The Heart of the Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  Cape looked up. The young woman who’d just taken a seat was watching him and the red-haired woman now. She looked to be in her early twenties and had short blonde hair and was wearing a long black coat and biker boots.

  ‘Can I see your letter?’ she asked.

  The red-haired woman passed the letter to her and she took a moment to read it.

  ‘It’s the same as mine,’ she announced, her forehead wrinkling in consternation.

  ‘And mine,’ Cape said.

  ‘We’re all here to see Mr Mander?’ the red-haired woman asked, her voice louder now, causing the others in the reception to look up.

  Mr Everard sat forward on his seat. ‘You all get one of these letters about Emilia Morton?’

  The woman he’d walked in with nodded, as did the older man and woman who’d arrived afterwards.

  Mr Everard shook his head as if in annoyance. ‘What’s this all about?’ he demanded, standing up and walking towards the reception desk. ‘Why are we all here?’

  ‘Mr Everard,’ the receptionist began, ‘please take a seat. Mr Mander will be with you shortly and he’ll explain everything then.’

  Looking somewhat appeased, Mr Everard returned to his seat.

  ‘This is getting stranger by the minute,’ Cape said to the red-haired woman.

  ‘I wonder what’s going on,’ she replied.

  At that, a man in a dark-navy suit entered the reception.

  ‘I think we’re about to find out,’ Cape said.

  ‘Good morning, everyone. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gabriel Mander. If you’d like to follow me.’

  The seven of them were ushered down a corridor lined with framed certificates and then into a meeting room with a large pale table surrounded by a dozen chairs. There was a huge sash window which looked out over the Thames, but it wasn’t the river Cape was interested in as he sat down next to the red-haired woman; he was anxious to hear what Mr Mander had to say.

  Tea and coffee were passed around and Mr Mander sat himself down at the head of the table, a neat folder in front of him.

  ‘Okay, we’ll get straight down to it. This is a rather unusual piece of business,’ he began, his hands flat on the table before him. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t go into any detail in the letter sent out to you all, but this really needed to be explained and discussed in person.’

  ‘Please proceed,’ Mr Everard said unnecessarily.

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘My client – my former client – Emilia Morton of Morton Hall, Parvington, has instructed me to let you know that her house and garden have been left to the village of Parvington. This is to include all contents of the house and monies. The entire Morton estate.’ He paused as if waiting for some kind of reaction. Cape, for one, felt breathless at this piece of news.

  ‘But that’s crazy.’ Mr Everard was the first to speak. ‘None of us knew her. Did we?’ He looked around the table.

  ‘I never even saw her,’ the young blonde-haired woman said. ‘She was some kind of recluse, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Why would she leave the house to us? It doesn’t make any sense,’ Mr Everard continued.

  ‘Well, I’ve just been instructed to tell you her wishes,’ Mr Mander explained. ‘I don’t have the reasons behind them, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What’s it all worth?’ Mr Everard asked.

  ‘Again, I don’t have that information. You would have to get an estate agent to value the property and grounds. The contents are a different matter entirely. I believe there is a sizeable art collection. Nothing, however, is to be sold. As I mentioned, everything is to be left to the community as a whole.’

  ‘But what do we do with it all?’ the red-haired woman asked.

  ‘That, again, is to be determined by yourselves. Miss Morton, I believe, chose you all very specifically, believing that your different backgrounds and skills would help you make the right decisions going forward.’

  Cape looked at his companions around the table. This was the most bizarre situation he’d ever found himself in. Did Mrs Beatty know about this? Did she know who had been chosen for this odd task and, indeed, had she played a part in choosing them? And what was her role to be, he wondered? And was his own role merely to continue cutting the hedges? There were so many questions circling his brain that he couldn’t even begin to guess the answers.

  ‘So the house is to be owned by the community in perpetuity?’ a mature woman whom Cape hadn’t really noticed asked now.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Mander said. ‘Initially, your role will be to restore the house and garden.’

  ‘The whole of the garden?’ Cape asked, thinking of the jungle beyond the part he tended.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s quite a job,’ Cape said.

  ‘And there will be a small salary for each person for the time they spend at the garden. Miss Morton was adamant that nobody should be out of pocket, and there is a fund set up to pay for any equipment needed,’ Mr Mander said. ‘The terms of the will state that the house and garden will belong to the community once a full calendar year has passed from today’s date. During that time, each volunteer must contribute at least five hours a week to the project. Once the year is over, a trust fund will be in place to cover annual costs of the hall and garden.’

  ‘And when does that run out?’ Mr Everard asked.

  ‘It won’t run out in your lifetime,’ Mr Mander said. ‘The Morton fortune is pretty sizeable, but there is a limit to how much money is to be released each year. The idea is that, in the long term, the community will work together to make the hall pay for itself.’

  ‘To run it as a business?’ the mature woman asked.

  ‘That, I think, was Miss Morton’s idea.’

  ‘She expects us to give up our jobs?’

  ‘That decision would be yours,’ Mr Mander said.

  Silence fell for a moment as everyone weighed up the information they’d been given.

  Mr Everard groaned. ‘I really haven’t got time for this. It’s just the sick mind games of a lonely old woman.’

  Cape frowned at the angry words. ‘I think she meant to be totally sincere with this gift.’

  ‘Look,’ Mr Mander interrupted, ‘this is a lot to take in and you don’t have to make any decisions today, although it’s suggested that you form a committee to organise things.’

  ‘Great,’ Mr Everard said. ‘I just love committees.’

  ‘That way, you’ll all know what you’re doing. Miss Morton has provided you a list of all your contact details which you have in the envelopes being passed around now.’

  ‘How did she get our details?’ Mr Everard asked.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Cape asked.

  ‘I’d like to know,’ Mr Everard said. ‘She didn’t know me. I never had anything to do with her or her family and all of a sudden I’m involved in this crazy scheme!’

  ‘Well, I think it’s an amazing opportunity we’ve been given here,’ the red-haired woman said. ‘I’ve seen the garden and it has enormous potential for our community.’

  Cape nodded. ‘I’ve been working in the garden for several years now, and I agree. We’ve got to try to make this work.’

  Everybody seemed to be considering this when Mr Mander spoke again.

  ‘Now, it’s not my position to advise you, but I’d take this information away with you and just think about it for a while. Visit the garden, look at the house. Mrs Beatty’s details are written down for you here. She’s the housekeeper and will show you around if you make an appointment. She’s suggested that you meet there early next week.’

  Mr Everard muttered something under his breath.

  ‘Was there something you wanted to say?’ Mr Mander asked him.

  ‘I feel like a pawn in a really warped game,’ he confessed. ‘There’s something distinctly off about all this, don’t you think?’

  ‘Off, how?’

  ‘I don’t know – weird. Like something Miss Havisham from Great Expectations might dream up. Hey! We�
��re not being filmed, are we?’ he asked, suddenly looking around the room. A few other heads turned in alarm too.

  ‘No, you’re not being filmed,’ Mr Mander assured him.

  ‘Because I won’t be messed around with.’ He got up from the table and was about to leave when Mr Mander stopped him.

  ‘Take this, please.’ He handed him a manila envelope. ‘Read it and get in touch if you have any questions.’

  ‘Questions you can’t answer, you mean. Like why the hell this old biddy left her fortune to a bunch of strangers?’

  ‘I’ll do my best to help,’ Mr Mander assured him, and Cape watched as Mr Everard left the room.

  ‘I have a question,’ the young blonde woman piped up, looking unsure of herself.

  ‘Miss Hartley, isn’t it?’

  She nodded, and Cape saw her swallow hard before she spoke. ‘Was she alone? I mean, was Miss Morton alone when she died?’

  Everyone at the table turned to face the young woman, their eyes filled with concentration and a sudden compassion, as if they’d not yet thought of Miss Morton as a real person until now.

  ‘I – erm – I believe her housekeeper was with her,’ Mr Mander said.

  ‘Good,’ the young woman said. ‘It would be awful if she was alone, wouldn’t it?’

  The mature woman looked a little uneasy and shifted in her chair and, when Cape glanced at the red-haired woman, he swore he could see tears swimming in her brown eyes.

  Mr Mander cleared his throat. ‘Any other questions before we wind things up?’

  Everyone looked too dumbstruck by what had passed to think of anything to say and they began to get up, taking their manila envelopes and picking up their bags and coats before leaving the building.

  ‘Hey,’ Cape said as he held the door open for the red-haired woman. ‘You want to grab a drink somewhere?’

  She looked at him, obviously surprised by his question. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘I’m Cape,’ he said. ‘I’m the gardener at Morton Hall and, well, I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit dazzled by all this. I’d really appreciate talking to someone right now.’

  She nodded hesitantly. ‘I’m Anne Marie.’

  They shook hands and then moved onto the pavement as somebody tried to get out of the door behind them.

  ‘Okay,’ she said in a little voice. ‘Let’s get a drink.’

  ‘There’s a cafe just up ahead,’ he told her and she nodded.

  The two of them walked in silence up the road, mingling with the shoppers as a cold wind did its best to pummel them.

  The cafe was busy, but they spotted a table towards the back and sat down as the waitress cleared it, shedding their coats and scarves before ordering: Cape a coffee and Anne Marie a chamomile tea.

  ‘To calm my nerves,’ she said with a hollow laugh.

  ‘This is a very unusual situation, don’t you think?’ Cape asked after they’d been served their drinks.

  She nodded. ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘I worked for her, but I never met her.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit odd?’

  Cape gave a little smile. ‘I always thought so, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I tried to meet her once – not long before she died – but the housekeeper turfed me out. My place was the garden and I never saw Miss Morton there, although I hoped that I would one day.’

  ‘I wonder what she was like,’ Anne Marie said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘Nobody seems to know.’

  ‘She wasn’t very old,’ Cape said. ‘Just fifty-four, the papers said. I thought she was much older. Mrs Beatty always said she was fragile and was very protective of her. I think the two of them had been together for years. But I was imagining this really ancient lady confined to her house.’

  ‘You say you never saw her in the garden?’ Anne Marie asked.

  ‘That’s right, but I know she went out into it. I found a scarf of hers in the maze one day.’ Cape ran a hand through his hair. ‘I wish I’d had the chance to speak to her. Especially now, after what she’s done for us.’

  ‘Why do you suppose she’s done this?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t have any family, did she?’ Cape said.

  ‘But to leave the place to a group of strangers. Isn’t that odd?’

  ‘What else could she have done with the place?’

  ‘Given it to the National Trust or something?’ Anne Marie suggested.

  Cape took a sip of his coffee, which was good and strong and just what he needed, and noticed a slim gold wedding ring on Anne Marie’s left hand, nestled next to an engagement ring. So she was married, he thought, realising that this strange set of people Miss Morton had thrown together knew absolutely nothing about each other.

  ‘What do you know about the others?’ he asked.

  ‘Not much,’ Anne Marie confessed. She pushed her hair out of her face and frowned, as if trying to recall the group that had sat around the table in the solicitors’. ‘There’s Kathleen Cardy.’

  ‘Which one was she?’

  ‘The woman with the neat dark hair and the bright-red lipstick,’ Anne Marie said.

  Cape nodded as he remembered.

  ‘She lives in one of the thatched cottages in the village. The one that caught fire last year. Half her house burnt down. It was so sad. I think she lost a lot of stuff.’

  ‘God, that’s awful.’

  ‘It takes some getting over,’ Anne Marie said. ‘And she was running a small bed and breakfast from there too. I’m not sure how she coped while it was all being repaired. There’s still workmen in today. I see their vans when I go by.’

  ‘Is she on her own?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘That’s a lot to cope with.’

  ‘Yes, it must be,’ Anne Marie said, shaking her head.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was just thinking how awful it is of me for never asking how she’s doing. I mean, she’s practically a neighbour and yet I’ve never spoken to her. I just read about her in the paper and never thought to reach out to her. Oh, God, I feel terrible now.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Cape told her. ‘We all lock ourselves away in our own worlds. Maybe you’ll get a chance to talk to her now.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Anne Marie said.

  ‘So what do you know about Mr Everard other than that he’s very vocal?’

  Anne Marie gave a tiny smile. ‘His name’s Patrick and rumour has it that his wife left him. Just upped and went one night. He woke up and she was gone. There was a note, I hear, saying something like “Don’t try to find me”. He’s got two young sons he’s bringing up on his own.’

  ‘No wonder he said he hadn’t got time for any of this. Is he in Parvington too?’

  ‘Yes. Aren’t you?’

  ‘No. Bixley Common.’

  ‘It’s nice out there.’

  ‘Yes. Good and remote. I like the countryside and the footpaths. But I think I might be the only one not from the village,’ he said.

  ‘But you were Miss Morton’s gardener. She must have thought highly of you. An honorary villager, perhaps.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps.’

  Anne Marie suddenly smiled. ‘I didn’t quite catch your name. Caleb, was it?’

  ‘Erm, no. It’s Cape.’

  ‘Cape?’

  He smirked. He was used to this sort of interrogation when people first met him.

  ‘C. A. P. E. Cape.’

  ‘Cape.’ Anne Marie said the name again. ‘That’s – well – unusual.’

  He shifted his boots under the table and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yep,’ he agreed. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Is it short for something?’

  There was no point hiding the truth from her so he cleared his throat.

  ‘My dad was a Lancelot “Capability” Brown nut. We used to spend almost every weekend visiting gardens designed by him. I loved it, but I wish he’d been half-sensible and called me Lancelot. I would’ve got Lance for short
then. That’s not a bad name, is it? But saddling me with Capability. I was ribbed mercilessly at school. It was a nightmare!’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘And you’re Anne Marie . . .’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It’s a pretty name,’ he said, noticing the way she cast her eyes down and started circling the rim of her teacup with her finger. ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said.

  He watched her for a moment, biding his time.

  ‘You visit the garden, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’ She looked up, her brown eyes wide.

  ‘I’ve seen you there.’

  Her lips parted as if she were about to deny it, but then she nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass.’

  ‘Don’t apologise.’

  ‘I didn’t know anyone knew. I never meant to disturb you.’

  ‘You didn’t disturb me.’

  ‘I only ever went to the part of the garden that wasn’t used.’

  ‘I know,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked anxious and Cape was desperate to put her at ease.

  ‘I’m glad you came. There’s only one thing that bugged me.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Why didn’t you ever say hello?’

  ‘To you?’

  ‘Absolutely to me!’ He gave a laugh.

  ‘But I didn’t know you’d seen me. Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘Because I got the feeling you wanted to be alone.’

  She didn’t deny it. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Really, you don’t need to apologise.’

  ‘I had no right to be there.’

  ‘I think it’s nice that you visited the garden. Gardens are meant to be enjoyed and it always struck me that the grounds at Morton Hall were completely wasted.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I couldn’t believe somebody would own such a place and let the garden get so overgrown. I once brought a pair of secateurs with me to snip around my favourite bench.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I often sit there myself.’

  ‘Why is that part of the garden never touched?’

  ‘That’s a question I’ve asked a hundred times,’ Cape said.

  ‘It’s such a shame. It could be so productive. The greenhouse, the walled garden—’