The Garden Plot
Page 10
Something suspiciously like a snort came down the phone. “What did Magda say?”
“She suggested I might be a dinosaur.”
This time, Neil did laugh and after a second, Jonas joined in.
“So what you’re saying is I am a dinosaur!”
“We-e-e-l-l...”
“Ok, Ok, I get the picture! Why has no-one said anything before?” demanded Jonas.
“I think you would have just ignored them,” said Neil. “Your daughter is a brave girl—I’m not sure I would have had the balls to broach it with you!”
Jonas stared out of the window for a long time after he’d put down the phone. Always practical, Jonas tried to organise his memories and think through his recent interactions with women. Geraldine, of course, didn’t count—he didn’t need to work for a living.
And his mother had been everything Nicole despised—and vice versa, to be fair—but Niamh had never worked, she had been a homemaker for him and his father. He remembered scones, freshly made when he got home from school, pulling vegetables from the garden as she looked on, stories at bedtime—even a stern talking to when she found condoms in his pocket that time. He had always adored her and relished that she was at home. Would he invite her on to his board, knowing her quick intelligence, her magnificent social skills, her wizardry in organising things from scratch, her strength when Nicole died?
No, he wouldn’t. But then again, she was his mother, for God’s sake! She knew nothing about business.
Think of someone else, he thought, irritably. Well, how about Nicole? Looking at her dispassionately, she had possessed relentless drive, and would have seen the weaknesses of any organisation through its balance sheet in minutes. She had been completely unsentimental, even hard. More, in fact, like a man than some of the men currently on his board.
He caught sight of himself in the reflection of the patio doors. He looked serious and he shook his head, unbelieving. Whatever Nicole’s faults at home, she had been a brilliant business executive.
And yet he still wouldn’t have had her on the board. He knew that from the knot in his stomach, feeling sick as he recognised his bias for what it was—unjustified and rather horrifying.
A dinosaur, Magda had called him. That was probably about right. His personal experience had skewed his view and it was difficult to shift it to something more palatable, modern, human.
He stifled a groan and he knocked his head gently on the desk. Idiot, he thought. His determination to do better would start with Ms Winterton.
Certainly, it would be good to have The Boss on site throughout the build, he thought. Someone who could take decisions quickly, respond to any changes, speed up the process. Perhaps she would help with the planting when the foundations had been done. He couldn’t truly imagine her picking up a shovel.
Only three and a half miles away, Sam was staring rather blindly at her drawing board, her pencil slack in her hand.
“Well, we’ve got the paving samples coming tomorrow,” Andy said from the door and she jumped.
“That was quick,” she said. “So you should be able to take them over to Brook Lodge on Friday?”
“Yes, and then we can get cracking. But aren’t you coming? You do, normally.”
Sam said nothing and drew a line on the paper in front of her. “Yes, but I’m sure you can handle it,” she said eventually, not raising her eyes from the drawing board.
Andy came to stand in front of her with folded arms.
“I’m sure too, but why are we changing what we would usually do? Or has something come in I don’t know about?”
She shook her head and smiled at him. “I think it would just avoid issues.”
“What, prove to him women don’t do the big, butch jobs?” he taunted. Sam flushed.
“It’s nothing to do with that—”
“Then come.”
Sam was silent, and Andy sighed. “Look, he’s given us the job. He doesn’t think you should be involved in some of it—hard landscaping would probably be one of the areas he doesn’t think you either can, or should be, doing. Don’t you want to prove him wrong?”
No. I’m scared.
“I didn’t want to ram it down his throat.”
“Why not simply think of it as an opportunity to show how knowledgeable you are?”
Another pause. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she responded reluctantly.
“So what time shall we suggest? Ten?” Andy grinned at her. She allowed herself to be persuaded.
“Sounds good.”
She watched him go to make the call to Jonas and prepared to go to the Sherton Environment Protection group.
Everyone in the meeting was uncomfortable seeing Mrs Pratchett, nobly ‘carrying on’—with red-rimmed eyes and an ever-present handkerchief. She was dressed, even in the mild Spring weather, top-to-toe in black. Bertie the bulldog had finally shuffled off his canine coil and Mrs Pratchett was bereft.
The group was discussing the letter of objection to the council, drafted by Sam and Jenny Sanderson. A couple of the teachers in the group had been particularly irritating this evening, Sam thought, as they changed phrases, added semi-colons (“The work of the devil in my opinion,” said Jenny sotto voce to Sam) and generally made a nuisance of themselves without adding much value. After the fifteenth change, Amanda spoke up.
“Look, as we all agree with the general gist of the letter, shall we leave Jenny and Sam to do the changes, now they’ve had our input? They can copy it to everyone by email after it’s gone.”
There was a mass head-nodding, and Jenny patted Sam’s hand, and firmly turned the page in her notebook with the amendments, closing the subject.
Mrs Pratchett gingerly rose to her feet, clasping her handkerchief.
“Now then, I can continue with the petition and we can circulate a version of the letter for people to sign and send to their ward councillor,” she said, with less volume to her voice than usual. “I shall start tomorrow—it will be good to be occupied,” she added, her voice quivering.
“I don’t recall you being this affected by anything before,” observed Susan Miles acidly. “Not even over your husband’s death.”
“Now, Susan,” intervened Jenny as Dorothy Pratchett glared at Susan, her grief momentarily forgotten. “Dorothy, shall I come around tomorrow and you can tell me how I can be of assistance?”
“I would be most grateful,” replied Mrs Pratchett, smiling in a watery way.
“I’ll keep an eye on the Council website to see what other comments are made on the application,” said Amanda. “And I’ll keep a copy of the letter in the Library. We could do with something to tell folk about our objections.”
“It so happens...” said Sam, who reached into her portfolio and pulled out several large, brightly coloured posters she’d designed and printed. The posters had the main objections, an exhortation to write to local councillors, and Desmond’s email address in bold type.
Amanda grabbed the biggest one and grinning, marched over to the main notice board in the library, where she pinned it up.
“I’m not sure I want to take all the enquiries,” said Desmond, seeing he might have to do something.
“Then I’ll add my name to it,” said Sam promptly. “I’ll drop more off tomorrow.”
“The consultation period comes to a close next week,” said Desmond. “Have you heard from the bat people, Miss Miles?”
“I have approached the Bat Conservation Trust,” she corrected, her pale eyes snapping. “They have suggested I write to the local authority to see whether a bat survey has been ordered. I sent a letter last week and will call tomorrow to check what the situation is.”
Cowed, Desmond simply nodded and said, “Splendid, splendid.”
“We could do with someone in authority on our side,” Jenny said thoughtfully.
“We’ve got some meetings over the next couple of weeks with all of the councillors who sit on the planning committee,” said Sam.
“I could ask my sister to ask him if he can express an opinion,” she said.
“Can’t you ask him directly? Or is there a problem?” said Desmond, sniffing gossip. Sam gave him a cold look.
“I think he’ll just say he doesn’t get involved in local matters and decline to do anything. And that’s even if he agrees with us.”
Amanda nodded glumly. “Yes, he’s not the greenest of MPs, is he?”
“He’s a loyal Tory MP,” Sam said, hating to have to defend him. “I don’t agree with their policies, but his party has other priorities.”
“But surely, when his own neighbourhood is threatened—” started Desmond.
“Look, I’ll ask my sister what she thinks and approach Fraser if it’s appropriate!” snapped Sam. The group fell silent and then Desmond rather awkwardly closed the meeting.
“Are you ok?” Amanda asked Sam, as they stacked chairs.
“Fine,” said Sam. Amanda’s eyebrows disappeared into her red-orange fringe.
“Right...”
Sam stopped, drew a deep breath and turned to face her, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind at the moment.”
“Fancy a chat over a drink?” Sam opened her mouth to refuse. “Not, of course, that I care about your issues, I’m just desperate for a drink,” added Amanda quickly. Sam laughed and her prickliness dropped away.
“Oh, alright. I shouldn’t encourage you, you’re a bloody lush as it is.”
Twenty minutes later in the pub, Amanda plonked a large white wine in front of Sam and sank onto the seat next to her.
“OK, what’s up?”
Sam took a tentative sip of the wine. Mmm, she thought, obviously a new bottle.
“Actually, I’m not sure,” she said. “We won a contract this week which is a godsend to the business, and I’ve started getting tentative enquiries about a new service we’re offering, a sort of mini-makeover for your garden. I should be jumping for joy.”
“But?”
Sam sighed. “Do you remember that tall, gorgeous bloke we saw in here a few weeks ago? That’s my new customer.”
“Really? And having this gorgeous bloke as a customer is a problem?”
“No—but what is a problem is that this bloke still thinks a woman’s place is in the home. I can’t decide whether to be amused or insulted.”
Amanda laughed. “I presume you’re going to be amused as there’s money involved? And don’t forget, he is easy on the eye! It’ll make going to work way more enjoyable!”
Sam grinned. “I suppose so. But we’ve got a meeting on Friday and frankly, I’m dreading it. His attitude reminds me of the crap I went through when Dad started introducing me around his business contacts...”
Amanda was silent.
“I worked bloody hard to get my qualification and build my contacts out of Dad’s business mates. It was only when I started demanding better service, better prices, that anyone began to take me seriously—hell, they only started to take me seriously when I went elsewhere for my supplies!” Sam bit out, remembering.
“And hunky client makes you feel like that? But why did he hire you if he doesn’t take you seriously?”
“Oh, he loved the design—even though I was Samantha, not Sam!” Sam said.
“What?” Amanda listened, her mouth steadily dropping as Sam told her of the mix-up over the name.
Amanda was choking on her drink. “Sounds a pillock,” she commented when she’d wiped her mouth. “Shame. He looked like a fashion model. But as you’ve won the contract even with this auspicious beginning, doesn’t that make you feel better?”
Sam thought about it. “He makes me nervous,” she said eventually. “I feel like he’s going to be watching me, waiting for me to slip up.”
“It may not be that bad,” Amanda said soothingly. “You may just be building it up in your mind into something it’s not.”
“I certainly hope so,” Sam said, taking a deep drink of her wine. “Otherwise the summer’s going to be a nightmare.”
When she opened the door to the cottage an hour or so later, she could see the flashing light on the answering machine in the darkness. She cursed as she stumbled through the door and patted her pockets for her mobile. On it, there were two missed calls from Andy’s phone.
This feels like bad news, she thought as she flicked lights on, shrugged out of her jacket and toed off her boots.
“Hi Sam, hope you've had a good night.” The light tones of Greg echoed round the room. “I tried to get hold of you on your mobile, but you didn’t pick up. I'm ringing to say Andy probably won't be in tomorrow as he went down with a migraine this evening, and it's pretty bad. I can't imagine he'll be in any fit state to come in tomorrow—he was throwing up until about an hour ago and you know how these things affect him, poor love. So he's sorry to let you down, but hopes you understand. Anyway, I haven't seen you for ages sweetie, so you must come around for dinner soon. When Andy comes back to work, I'll send him with some dates. Toodle-pip!”
Sam sat with a bump on the arm of the sofa and swore viciously.
She took out her phone and sent a text to Greg, saying she'd got the message, and to tell Andy not to worry, she would be fine. She sent love and kisses too, knowing how badly Andy suffered from migraine. Then she shook her head.
It can't be helped, get a grip girl! Time to be a grown up.
11
At five to ten on Friday morning, Sam rang the doorbell at Brook Lodge. She had a number of paving samples and they were (collectively at least) quite heavy. She waited, her tension rising. She hoped Magda would also be included in the discussion which might make things a little less...fraught.
She saw movement behind the stained-glass panel in the door and her prayer that it would be Magda who opened the door went unheard.
“Sam, good to see you,” said Jonas, with a faint smile.
Yeah, I bet, she thought while she smiled back brightly. “Good morning! Good to see the rain's held off, isn't it?”
“Yes, isn't it? Come in. Are you all alone?”
“Yes, I'm afraid Andy's unwell, so rather than hold up the process, I thought we could just discuss the samples and we can order the stone and get started.”
“Of course,” he shut the door, and Sam was struck anew by the beauty of the house, its soft golden wood floors and gentle, but insistent wealth.
How the other half lives...she thought with a tiny stab of envy. Then she scolded herself. She had plenty, more than most.
The entrance hall was wide and tall, with a central staircase which rose before splitting to form a balustrade. She gazed upwards and Jonas smiled.
“It's lovely, isn't it?” he said.
“You have a beautiful home,” Sam said. “I can imagine this at Christmas, all decorated with ivy and holly...”
“We've not done any wassailing yet,” he said, as he led her into what she imagined was his study. “We moved in here in January, so this coming Christmas will be our first.”
He sat behind his big old desk. She sat down opposite him, feeling a bit like she was at a job interview. Which she was, in a way, she supposed.
“Is Magda joining us?” she said, putting down the satchel a little hastily—it hit the floor with a bit of a thump, and Jonas' eyebrows raised.
“Yes, I’ll call her, but first…”
He paused and then said “I’m sorry about the mix-up about your dad last week. And I was out of order, implying you couldn't do the job in time. You’re obviously experienced and organised, and I’m sorry our working relationship got off to such an unfortunate start.”
Sam hid her surprise and just smiled. “I should spend more time keeping the website up to date.”
He smiled back and she was struck again by how attractive he was. “I’ll call Magda,” he said, and left the room.
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Sam took off her jacket, now feeling a bit hot and bothered, and sat back and blew her cheeks out as she looked at the room. It was as beautiful as the hall, cream carpets, vivid artwork on the walls and impressive looking books in the bookcases. The odd blockbuster paperback, too she thought, catching sight of a thriller on the arm of a leather sofa.
Jonas returned with a slender, beautiful blonde who Sam recognised from the pub. This vision looked her up and down and then, thought Sam, completely dismissed her.
“Would you like something to drink?” asked Jonas courteously.
“Strong black coffee, please,” replied Sam, needing something to keep her on her mettle. “Hello, I’m Sam.”
“Gerry,” replied the blonde, nodding regally at her. “I’ll make the coffee.”
“That’s good of you, Gerry,” said Jonas, smiling.
Her laugh tinkled, putting Sam’s already stretched nerves on edge.
“Don’t be silly, I know my way around. You stay and talk to the gardener.” She glided out. Magda, bouncing through the door, checked as she saw her.
They were left to talk about the weather for the five or so minutes before Gerry brought the drinks. She kissed Jonas on the top of his head and glided out again, saying something about a call.
Magda, Sam noted, visibly relaxed as Jonas’ girlfriend left the room. Sam had some inkling of how Magda felt—Gerry made Sam feel somehow...dumpy.
Sam reached for her bag. “We use mostly grey and cream stone,” she began, laying the samples carefully on the floor. “We source ours locally. This way we can be sure the stone is quarried ethically.”
“There's an ethical issue with stone?” Magda jumped in.
“It depends where it comes from—some suppliers use stone from China and India and there's a potential problem with child labour,” said Jonas, before Sam could respond, looking at the samples. “Some of my work includes this kind of issue,” he added casually as she stared at him in surprise.
“You're very well informed,” she murmured, before pulling herself together and continuing to talk about frost damage, and how slippery stone could be in the wet. Jonas nodded, and she thought she saw a dawning respect in his eyes, as she continued.