by Kate Forster
The air was crisp and she could hear frost crunching beneath her feet as she walked over the grass.
A vineyard in France? Who had a vineyard?
She started her car and let it warm up for a moment and then drove down the driveway towards town, wondering how she could be living between such different worlds.
*
The van was set up and people were milling around when she arrived. Soon she was serving soup and handing out sandwiches and some custard tarts a bakery had donated.
‘Petey isn’t here tonight?’ she asked Zane as he came to help her.
‘No, he’s sick. He needs to take care; he’s getting on himself.’ Zane said. ‘His wife died a few years ago. He runs the fudge company himself and runs the market stall alone most days.’
Christa made a mental note to call on Petey at the market the next day.
‘Soup? Chicken noodle or pumpkin?’ she asked, looking down from the counter of the van, to see a young girl of about eight or nine, in a thin jacket with a toddler in a stroller next to her. ‘Hi.’ She smiled at the little girl.
‘Chicken noodle,’ said the child.
‘Where’s your mum?’ she asked.
‘Talking to the nurse,’ she said.
Christa looked at Zane who didn’t seem surprised at the age of the children in front of them.
‘Does your little brother want something to eat? Maybe some bread and butter or custard tart?’
Christa wished she had something more nutritious for the child.
‘A custard tart would be nice,’ said the girl shyly and Christa handed her four and a cup of soup with a lid on it and some bread and butter.
The child manoeuvred the stroller away with one hand while she held the soup after putting the other items in the basket below the child.
‘Jesus,’ she said to Zane, feeling shaken. ‘It’s so late, that child is clearly cold, and the toddler should be asleep. Why are they out here tonight? Is there a place their mother can get this support during the day?’
Zane looked at her.
‘There is but what if she’s working? What then? The mother is getting them food, good food, which is better than no food or eating rice for days. She’s getting shopping from us. She’s getting her wounds from her bastard ex-husband checked by the nurse and the children are together and safe with us here now. Is it ideal? No. But is she trying to do her best? Yes. Her best might not be what you and I might throw out to be the best but it’s all she can do right now and all we can do is support her.’
Christa watched as the mother came back to her children and wrapped her arms around them, making a fuss over the custard tarts.
She wasn’t a religious person but in the moment, she sent a little prayer up to whoever was turning this crazy world and asked if they would share a little magic with this small family doing the best they could on a cold winter’s night.
11
Christa was tired when she came home from the food van and went straight to bed. Staying up late the night before talking to Marc had also taken its toll but when she woke in the morning she felt better and checked the time. It was only just seven and the house sounded quiet. She wanted to make some food for Petey and take it to him in the afternoon. She had his address from Zane and was planning on dropping it off and checking in on him.
Showered and dressed, Christa headed down to the kitchen where she put on the coffee, boiled the kettle and looked inside the refrigerator. No eggs.
Didn’t the boys say there were chickens outside? Peggy hadn’t arrived yet, so that must be why no one had collected the eggs.
Christa pulled on her coat and hat and opened the back door.
There was a glimpse of sunshine and the rain had stopped for a change. Christa saw a collection of wellingtons lined up by the back door and kicked off her shoes and slipped her feet into a pair, tucking her jeans into the boots. She looked around her and then took the gravel path lined with topiary trees that led to a brick wall. She followed the path around the wall until it opened up and she found herself inside a walled kitchen garden, carefully laid out, with winter vegetables in some of the beds alongside some of the empty ones. Presumably they were fallowing for the next plant. She had visited many organic farms and kitchen gardens when she was at Playfoot’s. Seeing the ways the farmers grew the vegetables was wonderful and she would always come back with a new supplier of purple carrots or baby beets.
So many vegetables, she thought as she walked towards a crop of cabbages so fat even Peter Rabbit would have had trouble munching through them.
‘Morning,’ she heard and saw a man standing up from behind a crop of Brussels sprouts.
‘Oh hi.’ Christa waved. ‘Are you the one responsible for all this beauty?’
‘I am indeed. I’m Bill, head gardener.’ He was a tall thin man, in his mid-sixties with a weather-beaten face and a green corduroy hat and boiled wool jacket with a long rain jacket over the top.
‘Christa. I’m the chef here until just after New Year.’
‘Peggy told me about you, said you were into all sorts of fancy things and you wouldn’t like my vegetables.’
Christa gasped. ‘That is entirely untrue, Bill. I would love to use these vegetables. I didn’t know they were here. I came on an egg hunt and found this instead.’
Bill seemed pleased with her answer. ‘You want to meet the girls do you? They are off the lay now it’s getting colder. You might luck out with the odd egg but I believe Peggy has been buying them from town.’
‘Has she? I didn’t know. They twins talk about the chickens as though they’re laying now.’
Bill shook his head. ‘Come down and look anyway,’ he said and she walked by his side through the grounds. He pointed out the different gardens on the way.
‘That’s the orchard. We have lovely pippin apples in there and there’s the pond, which has beautiful water lilies in the summer. Shame you won’t be here to see them.’
Christa looked up at the sky. ‘Peggy thinks it will snow soon,’ she said. ‘Do you think it will?’
Bill shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The bees went into the hive early – that can mean it’s going to be a harsh winter but I can’t say when the snow is coming.’
Christa looked around the garden. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine the beauty of the garden in spring and summer. Every edge of the pathway was trimmed so well there wasn’t an inch of grass that dared to creep a toe over the edge. The yew trees that lined the pathway were perfect triangles, standing proudly surrounded by frost on the lawns.
‘Have you cared for this garden for a long time?’ she asked Bill.
‘Since I was twenty. Came straight from horticultural school and stayed on. It’s been through three owners but Mr Ferrier is the nicest one we’ve had at Pudding Hall.’
‘Oh, how so?’ Christa asked. She was interested to know what others through of Marc, since she couldn’t always understand his moods over the past week. One minute he was saying he liked to help others and the next he was boasting about a vineyard in France. He spoiled his children yet he also neglected them. He was moody but could also be so attentive you felt like you were the most important person in the room.
‘The garden needed work done to it when he came but there was only me, and I didn’t have enough hours in the day or the budget to fix what needed to be done. Mr Ferrier let me have some young people to come and work here and he did everything I recommended. We drained the pond and restocked the water lilies. He let me replant the iris garden, brought in twenty thousand irises from the Netherlands. They came up last year but this year there will be more. Some of the rare bulbs I never thought I would have the chance to plant and raise.’
Christa smiled at him as they came around the water and the sound of chickens murmuring came within earshot.
‘It’s a beautiful garden, Bill. You should be proud of your work.’
The chicken coop was large but not too big and the chickens were scratching at the ground and eating some
vegetable leaves.
‘I give the girls some scraps as there hasn’t been much coming from the kitchen lately.’
‘You will have all the scraps from now on in,’ promised Christa. ‘I didn’t know they needed them but consider them first in line for the veggie soup remnants I will have today, provided I get some fresh veg from a gardener I know.’
Bill lifted the lid at the back of the coop and pulled out three eggs. ‘Not enough for a family but enough for a breakfast,’ he said.
‘You keep them,’ said Christa. ‘I will get some tomorrow or ask Peggy to bring some in when she starts.’
Bill nodded and put the eggs carefully into the pockets of his wool jacket.
‘Now how’s about we get that veg for you. I have some parsnips that are ready to come out and some potatoes. How about some leeks?’ Bill seemed to be in his element sharing the bounty with Christa.
‘I have some winter carrots and lovely chard also.’ He listed more vegetables than Christa thought possible and she thought about the food van and how much they would like a nutritious soup. Not that the food they had was terrible but it needed more nutrients. The custard tart for the little toddler the previous evening was no doubt much enjoyed but it needed to be tempered with something to give the baby’s body something to grow with.
Bill had harvested her a feast and put it in the wheelbarrow and walked her back to the house.
‘Pudding Hall is a beautiful house,’ she said, looking at the lines and windows and the grand roofline.
‘Nothing like her for miles around here,’ said Bill. ‘There was talk that the house would become a hotel before Mr Ferrier bought it.’
‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’ she asked.
Bill snorted. ‘No one wanted this to be a hotel. It’s Pudding Hall. It’s a grand home but it needs a family, not just drop-ins. This is the first time Mr Ferrier has stayed here and he bought it three years ago.’
‘Really? If I had a house like this I would never leave.’ Christa laughed. ‘It’s a dream come true isn’t it? All these gardens and chickens and a pond and an orchard.’
Bill stopped, turned and looked around at the expanse of ground behind them. ‘There’re more but no one enjoys it. Sometimes I feel I’m keeping it alive just for me.’
Christa looked with him.
‘How about this morning, I bring the boys for a wander? They would love it. They’ve been cooped up inside with video games and television. Could you take us on a tour? I could bring morning tea.’
Bill’s face beamed. ‘That would be grand, Christa, just grand.’
He helped her carry the vegetables inside the house and then carefully put the eggs on the bench.
‘For morning tea – you might need them if you make something.’
Christa smiled at him.
‘You’re a star, Bill, thank you. See you at ten.’
12
Marc could hear the boys yelling from the kitchen as he walked towards it and he pushed open the door to hear one yell at the other, ‘Go and bite your arse.’
‘Give it back or I’ll punch your face in.’
He was about to speak when he saw Christa come out of the pantry.
‘No one will be biting bums or punching faces, and certainly not in my kitchen. Please treat each other with respect and kindness or you can’t come on my adventure.’
He saw her hold out the coats for the twins and they sullenly pulled them on.
‘Why do you say bum and not arse?’ asked Seth.
‘Bum is a much better word, isn’t it?’ Christa asked as she pulled their woollen hats onto their heads.
‘Bum is a good word,’ Ethan agreed.
‘My aunt had a parrot that she taught to say to my uncle, “Bite your bum, Lester”, whenever he passed. Used to drive him mad but it made my aunt laugh.’ Christa said the phrase like a parrot and the boys roared with laughter and then copied her, repeating the phrase.
‘Who is Lester and why am I biting his bum?’ Marc asked, poking his head inside the doorframe.
The boys fell apart laughing again and he saw Christa join in.
Whatever happened to make her flee last night didn’t seem to be a concern now.
‘Good night?’ he asked, wishing he hadn’t when he saw her face. Her smile went steely. He had overstepped a boundary and he knew it.
‘Sorry, none of my business,’ he said.
‘How was the wine from your vineyard?’ she asked and he swore he could detect a hint of vinegar in her tone.
‘Very sweet,’ he answered.
‘We’re going on an adventure with Christa. Do you want to come?’ Seth yelled.
‘No need to shout, Seth.’ Christa had her back to him and was fiddling with a large cane basket on the bench.
‘Why not? Paul is decorating the house today and Adam and Peggy have been pulled in to assist, much to their horror.’
Christa turned to him. ‘I was wondering why Peggy hadn’t been in early.’
‘She’s in the woods with Paul and Adam scavenging for holly and ivy,’ Marc said amusing himself.
Christa did laugh. ‘I can’t imagine Peggy out in the depths of the woods getting in touch with nature. I hope Paul can handle her.’
‘Paul can handle anything. Peggy is a walk in the park compared to some of the big egos and demands he’s worked with.’
‘Don’t you mean walk in the woods?’ said Christa.
‘Touché,’ Marc said with a nod of his head.
She was clever and beautiful and talented and, he realised, she was completely unimpressed by his wealth. The comment about the vineyard in France was meant to impress her but instead she’d left the house.
For some reason Christa’s opinion of him mattered. Why did it matter when he hardly knew her? Yes he thought she was attractive and funny but there was something else. He felt he had to earn her respect, and Marc Ferrier hadn’t had to earn anything in a long time.
‘I will get my coat and gloves,’ he said. ‘Don’t leave without me.’ He wagged a finger playfully at his twins.
‘Bite ya bum, Lester,’ they said screaming at their own joke.
Sorry, Christa mouthed to him but he laughed with them and was still giggling when he came back to the kitchen all rigged up and ready to go.
‘Ready and able,’ he said to Christa, taking the basket from her hand. ‘What’s in here?’ he asked about to lift the lid.
‘No, don’t look – it’s a surprise,’ she said firmly, putting her hand on his and pushing down the lid.
He felt a physical connection to her and he wished he could kiss her for a moment. Just a quick kiss on those soft pink lips.
‘Righto,’ she said and she opened the kitchen door. ‘Let’s go.’
Outside Bill the gardener was waiting, a small black dog by his side. A mutt who looked like a cross between a Yorkshire terrier and a Jack Russell.
‘A dog,’ yelled the boys.
‘Mr Ferrier, Miss Christa,’ said Bill formally.
‘Marc, please,’ he said. He had told him and Peggy many times he preferred his first name but they refused to adhere to his wishes.
‘Just Christa for me. I haven’t been a “miss” since I was in school and in trouble.’ He watched her get down on her haunches and tickle the dog under the chin. ‘Who is this lovely lady?’
‘Meredith,’ said Bill. ‘She’s my assistant. She was sleeping earlier but is ready for the fun now.’
‘Hello, Meredith,’ said Christa and the boys joined her in patting the dog.
She stood up and smiled at them all.
‘Let’s get on with it then, and if you can’t get on with it, you can bite your…’
‘Bum!’ Marc and the twins yelled in unison.
*
Marc had forgotten how beautiful Pudding Hall was. He had been thinking about selling the house after Christmas but now he wondered why he didn’t live here permanently, except that the boys wouldn’t want to stay. Their lives we
re in America and he still shared custody. Perhaps it was a fanciful idea. So many people wanted to live in the country but then when they stayed they became bored and restless, missing the luxuries of the city. But York wasn’t so far away and it was a gorgeous place with everything he needed. He could work anywhere if he wanted to, he wasn’t tied to a city or a country.
The boys ran ahead with Bill, peppering him with questions about the dog and the garden and whether he had ever owned a parrot. Christa and Marc walked companionably as their feet crunched on the gravel.
‘So where are we off to?’ he asked, swinging the basket by his side.
‘We’re exploring this wonderful garden,’ she said. ‘The boys don’t know it at all. Have they been here very often?’
Marc felt ashamed. ‘They’re never been here actually. They’re usually in California.’
‘How many houses do you own?’
He felt embarrassed answering. He counted them in his head. The place in Gstaad that he never used. The one in Aspen. The penthouse in New York. The farm in New Zealand. The apartment in Paris.
‘A few,’ he said carefully.
Christa said nothing for a while as they walked. A peacock walked onto the path and opened his fan, much to the boys’ delight.
They all stopped and watched him show his beauty to them.
Christa leaned over to him and whispered, ‘Do you think he has a vineyard in France?’
Marc burst out laughing and the peacock, insulted, wandered off the path.
Christa turned and lifted her chin and gave a cheeky smile. ‘Sorry, it was too easy. I had to take the shot. I hope you’re not too badly wounded.’
‘Not at all. It’s funny and I did sound like an idiot. I don’t know why I said it,’ he admitted. But he knew why he said it. He wanted to impress her and he had failed.
Bill and the boys were a good way ahead now.
‘We all say things that come out the wrong way,’ she said.
They followed the path in a comfortable silence, as the sun shone down on them. There was no warmth in the rays but the light showed off the elegant lines of the deciduous trees that must have been over one hundred years old and counting.