The Garden Plot

by Sara Sartagne

  There was a silence after the door closed.

  “Well, perhaps your PA can arrange for a car to take us all back to Derbyshire tomorrow?” Niamh said.

  “Yes, Magda has the number, will you call sweetheart?”

  Magda fairly bounced to the other side of the room to pick up her phone. “On it,” she announced, walking out of the door. Niamh followed.

  “I know it looks an impossible situation, but it is only work, my son.”

  Jonas nodded, reluctantly.

  “I know dad, but you know how it is…”

  “But you’ve been dangerously ill!” Friedrich cut in. “You looked like a corpse when we arrived, ja?”

  “I’m sorry. It just happened—one minute I was in the office, and the next I was here with Magda asleep next to me.”

  “It’s been a long few days,” was all his father responded.

  Jonas, to his later chagrin, fell asleep on the way home.

  Magda finally pulled herself to full wakefulness and stretched her stiff and aching shoulders.

  “I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus.”

  “I think we all do,” Niamh smiled. Magda eyed her sleeping father.

  “I never thought he’d take five months off work.”

  “It appears he has his priorities in order at last,” Niamh said quietly. There was silence as Magda flicked through her phone messages and the car purred its way along the motorway.

  “Aha!” Magda said, and Niamh raised her eyebrows. “Connor has sent me a message. Looks like he tried calling Dad at work and couldn’t get him.” She texted a response to her godfather, saying that they were on the way back to Brook Lodge, and that she’d call him from home.

  “Where is Connor?” asked her grandfather. “I thought he was in Argentina, doing some hotel commission.”

  “Mmm. Setting fires alight as he goes, no doubt,” murmured Magda, as she thought of her godfather, a tall Irishman with sparkling blue eyes and a wicked sense of humour who was her father’s best friend. Niamh laughed softly.

  “Aye, that’ll be Connor.”

  Magda’s phone rang in her hand and she jumped. Glancing at the screen, she wrinkled her nose and answered.

  “Hi Geraldine, I was just about to call you. We’ve just left the hospital.” Magda smiled at her grandmother, who was making faces at her.

  “How is Jonas?” Geraldine’s voice was smoother this time, less laced with anxiety.

  “He’s ok, but he’s got to take it easy. No excitement.”

  “So he won’t be going back to work immediately?”

  “No, he’s going to be off work for the next six months. I’m not sure when he’ll be in Manchester again,” Magda said, suddenly struck that there might be some benefit to her father being ill.

  “Six months? God, he’ll die of boredom,” said Geraldine, sounding shocked.

  “Better than dying of the virus,” Magda snapped and felt the eyes of her grandparents on her.

  Geraldine was silent for a moment.

  “I’ll pack a bag and meet you at the house,” she announced.

  “Um… I think you might need to speak to Nanna…Hang on.” Magda put the phone on mute and then turned to Niamh.

  “She’s talking about packing a bag and coming over!” she hissed. “What do I do?”

  “You give the phone to me,” Niamh said, holding out her hand. “Hello Geraldine, this is Niamh. Yes, we met in Manchester,” Niamh said. “Magda tells me you’ve very kindly offered to come over to Derbyshire. That’s very sweet, but there’s no need—I’ll be here for the foreseeable future, and Jonas is under strict instructions to avoid any excitement. Oh, I’m sure the doctors would categorise you as excitement, Geraldine, and frankly, after the couple of days I’ve been through, I couldn’t take any more excitement. I do hope you understand?”

  There was a pause while Geraldine, Magda imagined, struggled to find something to say.

  “And the housekeeper is on holiday at the moment, and I’d be loath to take on guests without her support,” Niamh went on. “I’ll call you to give you updates, shall I? In a couple of weeks or so when Jonas is back on his feet, you might visit, but not now, I think. Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as we think he’s strong enough. Of course. Thanks again—bye.”

  She disconnected the call and tossed the phone back to Magda, who burst out laughing.

  “No, more excitement is not what we need,” Niamh murmured looking back at the still sleeping Jonas.

  3

  Four weeks later, Jonas was grimly hanging on to his temper.

  With the phone clamped to his ear, he got out of the deep leather chair and wandered over to the study window, and stared into the garden, bathing in the pale light of a March sun. A few daffodils remained, but mostly they were over now, and a set of equally straggly tulips were making a half-hearted attempt to greet the coming spring.

  Increasing his bad mood was the realisation that the doctors and his daughter—dammit—had been right about his energy levels. He felt sure he would need a nap after the session this morning. He’d suddenly become an invalid, and he hated it.

  He tuned back into the discussion. Tyler Fairchild from Anglo Homes was speaking. There wasn’t much content, just noise. As Jonas listened, his mind drifted and he looked at the room. It had been right on so many fronts, the move; the house was lovely in a mellow, comfortable way, with beautiful woodwork and large rooms, and Magda loved it.

  “So the next series of consultation meetings will be held in the local Library. I'm not expecting any issues with the planning permission,” Tyler said.

  John Fairchild, who was CEO of Anglo Homes and Tyler’s uncle, chimed in. “I’m sure you’d be happy with the drawings, Jonas, they’re excellent.”

  “We’ve made some modifications to the original spec and approached some different suppliers, but I’m very happy with the way they’ve turned out,” added Tyler. Jonas’ ears pricked up at that, but Neil Laurence, his deputy, was in before him.

  “Perhaps we can see the changes?”

  “Of course, I’ll send it to you,” Tyler said breezily.

  Neil should handle it, Jonas reminded himself with an effort.

  “As this is our first foray into the UK market, I’m sure you can understand Neil’s interest in the detail,” Jonas said calmly.

  “Yes, yes, of course I understand,” said Tyler with a sigh that Jonas caught on the conference audio.

  “You know as well as I do, your reputation is only as good as the last thing you did. And the British public don’t appear to have much love for property developers,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, well—shall we just start the public consultation? People in the area are desperate for the houses, and frankly, we could charge a premium for the view near the site. I’m sure we can handle any local objections—but shall we see what they are before we all start panicking?” There was a slight sneer in Tyler’s voice, which Jonas decided to ignore.

  “Fine. I’ll look forward to the next update. Is that all for the moment?”

  “I think so,” said Neil. Jonas could imagine him going down his list, ticking things off.

  “Your assistant told me you were going to be off for six months—is that right?” John Fairchild asked.

  “Five,” corrected Jonas, keeping his voice even.

  “That’s a long time... How will Halcyon cope?” mocked Tyler.

  “I’ve just finished delegating my last project, Neil’s handling this one, and I’m keeping in touch with weekly conference calls.” Jonas was short. One call, he thought despairingly. A multi-billion-pound company kept in his control with one conference call a week.

  “Rather a risk in itself, wouldn’t you say?” said Tyler. Jonas counted to three before he responded.

  “I have complete faith and trust in my team. And obviously, this information is confidential. I don’t want any rumours in the market about my absence.”

  There was an awkward pause, and then Ne
il leapt in to finish the call.

  Jonas leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly for a moment. Then he grabbed his phone.

  Neil answered on the first ring. “Hi boss. I’ve started the email to ask for the full new spec.”

  Jonas grinned. Perhaps his team really was capable of running the company without him.

  “Great. Get Stephanie to check the financials, will you? I wouldn’t put it past that little shit Tyler to try and squeeze some additional profit at the expense of our suppliers, and I don’t want him screwing with relationships we’ve had for years.”

  He paused, wondering how much to tell Neil.

  “Is that all, Jonas?” asked Neil, sensing his hesitation.

  “You know the new house we’ve bought? Brook Lodge?” he said slowly.

  “Yes—what about it?”

  “It’s in Sherton.”

  “Sherton? You’re on site?” Neil’s voice went up a few tones.

  “Just down the road. When I realised last year John was about to hand the project to Tyler, I was worried. All this coincided with Magda going to Clavedene. She needed something more than the Manchester apartment to come home to. So we moved.”

  Neil whistled. “Fairchild—both of the Fairchilds—know nothing about this, do they?”

  “No. And obviously, I’d like it to stay that way. The relationship is strained enough as it is, without Tyler or John thinking we’re checking up on them.”

  “You’ll need to keep your nose well out of it,” Neil warned.

  “Naturally, but I can read the local papers, and as I’m stuck here for the next four months—”

  “Five, wasn’t it?”

  “—five months, I can talk to the locals about how the whole thing is being handled.”

  “You should know the MP for Derbyshire—where did I put his name...ah, here it is—Fraser McAllen. He also lives in Sherton.”

  McAllen. Jonas recalled Magda mentioning that name. “Yes, I knew, and now I think of it, Magda might go to school with someone from the family.”

  “Does Magda know anything about the development planned for Sherton?”

  “No,’ said Jonas shortly. “I thought it best not to tell her, but she knows about the discussions with Anglo Homes, and she’s not stupid—she may put it together.”

  There was silence on the line. Jonas could practically hear the cogs in Neil’s head whirring.

  “OK…Is that everything I should know?”

  Jonas paused. “You’re doing a great job, Neil,” he said seriously. “You’ve taken a lot off my plate over the past month.”

  Neil cleared his throat and seemed to struggle for words. Jonas put him out of his misery, smiling down the phone.

  “So—speak next week?”

  He cut the call and stared out of the window for the next five minutes, wondering what he was going to do next. Apart from take a nap, of course. A run would be out of the question feeling like this, he fretted. Maybe he’d walk to the pub later. Whoopee, what a treat. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he saw it was Connor.

  “Jonas!” boomed his best friend, sounding as though he was in the next room rather than halfway around the world.

  “Christ, Connor—what time is it with you? Isn’t it the middle of the night?” Jonas glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece.

  “Nah, I’m still in Buenos Aires, working on the Luxor Hotel landscape, it’s just after lunch here. But enough of that—how are you? Sure, you could have knocked me down with a feather when Magda told me you were ill.”

  “I’m not ill!” protested Jonas. “Well, not very, anyway. It’s just a virus.”

  “That they don’t know anything about?” Connor asked, and Jonas could imagine his eyebrow tweaking. Jonas had teased him about his ‘Roger Moore’ impression all the way through his teens.

  “Well, I’m being watched like a hawk, and not allowed to do anything, so I don’t think I’m going to die of anything except boredom! Connor, I’m going to be out of the office for five months!”

  Connor laughed, his rich chuckle echoing down the line.

  “You must have done something very, very bad to have deserved this, Jonas! Mind you,” his voice suddenly sobered. “Magda was very upset when I finally got to talk to her after you came back from the hospital. What’s this about you stopping breathing?”

  “I know, I know… But honest to God, although I get tired easily, I feel fine now!”

  “Now, maybe. Have your folks gone back to Germany?”

  “Yes, although my mother is calling every other day to check on me.”

  “Count yourself lucky I’m off into the mountains next week, otherwise I’d be calling too!”

  The two of them talked a little more. Jonas asked about Connor’s latest gardening project, and they agreed that when Connor finished it, he’d make his way to Brook Lodge to check on Jonas for himself.

  After the call, Jonas found himself smiling. He and Connor had been friends since university, and they were close. They’d cut their teeth together in the city of London in the early days and had been feted as having the luck of the Irish. Well, until Connor had become ill, of course. Jonas blinked away the memories of his friend at his most vulnerable. That was a lesson he ought to heed, it suddenly struck him. Jonas had been there just in time for Connor, but what had pushed Connor to the brink of disaster had been overwork.

  A noise made him turn his head and he saw Magda, leaning against the door, watching him.

  “What's up?”

  She pushed off the door and walked towards him.

  “You're really going to do this? Take five months off work?” she asked.

  He grinned. “I am.”

  “You're not going to cheat when I go back to school? Start having them send papers over? Take calls in the middle of the night from Bernard because he forgets the time zone?”

  Jonas shook his head, smiling slightly as he thought of his company chairman. Bernard had almost sent his secretary Jane round the bend while Jonas had been in hospital.

  “Nope.” Magda looked sceptical at his words. “Scouts honour!”

  He was rewarded by a huge beam from Magda, her face lighting up.

  “Work isn't the only thing in my life, you know,” he protested mildly.

  She hugged him and chortled. “Yeah, right.”

  Jonas was taken aback.

  “Don't look at me like that!” she grinned, skipping over to the window and peering into the garden. “You work like a slave for the company, you know you do. I reckon you only sent me to Clavedene to get rid of me during the week!”

  He frowned, suddenly aware that this was indeed, another benefit of Magda going to private school.

  He looked at his daughter curiously. “Do you think I work too hard?”

  “I think you work too much,” Magda agreed. “You don't even play much tennis with me anymore unless we're on holiday.”

  Guilt lapped over him, particularly in light of his reflections about Connor.

  “You need to get out more,” she said. “Do more stuff with other people, not just work things.”

  Jonas stared. “What about Geraldine? I do ‘stuff’ with her!”

  Magda flushed. “Yes, I know. It’s just—the women you date don't seem very, like...stimulating. Mentally, I mean,” she added hastily, going even redder.

  Jonas, who had been thinking of Geraldine and how actually, she was pretty stimulating in many respects, tried not to smile.

  Magda turned back to the garden. “I just get the feeling that ever since mum died, you've focused so hard on work that now I’m not sure you ever think about anything else. And the women you go out with seem to be just light relief, a bit, like, fluffy.”

  Although she wasn't looking at him, he could tell she was still red—her ears were pink.

  “Are you suggesting I find a nice girl and settle down?” he asked, smiling.

  “No, but I think you could do with finding someone who’s got somethin
g between her ears!” she replied tartly.

  “I take it you don't approve of Geraldine?”

  Magda shrugged. She couldn't have said 'no' more clearly, Jonas thought, gloomily.

  “Well, you're probably going to tell me it's none of my business,” she said evenly.

  Jonas had been going to do exactly that, and her words made him change tack.

  “Gerry and I understand one another, and our relationship is...stimulating...and not too deep. Which is how I want it. I’m not looking for a serious relationship. Neither is she. Understand?”

  Magda nodded slowly.

  “And you know how I feel about keeping our private life private? Particularly since your mother died,” he said. Jonas remembered even now, the photographers' flashes and Magda turning her face into his chest and sobbing. “You know the drill but be particularly careful while I’m recuperating. I don’t want our competitors to know I'm not in the office,” he continued, moving on swiftly from his love life.

  “Of course!” Indignant, Magda tossed her head, her high ponytail bobbing, and he realised how easily she slipped from young girl into young woman and back again. When had that happened?

  He pulled her into a hug. “Sweetie, I just wanted to stress—to both of us—that we need a certain element of anonymity at the moment. When I'm back at work, we can relax a bit. But we need to be careful, particularly as you're making friends in the village—”

  He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “I'm not asking you to give up your friends, I'd never ask that—just be circumspect, particularly around one of them—I think her Dad's the local MP?”

  “Her name is Lisbeth and her Dad is Fraser McAllen and yes, he's the local MP,” she mumbled into his chest. “I've just told her—and everyone—you're in property and the company's based in Europe. I thought that was vague enough. I’ve also told her mum drowned on holiday when I was eight.”

  Jonas nodded and patted her shoulder.

  “But will you think about what I said?” Magda said, peering up at him.