The redhead appeared at the edge of the wooden railing lining a balcony area at the opposite end of the room. ‘Hello, Will! What can I do for you?’
Showing her the roll of drawings, he replied. ‘Igraine suggested I could spread myself out down here to go through these garden plans. Is that all right with you?’
The long plait she’d secured her hair with swung as she nodded her head. ‘Of course, help yourself. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Will bent to put the drawings down. ‘I should be fine, thanks.’
She nodded. ‘Well, just shout out if you need anything. I’m boring myself to death organising the accounting ledgers up here, so I’m desperate for a distraction.’ Her bright smile lit her whole face, making it clear to Will why Arthur had fallen for this lovely woman.
‘Actually, I could do with a hand finding my way back to the main stairs, if you don’t mind? I need to get my books and my laptop.’ He knew from the view behind them of the stable blocks that his bedroom was somewhere above them, but that was about it. Another day he might like to wander the halls and corridors of the castle, getting happily lost as he explored, but he was itching to crack on with the plans.
‘Of course! It’s a bit of a maze until you get used to it.’
*
Ten minutes later, he was sprawled on his front on a rich Turkish-style carpet so enormous he didn’t dare let his mind think about what it might be worth. Several sets of the garden plans were strewn around him, held flat at the corners with pens, rubbers and other random bits of stationery he’d dug out of the old leather washbag he used as a pencil case. It’d been part of a gift one Christmas from a girlfriend, the grooming products it’d once held long used and discarded, and was big enough to hold everything he needed to carry around with him.
Using the copy plan Igraine had scribbled her own notes on as a reference for the current layout, he traced the history of the development of the gardens back to their origins. It was fascinating to watch what had originally been a defensive outpost slowly transform from functional to decorative. How buildings and features had come and gone, the changes influenced by both necessity and fashion. From the looks of it, there’d once been a dairy in the same vicinity as the walled apothecary’s garden, but there was nothing but grass scrubland where it had once stood, as his own eyes could testify.
There was still a huge amount of parkland beyond the existing formal gardens and it was there he kept finding his attention drawn to. Whether she recognised it or not, Igraine had a pretty good handle on the existing gardens as well as the walks planned for the woods. If she wanted his input, he’d be happy to help her sourcing the right contractors to assist her, but he didn’t think she needed much else from him other than to act as a sounding board.
He’d checked his laptop and Anna had come up trumps already, sending through several detailed spreadsheets with suggestions for landscapers, stonemasons and general builders within reasonable travelling distance of the castle. He and Igraine could go through them and start the ball rolling. Once they had a few more bodies on deck it wouldn’t take long for real improvements to begin to show.
As he went through each stage of development of the garden’s history, he noted the significant changes each designer had brought to bear, the signature they’d left as generation after generation tried to stamp their unique imprint on this wild landscape. The need to do the same, to leave a legacy of his own tugged at him. It’d have to complement what was already here, of course, and yet offer a completely different experience too. Mind buzzing, he dug out a soft pencil from his bag and began to sketch.
He barely looked up when Lucie came down to ask if he was taking a break for lunch, he just gave her a brief nod and then a smile of thanks when she returned about half an hour later with a plate laden with thick cut sandwiches, some fruit and a bottle of water. His pencil moved across sheet after sheet in his notebook, scribbling shapes, patterns and designs as he tried to translate what was in his head into something comprehendible. An hour later, he’d abandoned the empty plate and everything else strewn across the carpet and was marching out through the conservatory.
As he retraced his steps past the walled garden, along the path to the edge of the main driveway and then down past the hedges marking the edge of the formal gardens, his heart beat faster. What if the plans had been wrong? What if he’d misinterpreted the topography based on a handful of old drawings? Anxiety pushed his feet faster until he was first jogging and then flat out running. It had to work. It just had to …
He didn’t pause until reaching the screen of tall poplar trees which had been planted to act as a demarcation line between the gardens and the parkland. Dragging in deep gulps of air to feed his aching lungs, Will slipped between the closely planted trunks and stopped dead. The land before him sloped away about ten feet from the edge of the trees so he was standing on a natural shelf looking down.
The gradient of the hill taking him down to the lower level wasn’t too steep and with a bit of work could be adapted to what he had in mind. Thick grass swished around his ankles as he waded through it down the slope to the flat plain expanding out before him. It was better than he’d hoped, and he could already imagine bits and pieces of his rough sketches sitting within this landscape, transforming it into something unique and beautiful. Form and function; fantasy and practicality; the cornerstones of each and every one of his designs could be applied to this space. Excited, he counted his paces, stopping now and then to take photos on his phone and scribble rough measurements down in his notebook. He’d have to come back with some proper surveying kit and map it accurately, but this would do for now to give him a rough estimate of the area he was working to. The most important thing was he could see how it could work. All he had to do was convince the others.
*
Though he was itching to keep working on his fledgling plan, Will had found a note slipped under his bedroom door from Tristan informing him everyone would be gathering in the family room at six forty-five, for dinner at seven. Standing at the foot of the staircase, hair still wet from his shower and dressed in a clean pair of chinos and a navy polo-shirt, Will found his progress halted by an enthusiastic greeting from the castle’s collection of motley hounds. A lively Jack Russell pushed its way to the front of the pack, scrabbling at the front of his trousers in a demand for attention. Not wanting paw prints all over himself, Will bent down and scooped up the little terrier, laughing as it licked his cheek before settling contentedly in the crook of his arm for a stroke.
‘I see you fell for Murphy’s signature move.’ Craning his neck back at the sound of Igraine’s voice from behind and above him, Will drank in the sight of her descending the steps towards him. Her hair had been released from its ponytail to cascade around her shoulders and she’d changed into a pair of cherry-red trousers and a blue-and-white striped top with a wide neck which showed off the top of her collarbones. Sinking onto the step beside him, she lifted the Jack Russell from his lap to nuzzle at the ecstatic pup before handing him back. ‘Now you’ve picked him up once, he’ll never leave you alone.’
Thinking he would quite fancy a nuzzle of his own, Will set the terrier down before standing and offering Igraine his hand. She took it with a smile, but any idea he might have had of keeping hold of her arm and providing a gallant escort were scuppered by Murphy. Apparently part kangaroo, the dog was bouncing up and down in front of Will, refusing to be ignored.
‘Told you,’ Igraine said with a grin as she slid her fingers from his, leaving Will no choice but to scoop up the annoying terrier once more. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he muttered into the dog’s ear before succumbing to imploring licks, settling Murphy into the crook of his arm and following Igraine towards the door of the family room.
A warm wave of greetings met their arrival, including a part-smirk, part-consolatory grin from Tristan. ‘Suckered by an expert, I see,’ he said, reaching to scratch the unrepentant Jack Russell behind the ear.
‘Your sister already pointed out the error of my ways, shame it was about thirty seconds too late to be of any use.’ He glanced around at the rest of the family arrayed around the room, noting an elegant, if stern-looking, older woman who though her brown curls had long since faded to silver, bore the same spark of strength in her hazel eyes as he’d noticed in Igraine’s.
Tristan followed his gaze. ‘Ah, you didn’t get a chance to meet our Aunt Morgana last night, did you?’
He led Will over to the high-backed armchair set opposite the fireplace and at a right-angle to the two enormous matching leather sofas. Dressed in a black, crepe dress with floaty sleeves gathered tight at the wrists with a single large gold button, her silver hair swept into a neat coil at the nape of her neck, Morgana had the poise and posture of a woman half her age. A small slender glass filled with a straw-pale drink sat on the occasional table at her elbow. Tristan leant down to press a kiss against a cheek showing remarkably few lines. ‘Aunt Morgana, you are looking gorgeous as always. May I introduce you to Will Talbot?’
The gaze she swept over him left Will under no doubt he’d been weighed, measured and found a little wanting. ‘You’re here to help Igraine, is that correct?’
‘Yes …’ What exactly did one call the matriarch of a titled family? He had no idea of the correct protocols. Other than the butler, he’d not heard anyone else give Arthur his honorific of Sir and Arthur had certainly not indicated he expected Will to use it. Did any of the others have titles? Was Igraine a Lady, or Tristan a Lord? Completely flummoxed, Will let the silence hang, hoping like hell someone would fill in the gap for him.
Those fierce hazel eyes so like her great-niece’s bored into him for a long moment before the corner of her lips twitched. ‘You may call me Morgana.’
Bowing his head to acknowledge what felt like a privilege reserved for family, Will went to offer his hand only to remember it was still filled with Murphy’s warm, compact body. Trying to pretend he hadn’t offered her a dog, Will quickly withdrew his arm and hoped like hell he wasn’t blushing. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, and an honour to be welcomed into your family’s home.’
The merest arch to her brow was the only acknowledgement of his near cock-up, and when she reached for her glass of sherry, Will assumed their brief audience was over and started to move away.
‘I remember your garden from Chelsea.’
Stopping in his tracks, Will turned back to Morgana as he considered how to respond. Both her tone and the statement had been neutral, and he knew from experience that not everyone had warmed to his mix of modern urban touches with more traditional planting. He’d been dismissed by some as gimmicky, lambasted by others for bringing the RHS into disrepute by adding features such as skate-boarding rails, graffiti and replicas of the little brick walls he and his mates had hung around on when he’d been a bored teenager. Deciding from the directness of her stare that she’d favour an honest conversation, he took a couple of steps closer to her chair. ‘It wasn’t to everyone’s taste, what did you think?’
That little twitch of her mouth returned. ‘I wasn’t sure at first, but once I heard your interview and you explained the inspiration behind it, I thought it was a brave and beautiful choice by the committee to award you the prize. Growing up, I was taught to appreciate the absolute privilege I had of so much green space to roam around and play in. I’m so pleased Arthur is giving new generations of children the chance to enjoy it too.’ She placed a hand to the back of her neck. ‘You’re giving me a crick, dear, do sit.’
With no obvious chair to draw up, Will settled for sitting on the floor at her feet. Crossing his legs, he settled the little dog into the hollow created between his thighs and stroked his wiry fur. ‘Was it very different here when you were a child?’
Morgana took another sip of sherry. ‘It was a lot busier-more staff than we have now, and several of them had families who lived on the estate so between them and my brothers, I had lots of playmates. We didn’t suffer the same privations as children in the towns and cities did during and after the war as the estate was self-sustaining, so it really was an idyllic existence for those first few years.
‘I was only a baby during the war, but Agravaine-my elder brother-used to tell me stories of the soldiers who billeted here. Father stayed here to maintain the estate, but his twin brothers both enlisted in the Sherwood Foresters and saw action. When their unit was evacuated through Dunkirk, Father offered the regiment the estate as somewhere they could use for rest and recuperation breaks. There are some photographs in the archives from those days, including some of Agravaine being shown how to do drill exercises.’ The smile on her face faded. ‘The only memory I have of my uncles is from a photograph of the two of them holding me at my christening. The regiment was sent back overseas, and they perished in action in Italy in 1944 just a few weeks before my first birthday.’
A hard lump formed in Will’s throat, not just from the emotion in Morgana’s voice but because it sounded like this was the second set of twins the family had lost. First, the pair recorded on the little memorial he and Igraine had uncovered earlier, and later Morgana’s uncles. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t have the chance to know them.’
Her smile deepened, and some of the sadness faded from her eyes. ‘Oh, you are sweet to say so. And you really must forgive me for raising such a maudlin topic.’
Will shook his head. ‘Not at all. When you’re surrounded every day by so much history I imagine the past must feel a lot closer than for people like me who’ve lost their connections.’ His grandfather had moved to London for work, and his grandmother, like his father, had been an only child. Although he knew there were Talbots down in the west country, he had no links to any of them. He’d got the odd birthday card from an aunt on his mum’s side when he was younger, but those had tapered off as he’d grown up and he’d not pushed to maintain the link. It’d all felt too awkward and messy given the estrangement from his mum.
That lack of roots had never been an issue for him. He couldn’t say he’d really even thought about it much at all until meeting a family like the Ludworths who were so entrenched in and influenced by everything their forebears had done. Whilst he could imagine there were some advantages from knowing where you’ve come from, there must be an equal-or likely heavier-burden of expectation and responsibility. If Will’s dad had harboured any particular ambitions for his son, he’d never shared them. Thinking about it, he must’ve been so relieved when Will’s passion for gardening had been sparked because prior to that he’d been on a collision course with trouble.
‘I suppose there are advantages and disadvantages to both.’ Morgana echoed his thoughts. ‘But I wouldn’t change my lot in life.’ Her gaze roamed the room, softening as it touched on where Arthur, Tristan and Igraine were chatting next to the drinks’ cabinet. ‘For all the sorrows that inevitably come when you’ve lived to my age, I’m blessed that the joys have outweighed them tenfold.’
Tristan drifted over to join them, offering Will one of the two cold bottles of beer threaded through the fingers of one hand. Accepting it with a nod of thanks, Will was content to sit quietly as he watched the teasing interaction between Tristan and his aunt. There was a rhythm to it, a familiarity that said to Will the younger man was being deliberately outrageous precisely because he wanted to provoke the stern responses Morgana clipped out.
The twinkle in her eyes said she knew exactly what her nephew was doing and was happy to play her part. Tristan was clearly a favourite and the source of many of those joys she’d spoken about. As he sipped his beer, Will sent a silent toast to the woman and hoped that when he reached a similar age, he might be able to say he’d enjoyed the same balance in his own life.
Chapter 10
The next few days passed in a blur of phone calls, spreadsheets and tours of the gardens as Iggy worked her way through the list of specialist contractors Will’s magician of an assistant had put together. When he’d handed her the list and told her to
choose whichever of the contractors she thought best for each task, it had rankled. There’d been no discussion between them before he’d instructed his assistant and Iggy had half-wished she’d been prepared enough to counter with a list of her own.
To make matters worse, the lists were detailed and included several companies she’d already heard good things about through local connections. She couldn’t say why it had irritated her other than the high-handed way Will had already marked up his preferred choices, as though she was incapable of making such decisions for herself.
Given Will’s desire to keep his profile as low as possible in the hopes the tabloids would soon lose interest in him, they’d at least agreed that Iggy would carry out the discussions and interviews on her own. Quotations were starting to come through, and with a copy of his company’s job pricing spreadsheet Will had told her to use-told her, not asked her, the arrogant swine-she was feeling much more in control of everything other than her temper.
She knew it was ridiculous to be annoyed when she was the one who’d asked Will for his help in the first place, she just hadn’t known how hard it would be to let him do it. It was just the way he assumed he knew best-even if he probably did-that grated upon her. She wasn’t one of his employees to be ordered around, he was supposed to be working for her!
If anyone had asked her before she’d started the project, Iggy would’ve scoffed about needing any more confidence than she already had, but the weight of expectation had proven surprisingly heavy. As much as she hated his domineering attitude, she also desperately craved Will’s approval for her decisions. When he gave her that smile-the lopsided one that tugged at the scar across his cheek-to show his approval, her insides melted like ice cream on a summer’s day.
Other than the hour they spent over breakfast reviewing her plans for the day, which often felt like he was a teacher checking over her homework, and a debrief after dinner where they discussed the pros and cons of the job bids coming in, Will had proven frustratingly elusive. When she didn’t want his opinion, there he was shoving it under her nose, but when she did need to ask him something, he was off around the grounds somewhere, or hiding away in his bedroom.
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