A Rose Petal Summer

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Deaths column. I want to know who’s dropped off the perch since yesterday.’

  ‘I get that,’ said Caro, finding the page. ‘It means you’ve won.’

  After that they went on to world events and Caro was given Murdo’s opinion of the current government (although Caro realised it wouldn’t have mattered who was in power, Murdo’s opinion would still have been low). After the obituaries, Caro was free to go.

  ‘Meet you by the vehicle at ten,’ Murdo told her. ‘You can drive me round the estate. I’ll point out the landmarks and the best views to you.’

  The sky had cleared while they’d been at breakfast and it was a beautiful day by the time Caro met Murdo by the Land Rover.

  She found she really enjoyed driving the big, primitive vehicle – it made her feel a bit like the Queen in the various films there’d been about her, driving over her estate like a pro. Murdo was good company, in spite of his outlandish and outdated opinions. Whether he could see or not, he told her to stop at all the right places, to see the vistas that could be spotted between the trees, showing the loch and the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

  ‘It is a really beautiful estate,’ she said to him when they had stopped at a particularly beautiful spot.

  He grunted. ‘Been in my family for over four hundred years. It’s in my blood.’

  ‘I understand why. It must be very precious to you.’

  ‘Like my heart and lungs are precious to me,’ said Murdo. ‘Just a shame it’s not precious to the next generation.’ He harrumphed – a sound, Caro had discovered, that could mean various things. It quite often meant ‘I want to change the subject’. Now it clearly also meant he was a bit upset.

  ‘Oh, look!’ said Caro delightedly, seeing a bright ginger creature leaping through the trees and stopping at the tree nearest to them. ‘A red squirrel! In that tree! I’ve never seen one before. It’s so beautiful!’

  ‘For one, I can’t look, I’m practically blind,’ said Murdo, who obviously liked to rub it in, ‘and for a second, we only have reds up here, so we just call them squirrels.’

  Feeling foolish and a bit irritated by him spoiling the mood for her, Caro started up the Land Rover and carried on down the track.

  ‘Stop here!’ Murdo ordered a few moments later. ‘Down there we can see the cottage you’re using, right?’

  Caro looked and saw the sort of cottage she’d dreamt of staying in. Grey stone, slate roof, painted woodwork. ‘Oh yes! I hadn’t realised we were so near home.’

  ‘I took you round in a loop,’ said Murdo, pleased with himself.

  ‘So you have. I can see the main house now.’ She made a decision. ‘Actually, Murdo? Would you mind if I popped down to my cottage? I just want to get an extra cardigan.’

  ‘Well, don’t be long.’

  She ran, determined to steal a few moments inspecting her would-be home. Why couldn’t she stay in it? Heather had mentioned building work but there was no sign of scaffolding or ladders or anything like that. She walked all round it. There was a little garden at the back, mostly consisting of moss-covered boulders and low walls. Lichen hung from an old washing line as well as from the trees. It gave the impression of a garden under an enchantment, waiting for the spell to be broken so it would grow again. Caro realised it was probably just winter holding it back. Even at the end of April, spring was hardly apparent here – so late compared to the south of England.

  Knowing her time was limited, she peered in through the window, blocking out the light with her hands. In the sitting room all she could see was some furniture.

  She walked quickly round to the kitchen and peered in another window. No sign of any building or plumbing work, but where she’d have expected to see a dresser were shelves, and on the shelves were rows of small amber bottles that reminded Caro of a school laboratory. She resolved to come back and see what she could find out. Yes, it was being nosy, but she felt she had a right to know why she was deprived of this Highland gem.

  ‘Did you find your cardigan?’ asked Murdo, as Caro arrived back in the driving seat, panting hard from her uphill dash.

  ‘What? Oh, yes thank you.’

  ‘It’s just you seem not to have it with you.’

  He was blind! How could he see that? ‘No! Well, I washed it last night and it wasn’t quite dry.’

  ‘What sort of a damn fool thing is that to do?’ said Murdo. ‘Washing jumpers at night?’

  ‘I spilt something on it on the journey up here,’ said Caro crossly, irrationally annoyed at having her actions questioned even though she hadn’t actually performed them.

  ‘Give it to Heather to deal with. She’s good at those things.’

  ‘I’m sure Heather has more than enough to do without adding my washing to the list,’ she replied.

  ‘Don’t get snappy with me, missy!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Caro automatically although she was aware she mustn’t make a habit of apologising to Murdo. He wouldn’t respect her if she did. ‘Oh, look, there’s Alec. Is he waiting for us? Or should I take the Land Rover round the back?’

  ‘Let’s see what he wants. Good-for-nothing scoundrel.’

  As she pulled up in front of the big house, Caro noted there was more regret than censure in his tone.

  Alec came up to the driver’s side and Caro wound down the window.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Did you have a nice drive?’

  ‘Lovely!’ said Caro. ‘It’s so beautiful here. Murdo told me all the best places to stop to admire the view and I saw a red squirrel – squirrel I mean.’

  Alec frowned a little. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Murdo told me off for calling them red squirrels when it’s the only kind you have here,’ Caro explained. She found being near him a bit awkward.

  ‘We stopped at her cottage,’ said Murdo. ‘Caro wanted a cardigan.’

  Alec’s eyes opened in alarm.

  ‘But it was wet, so I didn’t pick it up,’ said Caro quickly. ‘The cardigan, I mean.’

  ‘Oh. That was a shame.’ Alec’s confusion was growing with every word.

  ‘Silly girl washed it,’ Murdo went on, apparently determined that Alec should know just how foolish she was.

  ‘I spilt something on it—’

  Before Caro could finish her sentence, Murdo interrupted her. ‘But she likes the cottage, don’t you?’

  ‘Very much,’ she said. Alec, she could see, was in agonies. ‘I’d better get Murdo inside.’

  Alec, who’d been leaning on the Land Rover, moved away, looking strangely at Caro. Had he now recognised her? she wondered. No – that wasn’t recognition in his eyes, it was discomfort. He was the reason she wasn’t sleeping in a dear little Highland cottage and she could see he felt guilty about it.

  ‘Maybe we can catch up later, Caro?’ said Alec. ‘I could show you a bit more of the estate.’

  Murdo gave a short laugh. ‘Didn’t know you were interested in it.’

  ‘No, but maybe Caro is,’ said Alec calmly. ‘And I do actually run it,’ he added sotto voce so Murdo wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Easy to be friendly when a pretty girl is involved,’ said Murdo.

  ‘Murdo! You keep telling me you’re practically blind. You have no idea if I’m pretty or not,’ said Caro crossly, feeling manipulated.

  ‘You have a very pretty voice, my dear,’ said Murdo. ‘And that’s half the battle.’

  Caro closed her eyes and sighed deeply. ‘Come on. We’d better get you inside.’

  She got down from the Land Rover, forgetting it was higher than ordinary cars, and nearly twisted her ankle. Alec caught her arm. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘My father is never going to even approach political correctness.’ There was a smile in his eyes that made up for a lot.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m used to old men like him.’

  Once he’d seen his father safely down, Alec said, ‘We’ll fix a time when we’re both free. Do you like walking?’

 
‘I think so,’ said Caro. She walked a lot in London but she realised it probably wasn’t the same as the walking he meant.

  ‘Got some walking boots?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I expect you can borrow some. Rowan’s got a couple of pairs, I know.’

  ‘OK,’ said Caro, suddenly breathless.

  ‘We’ll make a plan, then,’ said Alec.

  ‘OK,’ said Caro again, feeling more like a teenager than the confident adult she’d been before she arrived here.

  Caro and Murdo went in through the back door to be welcomed by Heather. ‘Good timing,’ she said. ‘I’m just making coffee. You two go through and make yourselves comfy by the fire.’

  Murdo had gone into the drawing room and Caro was waiting for the tray so she could spare Heather a job, when Rowan and her dog came in. The dog capered round the kitchen, legs flailing, skidding to a halt in front of Caro, wanting to be congratulated on his elegant performance.

  ‘Hello, Gally,’ Caro said, ‘what are you up to?’ She realised she had that very English characteristic where in some situations she found it easier to talk to animals than people. She could never have asked Rowan what she was up to. Fortunately Rowan volunteered the information.

  ‘We’re bored,’ she said with a shy smile.

  ‘Oh, well, come and talk to me and Murdo,’ said Caro. ‘Heather, I’ll take the coffee. No need for you to wait on me.’

  Caro sensed reluctance in Rowan and Heather obviously did too.

  ‘Murdo will have a wee nap after his coffee,’ said Heather. ‘If you like, you and Rowan can have a chat here. I’ll take him his coffee.’

  Although she was obviously quite shy, Rowan seemed happy with this suggestion and Caro realised that Heather was right when she’d suggested Rowan was a bit lonely. The estate was quite far away from civilisation and it wouldn’t be easy for her to have a real-life social life, as opposed to an online one. And Rowan didn’t really seem the type to have loads of cyber friends. Rowan was a lot less grown up than Posy had been at seventeen. Caro had always enjoyed young people, so she was pleased to have the chance to chat to her.

  ‘So, can I help with the boredom?’ she suggested. ‘It seems I’m off the hook for a bit.’

  Rowan sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you can. Unless you’re an art teacher.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Caro. ‘I got an A in my Art GCSE, if that helps.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rowan seemed genuinely interested. ‘It might, I suppose. I’ve been home educated but my mum – well, she’s funny about art.’

  Hoping she’d find out what this meant exactly, Caro kept her tone light. ‘Oh, well, I’m not an art teacher – nothing like – but my last job was in an artists’ supplies shop. I could advise you on materials with some expertise.’ She smiled to indicate she knew that knowing her way round an art shop probably wasn’t all that useful.

  Rowan laughed. ‘I’m fine for materials, thank you. My family are quite happy to give me wonderful boxes of watercolours or pastels, they just don’t want to find me a tutor or let me to go away to study.’ She bit her lip and turned away, as if she felt she’d said too much to someone she didn’t know.

  ‘Plenty of time for that, surely. Your grandfather told me last night that you’re seventeen?’

  ‘That’s right. And I’m quite old enough to go away to art college.’

  Caro nodded. ‘Old enough to think about it, certainly. I hope you don’t feel I’m prying, but I’ve got a daughter of twenty. I’ve been through all the “where do I want to go to uni?” questions.’

  Rowan seemed really interested. ‘And where did she go?’

  ‘She didn’t in the end. She got a great job working for a local artist and now she’s gone to see her dad in Australia.’

  ‘Goodness! How do you feel about that?’

  Caro shrugged, touched that Rowan realised this wasn’t as easy for Caro as it sounded. ‘OK, actually. I miss her, of course. She was living with me on my barge in London – but it was the right thing for her to be doing.’ Caro laughed. ‘She was worried about leaving me, though.’

  ‘She thought she’d miss you? Be homesick? That’s what everyone tells me I’ll feel. Well, Mum does.’

  ‘Not at all! She was worried about how I’d cope without her to look after me. One of the reasons I took this job was so she could go and not think about me pining on my own on the barge.’

  Rowan sat down at the kitchen table and rested her chin in her hands. She reminded Caro of Gally, who was now eating something at their feet. They were both long-legged, a bit gangly, but with a natural grace that was very charming.

  ‘The barge sounds great!’ said Rowan. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Caro was always a bit surprised at how interested everyone was in the barge. She’d lived on boats all her life and so didn’t find them particularly exciting. She loved her home and wouldn’t consider moving ashore even if she could have afforded to, but it was just a home to her.

  ‘Well, it’s quite large. Not huge for a barge but far bigger than a narrow boat.’ She realised Rowan didn’t know what a narrow boat was. ‘I’ve got some pictures on my laptop. Shall I pop and get it to show you?’

  Rowan nodded. ‘I’ll go and get some of my pictures too, if you’d like to see.’

  ‘I’d really love that!’ Caro replied. ‘I’m a bit out of my depth here at the moment but I do know a good picture from a bad one and would be thrilled to see your stuff.’

  ‘Supposing you think it’s bad?’

  But Rowan had an air of mischief about her, a confidence, that told Caro that she wouldn’t think that about her pictures.

  Back in the kitchen half an hour later, Rowan and Caro had started what Caro described as their ‘show and tell’. Rowan was finding pictures of the barge intriguing. ‘I can’t believe there’s so much space on a boat!’ she kept saying. ‘And a garden on top.’

  ‘It’s not really a garden. Just herbs in pots, mostly, and a bit of trellis so I can sit up there with a glass of wine and not have to say hello to everyone. Although I do – say hello to them, I mean. The moorings are very sociable, like a little village.’

  ‘And what’s happened to the barge now you’re here? Will it be OK?’

  ‘I’ve got a friend living on it. Suits him, and it suits me. He was there before Posy and I left and he may well stay after I get back. He’s used to boats and they don’t like standing empty, really.’

  ‘It looks amazing! I’d love to see it!’

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t come and stay when I’m back on it.’

  ‘I’d love that, if I’m allowed. I’ve never been to London.’ Rowan sighed. ‘And at this rate I’ll never get to go.’

  ‘It’s one thing wanting to leave home to live in the Big City, but going to stay with a friend would probably be fine.’ Caro didn’t know this for a fact but surely it wasn’t unreasonable? ‘What is it you really want to do in London?’

  ‘Go to art college? Is that asking too much?’

  Caro could tell Rowan had asked this question before, probably many times. ‘Well, I suppose that depends. London isn’t the cheapest place to be a student.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to show me your pictures?’

  Rowan sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

  She had arrived back in the kitchen with an old portfolio, tied together with fraying ribbon, but she’d kept this down beside her chair, apparently reluctant to show Caro the contents.

  ‘Let’s see then!’

  Rowan lifted the folder and put it on the table. ‘Help yourself,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and check on Murdo.’ She didn’t want to be present while Caro looked, that was obvious.

  Caro untied the strings. Inside was quite a large body of work. There were watercolours – views mostly – and as good as many a painting in a gallery. Then there were pencil studies, of flowers, birds, a pair of squirrels on a branch. There were also pencil sketches of people, obviously swiftly drawn but recognisable. There was Mur
do, asleep in his chair, hands folded over his tweed-covered stomach. Heather’s hands, obviously making pastry; several of Gally, his head, his folded paws, him lying on his back.

  The last sheet was covered in small drawings. It was obviously where she made little doodles, just for fun. There was a pair of old boots, all the creases visible, a close-up of a thistle, a pair of kippers, sides of salmon, obviously freshly smoked. Then Caro noticed a picture of a row of little bottles with dropper tops. An electronic scale. A sheet of paper with a pencil. She couldn’t read what was on it but it seemed like a list, with calculations beside it. Was this sketch done in the back room of the cottage? she wondered. And if it was, what was going on? Surely it wasn’t some sort of drugs factory? Her heart beat faster suddenly. She was overreacting, she knew she was, but if it was perfectly innocent, why couldn’t someone just explain why she couldn’t stay in the cottage?

  Chapter Three

  The back door opened and the noise made Caro jump. She turned and saw Alec and she was startled all over again. ‘I was just looking at Rowan’s pictures,’ she said, sounding as guilty as she felt. ‘They’re very good, aren’t they?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Alec, sounding stressed and hurried rather than the proud father. ‘When would you be free to come exploring with me?’

  ‘Alec, are you so desperate to show me the beauties of Glen Liddell or do you want to talk to me privately? Because you could just do that now.’

  He laughed and frowned at the same time. ‘You’re very upfront!’

  ‘No point in not being. I would absolutely love to explore this beautiful place, but I don’t want to do it with someone who’d rather be doing something else.’

  Caro was proud of herself for sounding so nonchalant while underneath she was desperate for him to remember her.

  ‘I’m assuming you want me to explain why you can’t use the cottage when there’s obviously no building work going on,’ he said, frowning some more.