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

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘You know, I’d forgotten about her,’ Myfy was saying, when I resurfaced. ‘But she was a little younger than me, so I’d have been off to art college by then, I expect.’

  ‘Before your time, Ned,’ Elf told him. ‘She was a beautiful girl too – tall and Titian-haired.’

  That was Mum – and she’d worked in the café! Not only that, but she, a Vane, had been universally liked.

  ‘What happened to her?’ asked Myfy, ladling custard onto Jacob’s second helping of treacle tart.

  ‘She went off to train as a nurse, against her father’s wishes, but her teachers encouraged her. Then I think there was some family breach later, because she stopped coming back to visit after a while. And I think …’ she furrowed her brow in concentration, ‘… someone told me she died quite young. Tragic, if so.’

  I couldn’t have spoken if I’d wanted to, but my mind was working furiously. No wonder Mum’s last words had been ‘ice-cream and angels’, because they’d probably been her two most favourite things about the valley.

  There were two more plant deliveries next morning and, since Ned had gone over to Formby to see the site for a garden design commission, Gertie, James and I had moved all the pots to the bottom of the garden. Or rather, since his rheumatism was playing up, Gertie and I had moved them and James had directed proceedings, before going to get the shop ready to open with Steve. The school Easter holidays were over now and I couldn’t guess how many visitors we’d have in the lull before the bank holiday weekend.

  Gertie left me to arrange the new batch of wetland plants where I thought they would look best, while she went to fetch more of the small pots of herbs from the greenhouse, to put outside the shop.

  I was finally heading for the Potting Shed and lunch when Ned, who must have returned at some point, called me over to the office.

  Roddy was in there, too, sitting at the other desk with a stack of opened mail in a wire basket.

  ‘Hi, Roddy,’ I said, thinking this must be something to do with one of the orders – the roses, or perhaps the new lines for the shop, but although he returned my greeting he looked rather grave and … sort of embarrassed.

  Ned closed the door. ‘Marnie, when Roddy was opening the mail, he found something disturbing. I suppose you’d call it a poison-pen letter and it’s certainly anonymous.’

  ‘After all this time?’ I said, surprised. ‘I expect you had a few last year, when all the scandal blew up, but by now—’

  ‘It’s not about me,’ he broke in. ‘Or in a way, I suppose it is …’ He ran his hands through his hair in that familiar gesture and then picked up a sheet of paper and passed it to me. ‘You’d better read it.’

  It wasn’t hand-written, just a printout, and warned Ned that I’d gained employment with him under false pretences because the writer was sure I would have concealed my previous resignation from the Heritage Homes Trust, after making a series of unfounded allegations of misconduct against my employers and work colleagues. The writer then added that in light of Ned’s own difficulties last year, if I made false accusations against him, too, it could cause him a lot of embarrassment he’d probably rather avoid.

  It was signed, ‘A Wellwisher’.

  ‘Mike!’ I said wearily. ‘So Melinda did tell him she’d seen me here, after all.’

  ‘I thought it must have been sent by him,’ agreed Ned. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve told Roddy about you escaping from a controlling ex and him sending that resignation.’

  ‘No, if Mike’s going to do this sort of thing, it’ll all come out anyway, won’t it?’

  ‘I don’t see why it should,’ said Ned. ‘I do know the truth about it all, and the stories about me were disproved last year, so as you keep telling me, no one is going to be interested in that old news!’

  ‘I’m sure Ned’s right, now that he’s given me the whole picture,’ Roddy said. ‘The writer doesn’t know you’ve already told Ned, so he’s expecting it to be a bombshell.’

  ‘It was just an attempt to make trouble for you – he’s a nasty, vindictive sod, isn’t he?’ said Ned. ‘We’ll simply ignore it, though I’ll keep the letter just in case any more come and we want to involve the police.’

  ‘I sincerely hope it won’t come to that!’

  Roddy, who had seemed lost in thought, suddenly said, ‘You know, I’ve just remembered something disquieting that Cress told me the other day. A man rang up making enquiries about room availability, because he was keen to visit the Grace Garden. He said he’d heard that an old friend, Marnie Ellwood, was working there. So Cress, in all innocence, probably told him all kinds of things you’d rather she hadn’t, if it was this Mike.’

  I could imagine. Mike could be very charming and persuasive, so by now I was sure he’d know I was living over the café and working in the garden there, as well as at Old Grace Hall. I hoped Elf and Myfy hadn’t had a letter, too!

  When I said so, Ned said he thought they couldn’t have, or they would have told him already, but in any case since they already knew all about my coercive former partner, it wouldn’t make any difference to them.

  ‘I think we’ll warn Gertie, Steve and James, just in case he turns up,’ Ned said. ‘And I’ll give Elf a ring, so she can beware if anyone appears asking about you.’

  We left it at that, though when I checked my mail later, on the way back to the flat, I wasn’t altogether surprised to find a short note from Mike awaiting me, saying how hurt he was I hadn’t got in touch when I was living so near and that we should meet up for old times’ sake.

  Yeah, right – he must be entirely mad. And deluded, if he thought he had any power over me now.

  Besides, I had Ned’s support and strength behind me. When I went round to the Hall that evening and showed him the letter, he gave me a warm, reassuring hug and told me not to worry.

  Which I wasn’t – or not about Mike, anyway. And our dinner was again from the Lucky Dragon, with encouraging messages in the fortune cookies, so perhaps that was a good omen?

  34

  Folly

  On Tuesday, my nominal day off, there was no time to sit worrying about anything, because it was a case of ‘all hands on deck’ at the Grace Garden. Not only had Don the builder and his team arrived to make a start on the shop extension, but Ned had roped in everyone he could think of to help put together the gazebo.

  He assembled his troops – me, Jacob, Charlie and Steve – in the stableyard, where the door to the barn was thrown open, revealing the various pre-cut and formed pieces, which were already painted the same pleasing pale greeny-blue as the bridge.

  Charlie had unpacked it a few days ago and now he took the huge instruction manual from Ned, who was looking at it rather blankly, and told him, ‘You can ignore the first five pages of this. It’s just about unpacking everything. The pieces are all numbered, so we just need to carry it all down to the water garden and lay it out in the right order.’

  ‘It’ll be a doddle,’ agreed Jacob. ‘Who needs instructions anyway?’ And he seized a curved piece of the roof and bore it away towards the visitors’ gate. We all followed suit, though we left the six heavy columns that would support the roof for Ned.

  It did all go together smoothly and easily too … unlike flat-pack furniture. But then, as Ned said, it was stately-home quality from a special firm, so you got what you paid for.

  Myfy drifted in and out occasionally, and Gert came to bring us all sandwiches at lunchtime and see how we were getting on.

  And by mid-afternoon, the gazebo had risen like a pale mirage above the pool, an airy dome on six round pillars. There was a curved seat inside and low lattice walls between the pillars. All it needed, in my opinion, was one of the more delicate climbing roses growing up it.

  Once we’d all admired our handiwork everyone began to drift off, until only Ned and I remained … and the builders, who sounded as if they might be mixing cement.

  ‘I call that a good day’s work,’ Ned said, leaning on the colum
n next to me as I sat on the seat looking out over the garden.

  ‘You were right, this is the only point where you can see the whole of the Grace Garden,’ I said. ‘Or all of it that isn’t hidden behind trees and bushes. You can even see down into the sunken herb bed.’

  ‘That was the plan,’ he agreed.

  ‘You could let the public into this part tomorrow,’ I suggested.

  ‘I’d rather get the last of the planting done down at the pool end and around the waterfall, first.’ He checked his watch. ‘Though, actually, we could finish that today – unless you’re doing something else?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ I said, and I wouldn’t have been able to resist his eager expression even if I had. ‘OK, let’s do it. But we’ll have a cup of coffee in the office first and you can go and check on how the builders are doing while I make it.’

  We only remembered it was the Friends of Jericho’s End meeting that evening when the light had begun to go and there was no time to shower and change out of our working clothes. We had scrambled eggs in Ned’s kitchen, then just made it as the others arrived. I don’t think I was the only one sitting in a semi-doze as the arrangements for the May revels next Sunday were finalized, an estimate to replace a cracked washbasin approved and a date pencilled in for June for a talk Clara Mayhem Doome had kindly agreed to give, on epigraphy in ancient Britain. The subject was her idea and no one had had the nerve to suggest anything racier.

  But then, I thought, in Clara’s hands any subject was likely to be much more entertaining than it sounded.

  When the meeting broke up, Ned and I decided we’d like to see the effect of the new gazebo in the twilight, which was rather beautiful, with a little silvery sliver of moon appearing above it. Then we walked through the rose garden, silent except for a slight popping noise, as one of the koi broke the surface of the water.

  ‘I feel weary and grubby, but it’s been a really fun day,’ I told him as he let me through the Lavender Cottage gate.

  ‘I couldn’t have finished everything today without you, Marnie,’ he said, giving me a brief and unexpected hug, before heading back the way we’d come.

  The night was so still that as I unlocked the back door, I could hear the rattle of the Grace Garden gate and the distant wail of a peacock.

  Over the next three days, Ned and I threw ourselves into finishing the great fan of long narrow beds at the bottom of the Grace Garden, preparing the ground round them for returfing.

  The visitors seemed to love the new wetland area and the gazebo, and all in the Garden of Eden appeared perfect – no serpents of any kind rearing their ugly heads. And perhaps, now, I told myself, they never would?

  Paradise regained.

  By now, Caspar was quite resigned to my evening visits to Old Grace Hall, where we had managed to sort most of the papers from the boxes and had quite a collection of interesting and relevant material to add to both the future museum display and the next edition of the glossy guidebook.

  The only thing that I was disappointed about was that no planting list for the rose garden had turned up.

  At quiz night on Friday evening, Cress thanked Ned for sending the copy of Lizzie’s letter and said she’d found it very touching.

  ‘She was little more than a child, and both her own family and mine treated her very harshly when she came back, poor thing. Thank goodness this Richard Grace took pity on her and it all had a happy ending.’

  ‘You’re a romantic,’ Roddy said to her affectionately, and she went slightly pink. She’d abandoned her usual attire of polo-neck sweater, gilet and breeches in favour of jeans and a Liberty cotton shirt in soft shades of blue and green and was looking not only younger and prettier, but much less harassed.

  Roddy would appear to be a good thing – and he’d clearly survived tea with Audrey Lordly-Grace, so he must be tougher and more resilient than he looked.

  Treena, who had come to the quiz night with Luke, also looked glowing, so perhaps love was in the air? They sat with Cress and Roddy at the next table to ours and didn’t seem to get many quiz questions right, so if there was love in the air, it didn’t sharpen the intellect.

  I sat back, looking around at the now-familiar faces and feeling relaxed and happy – especially when Ned caught my eye and gave me his slow, deep smile, the one that seemed to warm me right through and do strange things to my heart rhythm …

  I found myself smiling back – and then, beyond him, caught sight of Wayne, standing at the bar watching us. He made an indefinable little leering grimace and I felt as if I’d been drenched in icy water.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ned.

  ‘Nothing, I’m just a bit tired,’ I said quickly as Wayne vanished towards the darts room.

  Elf, Myfy, Gerald and Jacob had left together as soon as the quiz finished and Treena and Luke then took their place at our table.

  When Luke went to order more drinks, I decided to pop to the ladies, then wished I hadn’t when Wayne sidled up to me and shoved a piece of paper into my hand.

  ‘From our dad,’ he muttered, then slunk off again.

  I looked back furtively, but I didn’t think anyone had noticed and I bolted into the loo, where I unfolded the note, which said, without any preamble:

  Come to the farm tomorrow night at eight – I know who you are and we got things to discuss. Come on your own – you won’t want Ned Mars to hear what we got to say.

  It was signed just with his initials, S.V.

  I read it twice, my mind in a whirl and my stomach churning, then pushed it into my pocket and went out of the cubicle, where I found Treena leaning against the wall with her arms folded, waiting for me.

  ‘I saw Wayne pass you something as you came in,’ she explained. ‘It looked like a piece of paper.’

  ‘Did anyone else see?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘No, I’m sure they didn’t. What is it? You look a bit weird.’

  I fished out the note and handed it to her and she stared down at it, puzzled.

  ‘This seems to be a bill for something called pig nuts …’

  ‘Other side,’ I said, but she’d already flipped it over.

  ‘It’s from Saul – he must have told Wayne to give it to me,’ I said. ‘They know who I am – or at least, Saul does, but I expect Wayne does now, too.’

  She gave it back and I tucked it into my rucksack.

  ‘What are you going to do? You’re surely not going to go there on your own tomorrow night?’

  ‘Well, it would be a chance to have it all out, wouldn’t it? I can make it clear that I don’t want anything from them, not even to tell anyone I’m related to them, so there’s no need to threaten me with telling Ned.’

  ‘Maybe, but you’d be much better off telling him the truth yourself, and then ignoring them.’

  ‘But if I can make them see reason tomorrow night, I might never need to tell him,’ I said obstinately. ‘That would be an end of it.’

  ‘Your mum was too terrified of her family to ever return here and warned you not to, either,’ she pointed out. ‘They must have threatened her with something bad, to make her so afraid.’

  ‘Her parents might have done, but they’re dead now. Besides, it’s the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages, so what can they possibly do to me, except rant a bit, before I can explain?’

  ‘I don’t think you should go on your own,’ Treena said stubbornly. ‘I’ll come with you. I’m not on duty tomorrow evening.’

  ‘If you’re with me, Saul probably won’t talk to me at all!’

  ‘Then I’ll drive you there and wait in that layby near the farm gate with the bus stop,’ she said. ‘You’ll have your phone and if you haven’t come back or rung me in half an hour, I’ll call Luke and then come and get you.’

  I have to say, this suggestion came as a relief, because the whole scenario was starting to feel just a bit too much like a horror movie. You know, the ‘please don’t go down in the basement on your own’ momen
t.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got other things you’d rather do tomorrow evening, Treena.’

  ‘I expect Luke will still be in the pub waiting for me afterwards, and we could probably both do with a stiff drink by then.’ She looked at me. ‘I really do think the best thing you could do is tell Ned right now. You’re making too much of it and I don’t think it’s going to be the horrible shock to him that you imagine.’

  ‘Yes, but he loathes Wayne and doesn’t much like the rest of them,’ I said. ‘And having kept it from him so long, I think he’s going to be angry about that, too … and just when we’re getting along so well. No, I’ll give tomorrow a shot, first.’

  ‘I know that stubborn expression,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘OK, I’ll pick you up at the bridge tomorrow about ten to eight.’

  We went back to our table together. There was no sign of Wayne, and Ned and Luke didn’t seem to suspect anything was amiss, even if I wasn’t very chatty for the rest of the evening. Eventually I pleaded a headache, which by then was the truth, and went back to the flat, telling Ned not to bother when he would have come with me.

  He gave me such a puzzled look and I think would have come with me anyway, except that Treena said something to him just as I was getting up and I made a fast getaway.

  When I got back to the flat I asked Caspar (once he’d finished telling me off for being out) if he thought I was doing the right thing.

  If only I spoke Russian Cat, I might have had the definitive answer.

  I had dark circles round my eyes next day and Ned commented that, apart from the fact that I hadn’t got a tail, I looked like a lemur.

  This made me laugh, but though I tried to behave normally, my mind kept going back to where I was going that evening and wondering if I was doing the right thing … But it couldn’t do any harm to have things out with Saul, could it? And it might just resolve the matter once and for all.

  Ned asked me later if I’d heard anything more from Mike. ‘Only if you have, or you’re worried about anything at all, you know you can count on me, don’t you?’