find it. They came back with a funny old flat-topped barrow, with a painted iron frame and wheels.

  ‘There we are,’ Ned said, parking it next to the plant stand. ‘Gertie can put some of the bigger pots on it; it’s strong enough to take them.’

  ‘Yes, and it’s got character,’ I agreed. ‘Maybe a bit too much character? Would James remove the rust and give it a quick coat of paint?’

  ‘It’s just the sort of job he loves – providing we can get it into the back of the Potting Shed, where he can be cosy. But it’s not much bigger than the barrows we keep in there.’

  ‘Let’s try it now,’ suggested Charlie obligingly, and they squeaked and grated it over the cobbles and squeezed it through the door.

  It might not be my idea of a high treat, but I was sure James would be delighted. And with his geraniums, when they arrived.

  The others went off down the garden again, this time intending to put down the wooden walkway that would cross the top marshy area and perhaps, if there was time, the small bridge that was to go over the stream above the waterfall.

  Apparently, everything was pre-cut and numbered, so I expected it really would be just like giant Lego to Charlie and they’d have it done in no time.

  I left a space on a shelf for the glossy brochures, which were allegedly arriving the next day, and then I could do no more, so I went out, locking the door behind me.

  I could hear the phone ringing away in the office again, but I felt I’d had enough of being a secretary and PA and went to join the others. By the time Charlie left late in the afternoon, the slats of the walkway had been screwed down into their supports and the bridge almost completed.

  It wasn’t really worth bridging a stream so narrow you could step across it without a stretch, but it looked pretty in a Monet’s water garden kind of way and would lead people to the gazebo … when we’d put that together, too.

  After finishing the bridge and exhausting his Sonic Screwdriver, Ned and I began sorting through the pots of damp-loving plants that lined the nearby gravel path – marshmallow, chervil, milk thistle, meadowsweet and more – and moving them into position before digging them in.

  We worked in happy and mostly silent amity until the sun dipped below the encircling hills and, as Shakespeare didn’t quite phrase it, all the birds bogged off back to the rooky woods for the night.

  Ned’s spade stopped moving suddenly and he exclaimed: ‘It’s Tuesday!’

  ‘Is it really? You amaze me,’ I said. ‘You’ll be telling me next that it’s April.’

  ‘No, I meant, if it’s Tuesday, then it’s the Friends of Jericho’s End meeting in the Village Hut at seven.’

  I checked my slightly earthy watch. ‘You’ve still got enough time to clean yourself up and eat something, first.’

  ‘I do if I get a bit of a shift on. You should come, too,’ he suggested. ‘I’m surprised Elf hasn’t already roped you in.’

  ‘I think she did mention the meetings, but I’ve only just got here, so I’ve hardly been absorbed into the community yet.’

  ‘The quiz was a good start – everyone knows who you are now – and Elf’s always looking for new blood.’

  ‘So it’s a society of vampires?’

  ‘Ho, ho,’ he said. ‘Nothing so exciting. It’s run by Elf and Gerald and they arrange the regular events, like the Annual Fête, the Christmas pantomime and the Easter egg hunt, which is the next thing coming up. There are occasional litter-picking days, too, when most of the village turns out.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too taxing. What other things do they do there?’ I asked, curiously.

  ‘Well, there’s the book group once a month, and occasional talks, and a jumble sale. Oh, and a mother and toddler group meets one morning a week.’

  ‘I was wrong, it’s a positive riot of dissipation. When do you have the Easter egg hunt?’

  ‘Sunday morning at eleven, but the Easter Bunny goes out early and leaves chocolate eggs under all the bushes in the ground round the Hut. In fact, you can be the Easter Bunny, if you like.’

  ‘No thank you, I’ve never fancied the floppy ears and fluffy tail look. Anyway, I’ll be working.’

  ‘It’s a Sunday,’ he pointed out. ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Like today, I’ll be there whether you pay me or not. We’ll need to do a lot of our work in the mornings in future, too, once we open to the public, won’t we?’

  ‘It would certainly be easier to trundle barrows up and down and that kind of thing without the visitors on the paths,’ Ned agreed. ‘And thanks – but I’ll pay you for any overtime.’

  ‘How about I give you my time free this Sunday and we see how busy the garden is and whether an extra pair of hands is needed?’

  ‘OK – thanks. Though actually, it’s amazing how much work you’ve already done. You just set to and get on with it, like I do, without being told. It’s almost as good as having two of me.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ I said. ‘Hadn’t you better get going, if you don’t want to miss the meeting?’

  As we headed back to put our tools away, I asked curiously, ‘Who else goes to these Friends meetings besides you, Elf and Gerald?’

  ‘Sometimes Myfy and Jacob … and Gert, James and Steve, of course. The vicar, if she can make it …’ He frowned. ‘I’ve missed someone out … Oh, yes, Cress comes, too. The first Lordly-Grace to take any interest in village affairs for centuries.’

  ‘That sounds almost irresistible, but I think I’ll pass,’ I told him.

  But then, not five minutes later, Elf accosted me as I made for the stairs to the flat and, after thrusting a box of blueberry ice-cream into my still somewhat grubby hands, insisted I join them at the FOJE meeting that evening.

  ‘We need more young blood.’

  ‘Yes, Ned said much the same – but I’m not that young,’ I protested, but she simply smiled and said she’d see me there at seven, and it would be fun.

  And you know, it was fun, even if I did somehow find myself agreeing to don a fluffy all-in-one rabbit suit and hide the chocolate eggs on Sunday.

  I woke next morning after a nightmare in which I was buried in a strangely warm avalanche, only to find Caspar lying on my chest with his head tucked under my chin. He is one heavy cat, but when I pushed him off, he seemed to take it as a gesture of affection and just lay there next to me with his paws in the air, purring loudly.

  It was not quite light yet and I lay there thinking about yesterday and especially the Friends of Jericho’s End meeting.

  Cress had arrived last, flustered and apologizing. ‘Mummy got terribly cross and upset while I was out at the riding school this afternoon! Wayne turned up unexpectedly and when Mummy went out to see what he was doing, he called her Auntie Audrey and was very familiar!’

  ‘Auntie Audrey?’ repeated Gerald, rather blankly.

  ‘He said he’d been reading your book,
Elf, and now he knew he was related to the Lordly-Graces. Of course, Mummy knows about that ancient scandal, but it was yonks ago and I mean, it’s history! Of course, Mummy was furious and gave him a good telling-off and fired him, so now I’m going to have to persuade her to let him come back, because there isn’t anyone else to do the garden.’

  Her large and beautiful light grey eyes rested on me and she brightened. ‘Unless you, Marnie, could—’

  ‘Marnie’s got her hands full with the Grace Garden already,’ Ned interrupted firmly.

  ‘It’ll have to be Wayne again, then,’ she said gloomily.

  ‘Of course there is a whole chapter on the old scandal in the book,’ Elf said. ‘But I’d have thought the Vanes would have known all about it already.’

  ‘I expect they expunged her name from the family Bible and never spoke of her again, after she ran off,’ suggested Myfy. ‘Wayne probably had no idea.’

  ‘Have you read that bit, dear?’ Elf asked me, and I nodded.

  ‘Yes – the young Vane girl who was a servant at Risings running off with the younger son of the family.’

  ‘Then being cast off by both her own family and the Lordly-Graces, when she came back pregnant after her lover was killed,’ Myfy finished. ‘Like a Victorian morality tale, though this one took place in the early Regency.’

  ‘And had a happier ending, because Richard Grace took her in, then eventually married her and adopted the child, a boy, as his heir.’

  ‘When you think that that makes the Vanes very distantly related to me, too, it sort of takes the edge off the romance,’ said Ned.

  ‘It’s all too long ago to be worth bothering about,’ Elf said. ‘Now he’s found out about it, Wayne’s just making mischief, as usual.’

  ‘He’d better not try calling me “Cousin Ned” or anything like that, or he’ll be sorry,’ he said grimly.

  I thought it was a pity someone had told Wayne his family were mentioned in Elf’s book. He’d seemed over-interested in the idea of hidden treasure, too.

  But Cress was now asking us what charity the money raised by the Easter egg hunt would go to this year and we’d moved on.