The Garden Plot

by Sara Sartagne

  “Charming.”

  “Mum? Dad? What's going on?”

  Sam spun round to see Lisbeth, her face pale, watching them.

  “Sam and your Dad are just having a little disagreement,” said Charlie, who was looking between Sam and Fraser anxiously. “It's not important, and anyway, I thought you were off out?”

  Sam scowled. “Only you could call my home and the place I grew up and where we both played as kids 'unimportant', Charlie. This may be pretty small beer to you and Fraser, but it's very important to me.”

  “I have other priorities, Samantha,” Fraser said, looking into his glass.

  “Maybe, but I'm not sticking a knife in your back when we disagree,” Sam replied.

  “Is this about Jessop's Field then?” asked Lisbeth, looking upset.

  “No, it's about how your Dad chose to tell me he wouldn't support me,” Sam said, her eyes on Fraser, who frowned.

  “This is all a bit over-dramatic, wouldn't you say?” he said.

  Sam shook her head in disbelief. “Empathetic as ever, I see.” She dropped the letter on the grass and turned to leave.

  “Sam...?” Lisbeth's voice followed her.

  “I'll see you later sweetie,” she said, as Lisbeth caught up.

  “But—”

  “Look Lisbeth, this is between your dad and I, and it'll blow over eventually, but I'm as mad as hell now, and if we speak now, I'll say something I'll regret. So leave it, ok?”

  “But—”

  “I said leave it!” Sam said, pulling open the gate. Lisbeth stopped dead and Sam left without another word.

  It was inevitable she'd head to Jessop's Field. The gentle contours of the landscape and the glint of sunlight through the trees soothed her and would reset her sense of perspective.

  She was out of breath when she reached the boundaries, marked by the ancient hedgerows. As she stepped over the stile, she caught the sound of kids playing in the woods and even while still boiling with anger, memories of make-believe dragons and knights, lost treasure and Marmite sandwiches flooded her mind. She marched along the well-worn path, and the trees seemed to shush her frustration and anger. Sam felt the muscles knotted in her shoulders gradually, finally, unwind.

  The big pond at the base of the field was deserted and she was grateful as she sank onto the grass.

  Her mind ran over the last hour and Sam chewed her lip.

  What a complete tosser. How on earth does Charlie put up with him?

  She blew out her cheeks and stared at the light reflecting off the water, lost in thought. The minutes ticked by.

  “You look fierce.”

  She jumped. Jonas stood a yard away, his face quizzical.

  “Oh! Hi...” The row with Fraser suddenly gone from her mind, Sam made to scramble to her feet. Jonas waved her back down and instead, joined her on the grass.

  “Big problem?”

  Sam shrugged and smiled wryly. Oh, if only you knew...

  “No, it's just stuff.” She looked sideways at him. “But what are you doing here?”

  “Just enjoying the local beauty spots,” he said, casually. “This reminds me of somewhere I went as a kid in Germany.”

  “Really? I thought Germany was supposed to have fairly spectacular scenery,” Sam said, sceptical. “I love this place, but it’s not spectacular.”

  “But as well as the Bavarian Alps, we also have gentler scenery—quiet hills and still waters. Just like this.”

  How lyrical, Sam thought, struck by his words and once again by his dark velvet voice. She was brought back to earth as she remembered why she was sitting there. “Well, enjoy it while you can. It may not survive the development,” she said dryly.

  He was silent.

  She recalled the tension during the rainstorm earlier in the week. Since then, she always seemed to be seeking him out, wanting to catch a glimpse of him. And suddenly, instead of never seeing him, she saw him a lot, at the windows, bringing drinks, asking about the garden work. She hadn't really known what to make of it, but she knew she was hungry for more. It was not a comfortable feeling.

  Time to go, I think.

  Her peace shattered, she brushed imaginary dirt from her thin cotton skirt and got to her feet.

  “Well, I must be going—” She broke off as he caught her hand. She stared at his long fingers curled around her own.

  “Don't go—I didn't mean to disturb you. Sit a little longer.”

  Sam looked into his green eyes.

  “OK, just a few minutes.” She sat down again, careful to put some distance between them.

  Jonas looked at the pond, his hand shading his eyes from the sun. “I lived for a while near Cologne and there were woodlands not far from our apartment. I had a tough time with my father at one stage—the usual arrogant teenage rebellion—and after our regular rows I’d escape and calm down looking at trees and water. A lot like this. Looking back, I don’t think I knew how much I valued it.”

  “I can’t imagine you as a rebellious teenager,” she said. He grinned at her and she changed her mind abruptly. Or perhaps I can.

  He laughed. “You’d be surprised. When did you start coming here?”

  “I can’t remember not coming here. I spent every day of my summer holidays here when I was at school. We used to bring picnics and stay here all day, Charlie and me. When I visited from college, it was my first port of call after I’d said hello to Dad.”

  There was a pause.

  “You're right. It's a lovely spot,” he added in a low voice. Sam's stomach turned over at his tone, soft and intimate.

  “It's always brought me some kind of peace.”

  Well, until about five minutes ago commented her libido.

  “I can see why.”

  Sam could feel the heat from his body beside her, smell the faint tang of his aftershave and she looked at the pond, no longer seeing it, but needing to put her eyes somewhere.

  Relax, relax, re—

  Then his hand brushed her arm and she gave a quick intake of breath, electrified. She watched his hand trail along her skin.

  Sam's mind went blank. Her libido was up and doing a jig, but nothing sensible came to mind to say. So she just looked at him and saw his green eyes gleaming. Slowly, he leaned towards her. Yes, yes, yes! shouted her body.

  “Is this a good idea?” said her voice and her brain, while all the time looking at his mouth.

  “Probably not. But you won't be designing my garden forever,” he replied in a thickened voice, his eyes fixed on her face.

  “True.”

  His mouth was a fraction away from hers and closing her eyes and ignoring all rational thoughts about clients and work, and about this definitely not being a good idea—she kissed him.

  His mouth was just as she'd thought it would be—firm and warm and expert. He touched her lips gently and then, as she shifted closer to him, he deepened the kiss, pushing her back onto the smooth, lush grass.

  Oh, my...

  Sam felt her body leap to attention—her nipples, her skin, all seemed on high alert, tender, demanding. She felt his weight across her body, his hands capturing her wrists above her head. She arched up, pressing closer, feeling his hardness against her stomach. After a few minutes of being thoroughly kissed, Sam heard him growl in his throat and to her intense disappointment, he rolled away from her. He sat up and stared into the distance. He was breathing hard.

  “Wha—” She was bewildered. Sighing heavily, Jonas turned to face her.

  “I think if we're going to keep this legal and decent in a public space, we need to stop—I need to stop.”

  Sam grinned and ran her eyes over his back and shoulders. She itched to touch him. Instead she struggled upright and sat on her hands.

  There was a pulsing silence. Sam, striving for some sort of normality, and ignoring the blood singing in her veins, said, “You’re right. We ought to be sensible. After all, you’re my client. So perhaps it’s only right that that we complete the garden be
fore...”

  He looked at her and his mouth curled when he saw she'd incapacitated her hands.

  “I don't mind telling you, I don't feel like doing the right thing at the moment.”

  “But I don't feel like being a hypocrite. Remember Steve and Magda?”

  “My daughter is under-age—just,” he said. “We’re consenting adults.”

  “Nonetheless...”

  He nodded, his eyes taking in her face. She felt caressed, and he wasn't even touching her. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the heat rise between them, and swallowed. He sighed.

  “You're right of course. It would be supremely hypocritical. How long will the garden take to finish?”

  “About three weeks.”

  “Early August?”

  She laughed. “You agreed the schedule! I'm doing my level best to make sure we don't lose any days, I promise you!”

  “So if the work goes off course, should I take it you're not interested in continuing our 'discussion'?”

  “Jonas, if I've got something to tell you, I'll do it face to face.”

  He drew closer.

  “Mmm. I imagine you would.” Despite her best intentions, her eyes flicked to his mouth and she saw it curve. “Hopefully, this will persuade you to keep the work on schedule.”

  He lowered his mouth kissed her again, slowly and languidly. Eventually she drew away, trembling.

  “Consider me persuaded.”

  Magda looked narrowly at her father as he came through the door.

  “There you are! Mrs Brown's been asking when you'll be back. She's fretting about the washing machine repairs.”

  “Mmm? Oh, right. Is she in the kitchen?”

  “Yes. Is everything alright, Dad?”

  “Yes, fine. Why shouldn't it be?”

  “I don't know. You look sort of...different.”

  His mouth tweaked slightly, and she thought he suddenly looked younger, with a rather devilish air to him. “Do I? Must be the fresh air.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Me? Oh, just down by Jessop's Field. I thought I'd go and have a look at it, given the fuss over the development.”

  “I've been there with Lisbeth. It's lovely, isn't it?”

  “Mmm. Very lovely.”

  She watched him as he strolled off to the kitchen, whistling.

  21

  “I don't think it's necessary to be this uptight,” Tyler Fairchild said, on the edge of sulkiness.

  “I'm sorry if you think this is uptight,” said Jonas. “But I'm at a loss to understand why our shared expertise—the basis of our original agreement—wasn't reflected in the plans that went in.”

  “It was just a mistake.”

  “Then I sincerely hope the rest of the administration is faultless.”

  John Fairchild cleared his throat. “I'm sure Tyler has a grip on it all now. The new plans are exactly what you would expect.”

  Jonas kept silent. It was left to Neil to ask about the response from the public meeting.

  “Well, there are plenty of eco-warriors in the village, but I'm sure they’ll have only limited influence,” said Tyler.

  “Really? I saw a note on the file which asked for a wildlife survey from Nature UK,” Neil said.

  “Yes, but we'll just do some slight adjustments and that will be that.”

  “And the position of the site?”

  “That view will enable us to charge premium prices for some of the executive homes and if we're not in breach of the environmental impact assessment, there'd be no need to move it.”

  “The feelings about Jessop’s Field run pretty high,” put in Jonas. “I've read the news clippings. Are you planning any changes?”

  “If there's no need, why should we?”

  “Because,” said Jonas, determinedly patient, “Halcyon doesn't do business like this.”

  “But no-one knows you're involved,” Tyler objected.

  “That surely is beside the point.”

  “And news and rumours spread, don't they? We've had our own press office in Brussels ask if Halcyon is involved with any other developers on joint projects,” put in Neil.

  “Well, that's nothing to do with me!”

  Jonas drummed his fingers on the desk, frustrated.

  “Look guys, the planning committee meets in less than a fortnight,” Tyler said smoothly. “We think we're home and dry and there's certainly no reason to change the plans unless they specifically ask for it. The environmental report will be completed by the beginning of next week and if it's just some bats, we'll provide alternative nesting sites for them—simples.”

  Just some bats? thought Jonas.

  He said nothing and the rather bad-tempered call ended. Given he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the site, let alone thinking of getting a lot closer to a member of the group fighting the development, Jonas knew himself powerless to do anything. Perhaps he should have come clean to John Fairchild about his move to Sherton before this.

  “Too late now,” he muttered under his breath.

  There was nothing to do now but wait for the planning committee meeting.

  Jonas forced himself to stay seated at the breakfast bar even though his ears, tuned to the noise of the Land Rover engine, knew the moment it pulled up in the drive. He felt like a teenager. It had been like this for nearly five days now, and he wondered if he was starting to lose his mind. Sam filled his thoughts, awake or asleep and his dreams had begun to turn technicolour and X-rated. They hadn't been helped by Sam changing her work gear—instead of her tee-shirts, she now occasionally wore vest tops which showed off her small breasts and slim shoulders and arms, now golden with the summer sun.

  His thoughts were lingering on the previous night's fantasy when the doorbell rang. He almost shot to his feet.

  “I'll get it!” called Magda, clattering down the stairs.

  He could hear the murmur of voices in the hall and looked at, rather than read the financial columns.

  “Morning,” came a husky voice. He looked up and saw Sam. He jumped up.

  “Morning. How are you?” He held out a chair for her.

  “Good, thanks.” He could feel her eyes running over him and he tensed. Sam smiled.

  “I thought I'd let you know that we’re moving on to planting. We’ve got some of the plants in temporary beds, but we need to get more.”

  “Ooh! How exciting!” said Magda “You said I could come with you to pick the plants we’re going to use—can I still do that?”

  Sam's smile faltered. “Of course. It will probably be in a couple of days, and we'll need to go early. Can you be up and ready at six?”

  “Really? That early?” Magda looked appalled.

  Sam grinned at her. “Sorry, we'll need to get a lot of plants and we need to have time to get them in. So the earlier the better.”

  Magda grimaced. “If I must, then.” Jonas winked at Sam.

  “I'll get her up. She may not say much for the first couple of hours.”

  Sam laughed, waving away the tea Magda offered. “No thank you, I must get on. Got to keep to the schedule,” she said, not looking at Jonas. With a cheeky grin, she left.

  “Yes indeed,” murmured Jonas.

  The phone rang just as Jonas was about to leave the house for a walk and escape the distracting sight of Sam working in the sunshine.

  “Keane.”

  “Hello, Mr Keane. This is Dr Walters, I'm ringing with your next appointment.”

  “More tests?”

  “Unless you prefer to drop dead unexpectedly.”

  Jonas hid a smile. “Well, since you put it that way...”

  They agreed a date.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “OK, I think. I'm managing to get through the day without a nap and I've increased my exercise.”

  “Energy levels?”

  “Good, I think, although I do get very tired at the end of the day still.”

  “To be expected, but if you
're now getting through the day, that's good progress. Exercise?”

  “OK. I miss my runs.”

  “You’ll get back to it eventually. Appetite?”

  “Excellent.”

  “Sex drive?”

  Jonas started. “Sorry?”

  “How is your sex drive, Mr Keane? Occasionally, ordinary glandular fever has an impact on the sex drive, and as this is the nearest thing we can equate your illness to, your libido may be impacted,” Dr Walters said patiently.

  “Erm... Well, it has been affected...”

  But not anymore, he thought, thinking of Sam's smooth tanned skin.

  “And is it improving?”

  “Yes, I think I can say it is.”

  The call ended with Jonas smiling wryly at the phone. He glanced out of the window to see Sam stretching to ease an ache in her back. He could see her flat stomach as the vest top parted from her khaki shorts.

  Definitely improving.

  Sam saw Jonas stride out of the house. She hadn't thought her agreement with him would be so damned hard to keep. She itched to touch him, to run her hands over that broad back, to feel his lips again. Her calendar now had days crossed from it.

  She could feel the beginning of a headache, and she rubbed her temples. Trying to focus, she looked at the paving. It looked even better than she'd hoped, unusual with its chequerboard design. It was ready for some of the plants.

  Which raised the sticky problem of Magda, coming to the nursery to make up the plants they’d not received from Johnson’s, their now-defunct supplier.

  Steve was being very discreet, but Sam, now sharply sensitive because she was in a similar position with Jonas, recognised the signs of someone still very much smitten. Steve glanced at Magda when he thought no-one was looking and listened in to any conversation in which she was involved. His quiet stoicism touched Sam. She wondered how Magda was so blind.

  She checked her phone. A text from Amanda, reminding her of an action group meeting, a message from Paul about another new business enquiry. Still no word from Lisbeth.

  Charlie had not been in contact either since the row with Fraser a fortnight ago, but Sam was less concerned about that than she was about the radio silence from Lisbeth.