The Heart of the Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘This situation is going to take a bit of getting used to,’ Cape said as calmly as he could. He wasn’t used to managing people and was finding it an alarming experience, which was worrying considering he’d only been given the role five minutes ago. ‘We need to establish who’s available when, and who we’d like to work with, perhaps, and what our individual skills are. Maybe some of us would be best suited to certain jobs. We’ll work all that out over the coming weeks. To begin with, I think it would be a good idea if there were at least two of us on site at any one time and, maybe over these next few wintry weeks, we could all arrange to come during the weekends.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ Dorothy said. ‘Or any time really. I’m retired now so I’m free apart from Tuesday mornings when I attempt to keep fit in the village hall and Thursday evenings which is WI.’

  Cape noticed that Patrick rolled his eyes at that comment.

  ‘So we’re all good for the weekends?’

  Everybody nodded.

  ‘Not too early, though!’ Erin begged. ‘Friday night is kind of – busy.’

  ‘Ah, I remember those days of being young and carefree,’ Patrick said. ‘The biggest decision you’d have to make on a Friday night was which pub to go to next.’

  Erin glared at him. ‘Actually I babysit on a Friday night,’ she said. ‘For somebody else who likes to go to the pub.’

  Kathleen giggled and Cape couldn’t help grinning. Patrick seemed very good at riling people, Cape thought.

  ‘I’d suggest what we need to do first is clear the walled garden,’ Cape said. ‘It’s a big space and it’s completely overgrown. We can’t do anything until all the grass, weeds and thistles are gone.’

  Mac Minter cleared his throat. ‘I can bring a digger to clear the land.’

  Cape’s eyebrows rose. ‘You can? This weekend?’

  Mac nodded. ‘No problem.’

  ‘That would make a really good start.’

  ‘Eight o’clock too early? I – er – get up early.’

  ‘I’ll see you then.’

  ‘I can join you for about ten,’ Erin said. ‘If that’s okay?’

  ‘Can I bring my boys?’ Patrick asked.

  Cape was surprised by his question, but it didn’t take him long to reply. ‘I don’t see why not. Any objections from anyone?’

  ‘Not if they’re able to help,’ Mac said.

  ‘I’d say, the more the merrier,’ Dorothy said with an encouraging smile.

  ‘How old are they?’ Anne Marie asked.

  ‘Matthew’s twelve and Elliot’s ten,’ Patrick said. ‘They’re good lads. Most of the time.’

  ‘I’ve got a ten-year-old daughter, Poppy,’ Cape said. ‘She’d love to come too.’

  ‘This is going to be a very jolly party,’ Dorothy said. ‘More tea anyone?’

  The group sat around for a while longer, chatting more easily amongst themselves now. At one point, Mac got up and chucked another log on the fire and Kathleen poured more tea.

  It came as a genuine surprise when the mantel clock struck nine and Mrs Beatty entered the room once again.

  ‘I trust you’ve all come to some sort of arrangement?’ she asked, addressing her question to Cape as if instinctively knowing he was the spokesperson for the group.

  ‘Yes, I believe so,’ he told her, looking around at everyone who nodded in agreement.

  ‘We’re going to make a start this Saturday,’ Erin said.

  ‘Mrs Beatty?’ Cape began. ‘It is okay to bring children with us, isn’t it?’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘Our children.’

  She frowned. ‘Not toddlers. It’s too dangerous for toddlers.’

  ‘No, no. Big children. Ten. Twelve. That sort of age.’

  ‘They’d be able to help,’ Erin said, as if knowing a sweetener was needed.

  ‘And they are a part of the community,’ Dorothy said. ‘That is what this project is all about, isn’t it?’

  Mrs Beatty pursed her lips. ‘We’re not used to children here,’ she told them. ‘Mr Colman occasionally brings his daughter.’

  ‘Once a month,’ he chipped in.

  ‘Yes. That’s quite enough. This is a delicate place. It’s not for running around and wrecking. I know what children can do. Picking up stones and throwing them into greenhouses.’

  Cape shifted uneasily on the sofa. ‘I can assure you, we’ll keep an eye on the children,’ he said. ‘There won’t be any damage to worry about.’

  It was then that Erin raised a hand. ‘Erm, payment was mentioned,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to raise it but – if I’m working, I’ll need to get paid. I’ve got student debts to clear.’

  Mrs Beatty nodded. ‘You will all be given forms to fill in at the end of each month. Keep a track of your hours and you’ll then be paid for them.’

  ‘And will we be able to see the house?’ Erin asked, gazing around the room.

  ‘No,’ Mrs Beatty said. An uncomfortable silence greeted this declaration. ‘At least not for a while,’ she added. ‘There are things to sort out first.’

  ‘Oh,’ Erin said, sounding disappointed. ‘That’s a shame.’

  Patrick clapped his hands together and stood up. ‘Right. If that’s all sorted, I’m off.’

  The others slowly stood up.

  ‘So, we’re all good for Saturday morning and seeing how things go from there?’ Cape said.

  Everyone nodded and said they’d see each other at various times during the morning, and the room slowly emptied. Only Cape and Anne Marie hung back.

  ‘Patrick’s as charming as ever,’ Anne Marie whispered to Cape.

  ‘Yes,’ Cape said. ‘He seems to have the knack of being able to upset everyone.’

  ‘Did you see the way Kathleen was glaring at him?’

  ‘I can’t say I noticed.’

  ‘I hope we’re all going to be able to get along.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of gardening – there’ll always be a job to do at the furthest corner of the property,’ Cape said. ‘If people don’t get along, we’ll simply keep them separate.’

  Anne Marie smiled and he couldn’t help thinking that he’d received more smiles from this new friend of his in the brief time he’d known her than from Renee in the whole of the last month. The thought of that made him sad. He couldn’t help feeling that he’d somehow failed Renee if he could no longer make her smile.

  ‘Dorothy seems lovely,’ Anne Marie continued, ‘and obviously lonely after losing her husband.’

  ‘And Erin’s a livewire.’

  ‘What do you make of Mac?’ Anne Marie asked.

  ‘He seems pleasant enough, although he looked a little uncomfortable, didn’t you think?’

  ‘I think he looks like one of those people who’s uncomfortable in rooms. He’ll probably look less awkward when he’s out in the garden.’

  Cape nodded. ‘That’s a very wise thing to say. I kept looking at the way he was shifting his feet about like he was itching to get up and go. He didn’t look right sitting on a sofa, did he?’

  ‘He’ll probably look much more at home sitting on his digger,’ Anne Marie said.

  Mrs Beatty was now fussing around with the cups and tray.

  ‘Don’t you two have homes to go to?’ she asked, not bothering to look up at them both as she tidied away.

  ‘Just on our way,’ Cape said.

  ‘Can I help you with those?’ Anne Marie asked.

  ‘I can manage. I’ve been managing here on my own all these years.’

  Anne Marie and Cape exchanged a glance.

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you for the tea and biscuits.’

  ‘Crumbs everywhere,’ Mrs Beatty muttered to herself as they moved out into the hallway.

  Cape and Anne Marie stopped by the door and did up their coats.

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s got anything in common,’ he said. ‘I mean other than being summoned here today and living in the same village.
’

  ‘Don’t you think?’

  ‘You do?’ he asked her.

  She nodded. ‘Everybody here seems a little lost.’

  Cape couldn’t help frowning at that. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there’s Kathleen after her fire, Erin looking for her place in the world, Dorothy trying to stay busy, and Patrick . . .’ She paused. ‘Patrick seems lost in his own anger.’

  ‘What about Mac?’

  ‘I think Mac seems quite a content sort of person. I mean, he wasn’t content sat in that room with us, but he didn’t seem as lost as the rest of them.’

  ‘And am I one of your lost souls?’ he couldn’t help asking.

  She glanced up at him, suddenly looking shy. ‘I don’t think so. Well, maybe a little.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You seem more sad than lost.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, her hand reaching towards the front door. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No, no – I want to hear more. I’m finding this all fascinating.’

  ‘Now you’re making fun of me.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said, following her out into the grand porch where a large moth was flying around the lamp which had been left on. ‘I think it’s really amazing how you’ve taken all this in. I just saw a bunch of nervous people in that room who’d rather not be there, but you saw something else entirely.’

  She gave a little shrug. ‘I guess I like watching people,’ she said.

  ‘And what about you?’ he asked.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You were watching everyone else in that room, but were you amongst the lost souls in there?’

  She looked at him, her eyes clouded with confusion. ‘I – erm – I don’t know.’ She left the porch, beginning to walk down the long dark driveway.

  ‘Anne Marie? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just a silly question.’

  ‘You didn’t upset me. I’d just better get home.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘You’re walking?’

  ‘I like to walk.’

  ‘Even in the dark?’

  ‘I’ve got a torch.’ Her hand dived into her pocket and came out a moment later with her torch.

  ‘It’s no trouble to drop you—’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she told him. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’

  He watched, puzzled and a little alarmed as she disappeared into the darkness. What had just happened back there? Why had she suddenly got spooked by his question? Had the phrase lost soul touched a nerve? She looked kind of lost to Cape and that made him feel intensely sad because she seemed like a really sweet person.

  He sighed, his breath fogging the night air. He hoped he hadn’t upset her. Maybe he’d get a chance to talk to her more at the weekend, he thought as he turned and headed towards his car. He did hope so.

  The truth was, Anne Marie wasn’t looking forward to getting home and, if she walked, it would delay her arrival just a little longer. She’d left the house only ten minutes into dinner which both Irma and Rebecca had deigned to sit down to along with their father. Anne Marie had been so surprised that it had thrown her for a moment because she had been going to sneak out of the house to go to the meeting at Morton Hall. She’d assumed nobody would be there to notice her departure. But they had been – all three of them.

  She’d anxiously looked at the kitchen clock, hoping for a miracle. Maybe inspiration would suddenly clout Grant around the head and he’d rush off to his study, and Irma and Rebecca’s phones would go off and they’d leave the table without explaining. Then Anne Marie could slip away unobserved. But miracles had been thin on the ground that evening and so, at the last possible moment, she’d got up.

  ‘I’m just going to . . .’ She’d let her sentence peter out as nobody seemed that interested anyway. She’d then walked through to the hallway where she put on her coat and boots and had left the house as quietly as possible. Once outside, she turned her mobile off, her heart racing at the subterfuge. She really wasn’t a natural when it came to hiding anything or sneaking out to places.

  Now, as she reached the front door of Garrard House, she worried about the reception she’d receive on the other side. Maybe they’d all just gone about their evening as normal. Nobody would have questioned the strange disappearance of Anne Marie surely: the TV would have been switched on, music blasted and a whisky poured as yet another book was taken down from a shelf. Very likely, she would open the door and lock it behind her, take off her boots and coat and make herself a cup of tea in the kitchen without anybody knowing she had been anywhere at all.

  She took a deep breath as she slid her key into the lock and entered.

  ‘Where the hell did you go?’ Grant exploded as soon as she’d shut the front door.

  ‘Grant!’ she cried in surprise. ‘I’ve – I’ve just been at a meeting. Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘No, you didn’t!’

  ‘Oh, I – well – it was just a meeting.’

  ‘You got up in the middle of dinner and didn’t come back again.’

  ‘You noticed?’

  ‘Of course I noticed! Why wouldn’t I notice?’

  She stared at his face. She’d never seen him look so worried. Or perhaps he was just angry.

  ‘It’s just you never normally notice,’ she told him.

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Well, you’re usually so wrapped up in your work, it doesn’t matter how I spend my evenings.’

  He shook his head. ‘But we were all having dinner together.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That was a very strange thing to do, Anne Marie. Where was this meeting anyway?’

  She took a deep breath. It was time to tell him what had been going on.

  ‘Miss Morton died and she’s left rather an unusual will.’

  ‘Miss Morton from Morton Hall?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were at Morton Hall this evening?’

  She nodded and then briefly told him about the letter from the solicitor and the subsequent meetings.

  ‘But why you?’ Grant asked.

  Anne Marie had known he would ask that very question and who could blame him? She’d asked it herself enough times already.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she told him honestly.

  ‘You don’t know?’ His brow furrowed and his mouth flattened into a thin line which happened when he was displeased. She’d seen that look countless times in his lectures when a student wasn’t paying attention. She’d used to think it funny, but it wasn’t so funny when it was directed towards her.

  She watched as he turned and stalked into his study, glad that the questioning had been brief.

  She was just heading into the kitchen when Irma ran down the stairs. ‘Where’ve you been? Dad was furious!’

  Anne Marie was about to tell her, but she waltzed through to the living room and, a second later, the television was blaring. And that was fine. She could hear music coming from Rebecca’s room upstairs, and Grant was safely ensconced in his study, which meant that she could make a cup of tea and settle down in her own study, undisturbed for a while, and just think.

  Her husband might be angry about her involvement in the Morton Hall project and her step-daughters might not care, but Anne Marie couldn’t help feeling excited by it all.

  Chapter 8

  Being painted was a new experience for Emilia and one that she didn’t altogether object to. It gave her time to think and that wasn’t always possible living with Tobias because he was always giving her things to do and was forever checking up on her. It was always, Emmy – did you do this? Or Emmy – did you do that? He treated her like a personal servant rather than a human being in her own right. Heavens, she’d only been home for a month and he was already driving her crazy. Thank goodness Jay Alexander had turned up when he had, she thought. He’
d breezed into her life and made her feel alive again – and it was so good to have somebody to talk to. Really talk to. Tobias had always been the talker in their relationship and Emilia the listener. But Jay not only listened to her – he also asked her questions. He was genuinely interested in what she had to say and that was a very heady experience. Only, there wasn’t any talking while he was painting. He’d made that quite clear. He liked to work in silence and she respected that.

  Being the subject of a portrait had made Emilia aware that she was the sole focus of the attention of the man she was becoming increasingly fond of, she thought as she continued to look out of the window at nothing in particular. Fond. She dismissed the word, knowing that it fell far too short of the emotions she felt for him. How quickly they had crept up on her. From the magical moment in the maze when they’d kissed, he had filled her every waking thought – and a fair few of her sleeping ones too. She wondered if he felt the same way about her and thought about sneaking a peek at him.

  The problem with being painted was that it didn’t give her a chance to observe Jay. While he spent hour upon hour observing her, she was forced to gaze out of the mullioned window and down onto the garden. It was nice as views went, but she would rather be looking at him.

  She sighed, rolling her shoulders back in an attempt to relieve her stiffness.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said at last.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are a fidget!’

  ‘I did warn you.’ She turned to face him and then laughed.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘You look slightly demented,’ she told him.

  His fair hair had taken on a life of its own, dancing around his face in mad waves as his brushes moved across the canvas.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your hair.’

  ‘Ah, well, you’re not meant to be looking at me.’

  ‘But I like looking at you,’ she said, crossing the room, her hand reaching out to straighten his locks.

  He shook his head and put his brushes down. ‘Let’s have a break.’

  ‘Can we?’

  ‘I think you’ve earned it.’

  ‘Shall we go into the garden?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  After he washed his hands, they walked out into the bright sunshine together. The garden was looking glorious. The herbaceous borders were filled with summer beauties like peonies and roses, and the scent of the lavender that lined the path was wonderfully heady.