The Garden Plot

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The Garden Plot Page 16

by Sara Sartagne


  Sam took a sip of her drink. “I'm out of practice,” she said.

  “Time you got back in practice, then!”

  “You sound like my bloody sister.”

  “You need to find some blokes who you like the look of, not some stuffed Tory! Isn’t there anyone?”

  Oh, no—not going there!

  “Stop throwing me off the subject—what did you say to the Lovely Luke? And importantly, what did he say back?”

  Amanda looked dreamy.

  “Just that I'd enjoyed his talk. He said it was a shame he couldn’t become directly involved with us. I just stood there and smiled, and he said perhaps it would be possible for him to be involved, but in an unofficial capacity...”

  Sam waited as Amanda trailed off.

  “So we swapped numbers and he's supposed to be coming to take me to dinner next Friday.”

  There was a buzz as a text message came into Amanda's phone. She snatched it off the table and grinned widely as she read it.

  “And he's saying he's glad he made an exception to come and visit us.”

  Sam sipped her gin and tonic, feeling suddenly alone and irritated at the same time.

  Stop it! You haven't got time, remember? So she smiled at Amanda and listened to her talk of Luke's virtues, potentially all imaginary.

  “It could be an ace in our hand, couldn’t it? The bats?” Sam said when she considered an appropriate length of time had passed for Luke-love.

  “Bechstein's bats,” corrected Amanda. “Yes indeed. Although I imagine everything can be changed by our esteemed Secretary of State.”

  “We ought to get a wildlife protection group involved. Something European. There must be something, they've got laws on everything,” Sam said thoughtfully.

  “Bear in mind it takes money to go to court.”

  “Well, that's why I thought aligning us with a big European group might be a good idea. We don't have much cash, but they might. And there’s always Mrs Pratchett...”

  “Good thinking, batman. Hey—see what I did there?”

  They both giggled. Sam made a note on her phone to check out European wildlife action groups and they finished their drinks.

  Sam sat by the fire in her cottage and looked through her scribblings.

  She’d had a pretty dismal evening, all things considered. First, Amanda’s new crush, while deeply satisfying for those involved, simply made her feel more alone.

  Then, she’d seen that the European laws protecting wildlife hadn’t been fully adopted in the UK. As a result, there would be plenty of wriggle room for the developers—or indeed the current Secretary of State—to ignore any protest they made about disturbing the wildlife on Jessop’s Field.

  She stared at the flames. This might be a real fight—the Council needing to hit targets, a big, powerful developer, one that could afford lobbyists and PR people. She’d need to have a word with someone from the Labour office to think through possible campaign tactics, at this rate.

  Sam thought back to the meeting. Some of the people had been so aggressive, so rough and their comments so biased, with no concern at all for the heritage of the village, or the beauty of the landscape, she’d been dismayed. She doubted any arguments could change them, but the action group should certainly try. She wrote herself a reminder that she should talk to Amanda about a poster with the arguments against the development for the library.

  And surely there wasn’t that much demand for housing in the area? She must do some research into that…

  Three hours later, she was still awake, staring at the ceiling. Finally, she threw off the covers. Hot chocolate was what she needed.

  Yeah, right. What you need is NOT hot chocolate! Jeered her libido.

  “Oh, be quiet,” she muttered as she slammed a pan of milk on the stove to warm.

  But she was caught in a persistent loop of sights, sounds and smells in her head, all connected to Jonas. His lips on her cheek, the firm grip of his hand, his spicy scent, that private, co-conspiratorial look at dinner. She thought, unwillingly, of the tension between them, and those green eyes…

  She caught the milk before it boiled over and her mouth twisted wryly at the pan.

  “You and me both,” she breathed as she put the milk into a mug.

  The following day was a struggle, not least because of her lack of sleep.

  She took several calls about new design jobs, and while she welcomed them, Sam was starting to wonder how they were going do it all. Her phone buzzed again, and it was Paul, back at the office.

  “Hi!” she said, squinting across the sunny, hot garden.

  “I take it they'd like us to quote?” came Paul's calm, almost somnambulant tones down the phone.

  “Yes, I'm due there on Saturday morning, it's good news, isn't it?”

  “You're going to be busy on Saturday—a lady called Joan Dunnant also called—this time to ask you to come and see her about a refresh.”

  Sam screwed up her nose. “Can you get back to her to say I'll be with her just after lunchtime?”

  “Will do. Don't go stretching yourself too thinly, will you? I'm not sure how we’ll cope with all this new business. We don't want you having a nervous breakdown.”

  Sam promised Paul she’d take a holiday and rang off.

  Sam allowed herself a moment to gaze unseeing into the middle distance and mentally crossed her fingers. The action group had submitted an objection to the development, asking for a wildlife survey, and Mrs Pratchett had thrown herself into the fundraising with a vengeance—at the last meeting, she'd raised nearly ten thousand pounds, which had impressed even Desmond Black. It would certainly pay for an independent ecologist, even if it wasn’t the lovely Luke.

  Reporters from the regional newspaper had contacted Desmond again about the planning application and Sam had persuaded one of the local councillors to issue a blistering attack on the use of Jessop's Field for housing.

  All I need now is to increase the number of hours in a day to about thirty-six and all will be well, she thought, heading back to the boys.

  Andy stopped his digging as she walked up and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “More work?”

  “Yes. I'm looking on Saturday at a couple of jobs.”

  “At this rate we'll need to take more people on,” commented Steve as he pulled at a deep-rooted weed.

  “I think we'll wait to see if we get the jobs before we do that,” Sam said quickly. “We can't start more work until we finish this, in any case. So put your back into it, Steve!”

  Steve huffed, and cursing under his breath, finally pulled the dandelion out of the ground, falling over in the process.

  So it was while he was flat on his backside, being laughed at by Sam and Andy, that he first caught sight of Magda.

  “Hi there!” Magda called merrily as she strode out of the house. She was wearing skimpy shorts and a practically backless top. She looked gorgeous and Sam, glancing at Steve, couldn't blame him for turning beetroot red while he scrambled to his feet.

  “Ah—school's out?” Sam queried, walking over to this vision of teen loveliness.

  “Yup, I've just got back.” Magda gestured towards the garden. “It looks amazing! What a difference! I love it!” Sam looked around at the piles of soil and stacked stone which looked much less than amazing and smiled at Magda’s excitement.

  “Well, yes, it's coming together... I'm glad you like it so far.”

  “Yes, Dad's just putting the car away, he'll be here any second.”

  Sam hadn't seen Jonas to talk to all week. She hadn't known whether to be pleased or disappointed, a ridiculous state of affairs. She caught sight of Steve's face, now tightened after his initial slack-jawed response to Magda, and reluctantly, she introduced them. Magda flirted with both men. At the end of ten minutes, she thought Steve would be the teenager's slave for life. Andy looked on, amused.

  So when Jonas strolled over to the group, she turned to him with something like relief. Wh
at she wasn't expecting was the rush of pleasure she had at seeing him again—as though she had been thirsty, and someone had offered her cool, clear water. Unguarded, she smiled at him and looked straight into his eyes. The sudden blaze in them made her heart jump, and then the look disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  “How's it all coming on?” he said, rather abruptly.

  “We're on schedule,” Andy said promptly, his tongue in his cheek. Jonas grinned and nodded in wry acknowledgement.

  “We've finished digging the borders and should be able to start the planting in a couple of weeks,” added Sam, looking around, rather than at, Jonas.

  “Why don't you give me and Dad a tour?” Magda said.

  Sam rubbed her filthy hands down her jeans, suddenly feeling a bit breathless. “Sure. We'll start with the pond, shall we?”

  Jonas listened with quiet amusement as Sam led them both around the garden. He'd slowly gathered his composure as they'd walked, and Magda had been a godsend, did she but know it—it was easier to hide his tension around Sam when his daughter was excitedly asking questions about what the gardening team would be doing next. Sam too seemed to be relaxing and soon there was laughter alongside the comments on stone edging and pergolas and pond liners.

  He’d noticed over the past weeks, that he'd felt himself strain to hear Sam’s laugh floating across the garden. This was even though he stayed inside his study away from the windows and walked to the village for his daily exercise without looking back.

  He had followed up with Neil about the inexplicable omission from the plans of all the features the Halcyon team had submitted to the design.

  “I've made some objections to some of the suppliers they're using, but the plans look OK,” Neil had said, puzzled.

  “Well, the ones I saw in the Library didn't look like a development of ours at all—it was bog standard.”

  Neil rang two days later to say the plans were being re-submitted following the public meeting—now including Halycon’s design elements.

  Neil had let drop that they'd had a copy of the plans and were disappointed that what was an obvious first draft had gone in through administrative error. Tyler had brushed it off. Nothing was said about the position of the site, currently too close to Jessop’s Field, in his view.

  But in any case, the current plans might go through because the Council was desperate for new homes, Jonas reasoned. And Tyler was right—they could charge a premium for the view.

  He tuned into the discussion again. Sam’s passion about the development was infectious, he decided, and strong emotion could be catching—and his life was complicated enough at the moment, particularly with the earlier-than-expected departure of Geraldine after the other night.

  “We've got the paving by the wall to do and once that's settled, we can start to make it really pretty with the flowers and shrubs,” Sam was explaining.

  “So I've come back for the most exciting bit!” exclaimed Magda.

  “We've got quite a bit to do yet,” Sam warned.

  “Oh, but it'll be brilliant to see it all happening! Won't it, Dad?”

  “It will.”

  “What do you think of it so far?” Magda pressed her father.

  He felt Sam tense a little and looked at her.

  “I think it's really starting to take shape and it will be lovely when it's all completed,” he said, smiling.

  “Perhaps if you were to go away for a couple of weeks and then come back, you'd see the difference more clearly,” said Sam.

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  Sam laughed politely.

  “Not at all. But you are rather on top of me.”

  Jonas tried to wipe from his mind the images raised by her innocent remark. He took in her brown forearms and the sunshine glints in her short, tousled hair. He could only be grateful she had more clothes on than his daughter.

  “Yes, perhaps,” he said. He felt, rather than saw Magda hide a smile. Rather awkwardly, Sam showed them the rest of the work.

  He listened in with half an ear, trying to keep his eyes off Sam's very neat backside in her khaki jeans.

  Eventually he said, “How's the protest going?” Sam turned.

  “It's good,” she said briefly. “We've got bats in the area and actually,” she added casually, “they’re very rare. Someone from Nature UK came down and told us.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm. Do you anything about bats, Mr Keane?”

  Jonas knew probably more than the average developer, but he wasn't about to admit it. “Not much, apart from they're a protected species. That will put a spoke in the wheel of your developer, then.”

  “Let's hope so.”

  Jonas wanted to ask her more but thought better of it. Instead he asked,

  “Have you got an independent assessor?”

  “Yes, I think we're sorted, thanks. But we shouldn’t be talking about this—it’s bad for your health,” Sam said.

  Ouch thought Jonas. He inclined his head.

  Magda was watching closely.

  “Is this the development on Jessop's Field?”

  “Yes. I'm not sure what our chances are, but we're campaigning hard. We've just got a meeting with the final councillor on the planning committee.”

  Jonas' ears pricked up. “The independent you told me about?”

  Sam looked at him, surprised.

  “You've got a good memory. Yes, the independent.”

  “When is the planning committee?”

  “In about four weeks.”

  As he wished her a rather vague ‘good luck’, Jonas began to wonder again what could be done to protect his investment. To take some action looked increasingly necessary.

  18

  Sam perched on the steps, read the postcard and grinned.

  “Ooh la, la! French garcons charmante. Henri in particular. Vin rouge trés quaffable. Tan coming along nicely. Stripy tee-shirts de rigeur. Can't think of further clichés, so will sign off. Love, Lisbeth.”

  Andy peered over her shoulder reading the card and chuckled. “Sounds like she's having a good time.”

  “Mmm. Henri seems to be giving her a good time, certainly. Her first holiday romance...” Sam replied wryly.

  “Hmm. We’ve got enough issues with teenage crushes here at the moment,” he grunted, going to help Steve unload the Land Rover.

  Sam sighed. Andy was right. Steve had taken one look at Magda and fallen hard.

  His behaviour had been impeccable. But he wasn't completely focused when Magda was around, and he was tongue-tied if she spoke to him.

  Magda wandered around during the day as teenagers do—at times with more clothes on than at others. She appeared completely unaware of the passion that throbbed in young Steve’s breast and treated both him and Andy with open friendliness.

  But Sam was worried. Magda was simply being friendly currently, but if she gave any kind of response to Steve—well, it would be like lighting the blue touch-paper and everyone would need to stand well back.

  No Lady Chatterley moments, thank you very much she thought, chewing her lip.

  “You look deep in thought,” came a deep voice from beside her.

  She jumped. “Mr Keane! God, you gave me a start!”

  “Sorry. Is everything ok? And it’s Jonas, please, not Mr Keane,” said Jonas, his green eyes scanning her face. Sam hesitated. “Is it your young apprentice mooning after my daughter that's bothering you?” Jonas said.

  She stared at him. “You know?”

  “I would have to be blind not to know.”

  Sam felt her face grow hot. “I'm really very sorry.”

  “Don't apologise. My daughter's looks and his hormones are hardly your fault.”

  “I don't really know what to do. I do know this can't go on, but he's been very respectful and has said nothing at all to Magda.”

  “I know he's been respectful, because otherwise I would be pointing out that my daughter is still at school and underage.” Sam
said nothing. “If I speak to Magda of course, and she hasn't noticed Steve, this will simply draw her attention to him,” he continued. “I don't fancy putting into my daughter's head she's in some Romeo and Juliet equivalent.”

  There was a meaningful pause. “Mmm. OK, I'll talk to Steve,” Sam said reluctantly.

  “It may not be that bad,” he said gently.

  “Maybe not—but I have to work with him afterwards,” she said gloomily.

  He smiled at her and she felt her stomach clench as its charm swept over her. “Let me know how it goes.”

  Sam walked back to the Land Rover.

  Oh, joy... What I do to design gardens.

  Bonjour! Comment la belle France? texted Magda.

  Pas mal de tout, merci! How’s Sherton? texted back Lisbeth.

  Not as pretty as France—saw photos on Facebook—Henri is GORGEOUS❣❣❣

  Yup, & no English—so hav 2 find other ways 2 communic8...

  Magda's mouth dropped open a little. Lisbeth?

  Her phone vibrated with another text from Lisbeth.

  What’s hap’ning w. Project Romeo?

  Magda thought. At the moment, everyone was being tiresomely professional. She hadn't even seen Sam in anything other than the terribly respectable polo shirt she normally wore, despite the heat, and frankly a polo shirt was never going to drive anyone wild. Didn’t she possess a vest top, for heavens’ sake?

  But, she thought, some kind of fizz happened when Sam and her dad met up, however briefly. It was difficult to explain, but something happened to Sam's skin and her Dad seemed to get taller, a bit more tense.

  Before Magda could respond, Lisbeth sent a second text.

  Not sure Sam likes ur Dad. Called her b4 we went away & tried 2 find out what she thought of ur dad. Either she didn’t want 2 tell or she hadn’t thght about it!!

  Magda shook her head. Maybe she was imagining it. It wasn't as though Sam was looking for excuses to touch Dad, like she'd seen Gerry do, and Dad wasn't being more charming—almost the opposite, if his lukewarm comments about how the garden was coming along were an example.

 

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