‘Good evening,’ he said, nodding back.
She motioned to a room to the left of the hallway and Cape walked in to a great fire which was doing its best to keep the cold January night at bay. There were three large sofas and a coffee table in the middle which had been laid with cups, two teapots and a plate of biscuits.
It was the first time Cape had been in this part of the house and he looked around the room now, studying the landscape paintings on the wall, the large ornate mantel clock which ticked quietly, and the fat blue-and-white china bowls on a fancy sideboard. It was all so different from his own farmer’s cottage with the simple pieces of furniture he’d inherited from his father, and he suddenly felt out of place. He was definitely more at home in the garden of Morton Hall, he reasoned, helping himself to a chocolate biscuit from the table.
Anne Marie was next to arrive and he was pleased to see her friendly face.
‘How are you?’ he asked her.
‘I’m good.’
‘Ready for all this?’
‘I’m not sure what to expect,’ she confessed.
‘I don’t think any of us are, but the chocolate biscuits are good.’ He nodded towards the plate, but something else had caught Anne Marie’s eye.
‘Look at that painting,’ she said.
‘Oh, wow!’ Cape said. He hadn’t spotted it before. ‘It’s the maze.’
They crossed the room and stood looking at the beautifully framed watercolour which featured a young woman in a midnight-blue gown standing at the centre of the maze.
‘It’s the red-haired woman,’ Anne Marie said. ‘She’s even wearing the same dress.’
‘Like in the painting upstairs?’
Anne Marie gave him a nudge with her elbow as Mrs Beatty walked into the room.
‘Mrs Beatty?’ Cape said. ‘Any idea how old this painting is?’
She frowned at being asked such a question. ‘I’m a housekeeper not an art historian,’ she told him and then left the room again as more people arrived.
Cape gave a disgruntled laugh. ‘I was only asking.’
‘Maybe she’s not a fan of art,’ Anne Marie said.
‘Could you really work in a place like this and not be? I mean, she must dust these things. How could you not come to love them and know about them?’
‘Well, there are quite a lot of things to dust in a place like this. I don’t think you’d have time to coo over them all.’
‘Good point,’ Cape said, his eyes wandering around the room again.
‘It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?’ Anne Marie said. ‘A real Arts and Crafts interior. Everything is handmade and individual. I love the tiles around the fireplace. I think they’re William De Morgan.’
They walked back to the fireplace together and looked at the deep-blue flowers and rich-green leaves painted on the tiles that shimmered in the firelight.
‘I think that’s a De Morgan plate over there too,’ Anne Marie told him. ‘The one with the deep red-and-gold lustre and the curving dragon.’
‘Wow, it’s lovely,’ he said, noticing it for the first time.
‘I’d hate to be responsible for keeping all these treasures clean,’ Anne Marie said. ‘Mrs Beatty has a nerve-wracking job.’
‘At least a hedge grows back if you cut into it too much,’ Cape said.
The room was suddenly beginning to fill up as the rest of the guests assembled. Cape couldn’t help wishing that he and Anne Marie could have it to themselves for a little while longer. He liked talking to her. She was one of those people who was easy to chat to and always had something interesting to say. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed talking to Renee and that made him feel just dreadful. They seemed to do nothing but fight these days or else talk at each other, never making a meaningful connection. It was sad and he couldn’t help wondering when things had started to break down between them. Was it since they’d moved out to the cottage just five years ago?
Before that, they’d lived in Oxford in a small terrace with a courtyard garden. It had driven Cape nuts not having a decent-sized garden of his own and it had been his idea to move out of town and find something a bit bigger with room to breathe. Renee hadn’t been keen. She’d liked being near the centre of everything but, with Poppy growing up, he’d managed to persuade Renee that a garden would be beneficial. She hadn’t put up much of a fight, it had to be said, but she was spending more and more time in Oxford these days, hanging around after work to go to the pub with friends or venturing back into town during the evenings, leaving him to pick Poppy up from school and cook for her. Except tonight. When Cape had told Renee that he had a meeting at Morton Hall, she’d rolled her eyes at him.
‘You’re married to that place,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps I should have married you and then you’d spend more time with me.’
Her words struck him deeply as he remembered proposing to her when she discovered she was pregnant with Poppy. He’d been going to pop the question anyway, but the imminent arrival of their child had made him even more anxious to seal their union. But she’d said no. She hadn’t wanted to get married. She wasn’t the sort of girl to need a ring on her finger or a piece of paper to be filed away. Cape had been surprised. He was an old-fashioned guy, but there was no point trying to force her to do something she didn’t want to do, and so the matter had been dropped between them. Poppy had been born and they’d seemed perfectly content. Until now. Until this California business which had really driven a wedge between them. But perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps California was just a symptom of something much bigger that was happening to them.
Cape tried to shake the matter from his head. This evening wasn’t about him and Renee. It was about the future of Morton Hall and he wanted to concentrate on that. Indeed, it was a relief for him to be able to focus on something other than his disintegrating relationship.
As the room filled, Mrs Beatty took control, taking coats and guiding people towards the coffee table.
As in the solicitors’ office in Henley-on-Thames, there were seven of them gathered and Cape watched his new companions. The man he remembered as Patrick Everard did not look happy. So no change there, Cape thought. The young blonde woman was staring around the room open-mouthed in wonder while the older man was nervously looking down at the boots he was wearing as if fearful they might damage the elaborately patterned rug they were all standing on. The two other women were making small talk as they poured their tea and Anne Marie was staring at another of the room’s magnificent paintings. Everyone, it seemed, felt awkward about being there.
‘Coming out on a cold winter’s night after a long day’s work is not my idea of fun,’ Patrick announced to nobody in particular. He was now standing with his back to the fire and completely blocking it from everybody else. ‘And I hope this isn’t going to take long. I’ve left my boys with a bone-head of a babysitter who I’m sure was eyeing up my wine cabinet.’
Cape did his best to hide a smile because he couldn’t tell if Patrick was trying to be amusing or not.
Mrs Beatty gave Mr Everard a glare which clearly told him his remarks weren’t welcome and then cleared her throat, waiting until she was quite sure that she had everybody’s attention.
‘I’m Mrs Beatty,’ she began. ‘I’m the housekeeper here at Morton Hall and I thought it best if we met here tonight so you could all get to know each other and work out how you want to move forward. I don’t have a lot to say, but I wanted to make it clear that I will be here at all times to keep an eye on everything. It’s what Miss Morton wanted. I have been working for the family since 1980, taking care of the house, and that isn’t going to change. I will not be playing an active role in the jobs you have to do here. I’ll be more of an adviser, if you need one. Please help yourself to tea but, once those biscuits have gone, that’s it.’ She gave a little nod of her head as she left the room.
‘Well,’ Cape said, ‘that’s put us in our places, hasn’t it?’
‘A friend
ly soul, isn’t she?’ Patrick said.
‘Shush! She’ll hear you!’ Anne Marie said.
‘I reckon she’s got this room bugged anyway so she can hear what we all talk about.’
‘So, where do we begin, then?’ the eldest woman in the group asked as everybody found a seat by the fire.
‘I think we all need to introduce ourselves,’ Cape suggested, ‘and perhaps say a little about our backgrounds and what we all think we can bring to this project. Anyone want to start?’
The older man who’d been examining his boots before raised a hand. As well as his big workman’s boots, he was wearing corduroy trousers and a tweed jacket. His dark hair was slightly silvered and he had the sort of face that looked as if it spent ninety per cent of its time in the great outdoors.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘I’m Mac Minter. Been a gardener all my life, working all over the Chilterns.’
Cape’s eyebrows rose. ‘I can’t believe we’ve never met.’
‘I don’t advertise,’ Mac said. ‘Been word of mouth for the past twenty years.’
‘So you’d be able to fit the garden here into your timetable?’ Cape asked.
‘Don’t see why not,’ Mac said. ‘I can do the usual things in a garden. I’ve got access to a digger and I can do a bit of hard landscaping, but I’m not so good at all that designing stuff. Not my thing that.’
‘Well, I think we’re very lucky to have you on board, Mac,’ Cape said, watching as Mac took a sip of his tea and looked down at his boots again. It was the older woman to his right who spoke next.
‘I’m Dorothy Cloudsley and I really don’t know why I’m here,’ she said with a nervous laugh.
‘Join the club,’ Patrick said.
She smiled. She had a lovely open face with rosy cheeks and her hair was an astonishing silver-white, worn down to her shoulders.
‘I’ve lived in Parvington all my life,’ she went on. ‘I was married to Derek Cloudsley whom some of you might know from the horticultural show. He used to win the Bower’s cup most years for his garden box.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember,’ Anne Marie said. ‘I was once silly enough to go up against him with my tomatoes. That taught me!’
Dorothy smiled at that. ‘He died a couple of years ago.’
The group muttered its sympathies.
‘And that’s it, really. That’s me. I have two grown-up daughters, but they both lead their own lives so it’s just me most of the time. I love gardening and I’m happy to do anything I can here. My back’s not what it once was, but I don’t shirk from hard work.’
‘Thanks, Dorothy, I’m sure you’ll be a great help,’ Cape said, nodding to the woman sitting next to her.
‘Me?’ she said in alarm, her hand flying to her chest. ‘Okay. Well, I’m Kathleen Cardy. I used to run a bed and breakfast in the village. In the thatched cottage where the fire was.’
‘That was your place?’ Dorothy asked.
Kathleen nodded. ‘I haven’t managed to get the business up and running since the fire. I’ve kind of . . .’ She paused. ‘. . . lost my way. So maybe this gardening thing will give me some sort of structure to my life again. I don’t know. I might not see it through. I’m not very good with plants. I try to grow evergreens and other safe things. So I might be more of a hindrance here.’
‘I’m sure you won’t be,’ Cape told her.
‘I’m still a bit shocked by all of this,’ she continued. ‘I’m not really—’
‘You’re not the only one,’ Patrick said, shaking his head, his expression still glum.
Kathleen glanced at him and frowned, obviously displeased at being interrupted.
Cape cleared his throat and turned to the other sofa where the youngest member of their group was sitting, her slender hands wrapped around her cup of tea. She was pretty with short blonde hair and large hazel eyes and was wearing a woollen jacket, a long scarf in pink-and-blue swirls and a large pair of silver hoop earrings.
‘I’m Erin Hartley,’ she began with a hesitant smile. ‘I’ve just graduated. I’ve got a degree in art history.’
‘Didn’t I read about you in the local paper?’ Dorothy asked.
‘Yeah, you might have done,’ Erin said. ‘Mum kept ringing them up until they wrote about me.’ A sweet blush coloured her face.
‘Congratulations, my dear,’ Dorothy said.
‘Thank you.’
‘And what have you been doing since graduating?’ Cape asked.
‘Well, I’ve been toying with taking a trip to Italy to see Florence and Rome, but it’s a bit expensive really, so I’ve been doing volunteer work at the Ashmolean in Oxford and working part-time in the museum shop.’
‘You’ve got a degree and you’re working in a shop?’ Patrick said.
Erin shrugged. ‘It’s experience. Nobody wants you without experience.’
Patrick shook his head as if in despair.
‘We all need to start somewhere and you’re in a really great place there,’ Cape said, doing his best to quash Patrick’s thoughtless remark.
‘Well, I’m Patrick Everard,’ Patrick said with a sigh as if it were a very great effort just to speak his name. ‘And I’ve never gardened in my life.’
‘Then it’ll be a challenge,’ Cape told him, ‘but not an unpleasant one, I hope.’
‘Yeah, well that remains to be seen.’
‘And what do you do?’ Dorothy asked him from the other sofa.
‘I’m in IT at a company in Oxford. You won’t have heard of them.’
‘Oh,’ Dorothy said. ‘And you have a wife? Children?’
‘Two boys. No wife. She – er – went.’
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room only broken by the crackle of a log on the fire.
‘Well, I’m Anne Marie.’
Everybody turned to face her and Cape was glad she’d taken the initiative to draw attention away from Patrick, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable after his unexpected revelation.
‘I’m a freelance editor,’ Anne Marie went on. ‘I work from home and I used to . . . that is . . .’ She paused and looked at Cape.
‘Tell them,’ he said, immediately knowing what she was going to say.
Anne Marie took a deep breath. ‘I used to walk around the gardens here. Well, the deserted part – the walled garden. I didn’t think anyone would see me there, but Cape knew, didn’t you?’
‘I had an idea,’ he said, giving her a smile for her bravery in confessing.
‘I can’t explain it, but I was drawn to this place. It made me feel calm. I love how a garden can do that – even one that’s neglected and unloved. There’s still something special about it. You don’t have to do anything to it or in it. You just have to be still for a while and watch it, breathe it all in.’ She stopped and then bit her lip. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling.’
‘Not at all!’ Dorothy said, leaning forward on the sofa. ‘That was so beautifully put. Inspiring too.’
‘And she’s right,’ Cape said. ‘Gardens are special places and the one here at Morton Hall is one of the most special I’ve ever seen. I really think we can make something of it.’
‘And who are you?’ Patrick asked.
‘Ah, yes!’ Cape said, suddenly realising that he hadn’t introduced himself yet. ‘I’m Cape Colman and I’m a gardener and garden designer. I’ve been working here at Morton Hall part-time for five years. I’m responsible for keeping the maze and the topiary in good condition and the borders and driveway at the front of the house. That’s it really, but I love this place and will do everything I can to see that it’s restored to its former glory. The walled garden desperately needs attention. It’ll be a lot of work, but I think it’s something that would be worthwhile for us and the community.’
‘It seems we’re lucky to have you on board,’ Dorothy said. ‘I think the rest of us are struggling to process all this and to know where to begin.’
‘Well, it’s not going to be easy,’ Cape said. ‘If we
get a mild winter, which looks likely, we could make good progress. I think it’s just a case of getting organised.’
‘We need a spokesperson,’ Kathleen said. ‘Somebody to rally us.’
‘I’m nominating Cape,’ Dorothy said, gesturing towards him. ‘He knows this garden. I think we’ll be in safe hands if he’s in charge and guides us through this.’
Several people nodded.
‘Are you sure?’ Cape said. ‘I mean, I don’t mind, but I’m happy to share the role or—’
‘I think we need one person for this,’ Dorothy said. ‘Does anyone remember when we tried to set up a committee for the village show? The bickering and backstabbing it caused. In the end, Edwin Steer stepped forward, taking on the role all by himself and it’s been running smoothly ever since. It’s a lot of work, but he does it quietly and well. Committees cause chaos as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Well, we will be a sort of committee here. We’ll have to make decisions together,’ Cape said.
‘But we’ll listen to you and your experience,’ Dorothy said.
‘I agree,’ Kathleen said. ‘My fingers are so not green. I wouldn’t trust me to make any sort of big decision when it comes to gardening.’
‘What about time? How are we going to decide who does what and when? I’ve not exactly got spare hours spilling out of my pockets,’ Patrick told the group.
‘Yes, of course,’ Cape said. ‘We’re starting at the worst time of year with the shortest daylight hours which only really leaves weekends for those of us with full-time jobs, doesn’t it?’
‘Great,’ Patrick said. ‘Just what I want to be doing with my weekends – up to my knees in some cold muddy garden.’
Kathleen gasped at this statement. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked Patrick.
‘Pardon?’ he said.
‘Why are you here when you’ve clearly no interest in this project at all?’
‘Because I’ve been summoned, lady, that’s why,’ he said. ‘I’m not here by choice!’
Cape raised a hand. He’d expected that a group of strangers might have disagreements over the course of this project, but he hadn’t expected them to come so soon.
The Heart of the Garden Page 10