The Heart of the Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘She saw me, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs Beatty said, squeezing her hands. ‘She was so excited. She even thought about making contact with you, but her courage failed her. But it was after that day that she came up with the idea for restoring the garden. She wanted to find a way to bring you home without scaring you off.’

  ‘It was a good idea,’ Anne Marie confessed. ‘To share this garden.’

  ‘Then you’re not angry at her not leaving the place to you?’

  ‘How could I be?’

  ‘I thought you’d feel that way. I knew Emilia’s daughter – whoever she was – would have a kind heart.’

  ‘Emilia’s daughter,’ Anne Marie repeated. ‘That sounds so strange.’

  ‘Not too strange, I hope.’

  The two women looked at one another, their hands joined across the table.

  ‘Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’ Mrs Beatty suggested at last. ‘Go outside – get some fresh air.’

  Anne Marie nodded. ‘That might not be a bad idea.’

  As Cape rounded the corner of the garden, he saw Anne Marie walking out of the house and into the maze. He turned to see Mrs Beatty standing in the doorway.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Cape asked.

  ‘It will be,’ Mrs Beatty said.

  Cape frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s – well – she’s had a bit of a shock.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Would you talk to her? I think it’s best if she explains it all to you.’

  Erin appeared behind Mrs Beatty in the doorway.

  ‘Where’s Annie?’

  ‘She’s in the maze,’ Mrs Beatty said. ‘No, leave her,’ she added when Erin tried to go after her.

  ‘I’ve got this,’ Cape said.

  Cape crossed the grass and entered the maze, making his way as quickly as possible to the centre. Sure enough, Anne Marie was sitting there, her face pale and her eyes shining with tears.

  ‘Hey!’ he said, sitting down beside her and picking up her hands. ‘What’s going on?’

  She gave a strange laugh. ‘I don’t even know how to begin to tell you.’

  ‘Mrs B said you’d had a shock.’

  ‘A shock? Is that what she said?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Queen of the understatement,’ Anne Marie said.

  ‘Has this got something to do with Grant?’

  ‘Grant? No.’

  ‘Then, what? Are you going to make me guess?’ he said, giving her a little nudge. ‘Because I’m not going to let you leave this maze until I find out.’ He looked at her and could still see those tears in her eyes. ‘Tell me,’ he said, squeezing her hands gently.

  She looked at him and he almost caught his breath at the rawness in her face.

  ‘You know Emilia Morton?’ she began.

  He nodded. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She was my mother.’

  Cape frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Emilia Morton was my mother.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘That’s what Mrs Beatty told me.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘I don’t think she’s lying.’

  ‘Oh, my god! What did she say?’

  ‘She said that my parents bought me. Well, not officially, because the cheque was never cashed.’

  ‘What cheque?’

  ‘I found a cheque to Tobias Morton from my father. Tobias sold Emilia’s baby, and that baby was me.’

  Cape swore under his breath. ‘Are you sure? I mean, are you sure?’

  ‘I’m kind of putting the pieces together. You know I’ve always felt this distance between me and my mother. She was always comparing me to my sister.’ Anne Marie paused. ‘Only, she wasn’t my sister, was she? Not if I was adopted. I wasn’t related to her at all.’

  ‘But I’m sure your mother still loved you. Your father too. I think it takes a special kind of love to adopt somebody,’ Cape told her.

  ‘All these years, I’ve felt different. She made me feel different. I was never good enough and now I know why. Because I wasn’t really her daughter.’

  Cape twisted his fingers through hers. He could feel her shaking.

  ‘You know, it was Emilia who called me Anne Marie? I always thought . . .’ The words died on her tongue.

  ‘You always thought that you’d inherited your sister’s name,’ Cape finished for her. ‘I’ll tell you something else. If this is all true, then you’re not a second daughter either. You’re a first and only!’

  She turned to face him, her lips parting ever so slightly.

  ‘You’re special,’ he told her. ‘An only child. The beloved child of a very special person.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t take all this in.’

  ‘I think you might need a while. I think I do and it isn’t even happening to me!’

  She managed a little smile at that.

  ‘Oh, blimey,’ Cape added. ‘The house should have been passed to you, Anne Marie. You’re a Morton.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Emilia did the right thing. I wouldn’t ever want to change her decision.’

  ‘Are you sure? You know what’s it’s worth, don’t you? I mean, the art collection alone—’

  ‘I’d probably have done the same thing as she’s done if I’d inherited it,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want a place like this all to myself.’

  ‘But you could have sold it or – well – done anything you wanted with it.’

  ‘But I like what she’s done, don’t you? Being here with you and the others is the only thing keeping me together at the moment.’

  ‘She’s done an amazing thing, leaving the house and garden to the community,’ Cape agreed. ‘But are you sure you don’t feel sore about that?’

  ‘How could I? This was never mine.’ A tear fell down her cheek.

  ‘Hey, don’t cry.’

  ‘All this time, my real mother was here, alone, and I never knew it.’

  Cape leaned in towards her and kissed her tear away. ‘Perhaps a little part of you did.’

  Anne Marie sniffed. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe that’s why you were drawn to the garden and why you came here time and time again.’

  ‘Mrs Beatty said that too.’

  ‘I think she’s right.’

  ‘You remember I said that I thought I saw Emilia at the window once?’ She closed her eyes as if seeing Emilia again. ‘If only I’d known. If only I’d reached out to her or her to me.’

  ‘Did she know who you were then?’

  ‘Yes. She’d been watching me from afar for years apparently.’

  ‘Strange that she didn’t make contact.’

  ‘Mrs Beatty said she was fragile and she didn’t want to disrupt my life. But I can’t believe she wouldn’t want to see me.’

  ‘God, Anne Marie, this is the last thing I expected.’

  ‘You remember the portrait we saw when we went into the house?’ she said.

  ‘The lady with the red hair?’

  ‘That was her.’

  ‘But I thought that was one of her ancestors.’

  ‘She was wearing a Victorian dress. I don’t know why.’

  ‘And I said she had red hair just like yours.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘It is yours.’

  Anne Marie nodded. ‘She used to come into the maze. Mrs Beatty said it was the one part of the garden that she truly loved.’

  ‘Hence my job.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And there was that painting – the watercolour of her in the living room.’

  ‘The one of her in the maze,’ Anne Marie remembered.

  Cape shifted on the bench. ‘This is so weird,’ he confessed. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Anne Marie wiped her eyes and then slowly stood up. ‘I think I’d better talk to my mother.’

  Cape stood up with her. ‘What do you think she’s going to say?’

/>   Anne Marie took a deep breath. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  Chapter 24

  Anne Marie recognised the car immediately as she pulled up outside her mother’s house. It was Grant’s. She sat there, mystified as to why he’d be there.

  As if I don’t have enough to deal with, she couldn’t help thinking.

  She got out of the car, walked up the path and knocked on the door. Her mother answered a moment later.

  ‘Ah, Anne Marie! How funny you should turn up like this.’

  ‘Mum, what’s going on? Why’s Grant here?’

  Her mother looked perplexed by this question. ‘He’s your husband. Why shouldn’t he be here talking to his mother-in-law?’

  ‘Because we’re getting divorced, Mum. I told you.’

  ‘Oh, what nonsense,’ her mother said, swatting a hand in her direction. ‘You just need to sit down and talk things through.’

  Anne Marie followed her into the living room in disbelief.

  ‘Anne Marie!’ Grant said, leaping out of the armchair he’d been sitting in.

  ‘What are you doing here, Grant?’

  ‘Grant’s been explaining it all to me,’ her mother said, ‘and you’ve been letting yourself get worked up over nothing by the sounds of things, just as I thought you had been. But we’ve sorted it all out and you can go home with Grant now – back to your real home instead of that silly bed and breakfast.’ Her mother gave a laugh that sounded brittle and forced to Anne Marie’s ears.

  ‘Mum,’ she began, doing her best not to lose her temper, ‘I’m not even going to talk about this right now. Grant, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. I think you should go because there’s something I need to talk about with my mother.’

  ‘He’s not going anywhere,’ her mother said.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Grant echoed, giving a wry grin.

  ‘This is for your own good, Anne Marie. You can’t turn your back on your family.’

  The word family hit her like a spear in the chest.

  ‘I really need to talk to you, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘There’s nothing that can’t be said in front of Grant,’ her mother asserted.

  ‘It’s not his business.’

  ‘I’m your husband, Anne Marie. Of course it’s my business.’

  Anne Marie couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but the evidence was right there before her eyes.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘I spoke to Mrs Beatty today. The housekeeper at Morton Hall.’

  Immediately, her mother started to shake her head. ‘I won’t have any talk of that place here. You know my feelings about it.’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, Mum – I don’t know because you won’t ever talk about it. Or, at least, I didn’t use to know why you were unhappy with me going there, but I have a pretty good idea now.’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘You’re obsessed with that place. Listen to her, Grant! It’s not natural.’

  ‘I agree,’ Grant said. ‘The sooner we get you back home and into your normal routine with the girls, the better.’

  ‘Mum, will you please listen to me for a minute? This is important. Mrs Beatty told me—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear what nonsense she’s told you,’ her mother stated. ‘She’s got nothing to do with us.’

  ‘She told me that I’m Emilia Morton’s daughter.’

  The silence that greeted this statement told Anne Marie all she needed to know: that it was true.

  ‘Mum?’

  Her mother refused to look at her. Instead, Janet turned to Grant. ‘Grant – don’t listen to her – she’s talking nonsense.’

  ‘She told me you and Dad adopted me,’ Anne Marie went on. ‘That Dad wrote the cheque I found to Tobias Morton. Remember the cheque I showed you?’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Grant, will you please take my daughter home?’

  ‘We need to talk about this,’ Anne Marie said. ‘I need to hear your side. I want to understand. Did you adopt me? Could you not have any more children of your own after losing Anne? Was that the reason Dad went to the Mortons?’

  She could tell from her mother’s expression that she’d hit the mark.

  ‘Mum? Please talk to me. I need to know.’

  ‘Come on, Anne Marie,’ Grant said. ‘You’re upsetting your mother.’

  ‘I’m upsetting her?’

  ‘Let’s get you back.’

  ‘Please take your hands off me, Grant. I’m not going anywhere with you and stop talking to me as if I were a child needing supervision.’

  ‘You see?’ her mother said. ‘You see what she’s like? She makes it so difficult for me to love her! She always has.’

  ‘I know,’ Grant said, nodding. ‘I can see that.’

  Anne Marie looked from one to the other and back again.

  ‘I don’t need this,’ she said calmly. ‘If you want to talk about this, Mum, you know where I am.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Grant called, following her into the hallway.

  But she didn’t reply because neither of them were listening to her and she truly doubted that they ever really had.

  Anne Marie drove through the Oxfordshire countryside for miles before parking in a lane that ended by the River Thames. She sat absolutely still, taking several deep fortifying breaths before leaving her car and walking towards the river. It was a beautiful evening. The wide stretch of water was a perfect blue and there were people out enjoying the late spring air. Anne Marie sat on a bench and watched two couples walking their spaniels, the dogs zigzagging along the bank ahead of them, tails wagging like mad metronomes.

  Slowly, she began to process the day: the extraordinary revelation from Mrs Beatty, the knowledge that she was adopted, her mother’s refusal to speak about any of it and Grant’s misplaced belief that she was going to return home with him.

  She gazed out across the water to the line of trees on the opposite bank. It was a scene worthy of a painting, and Anne Marie took a moment to simply soak it all in, to allow her breath to regulate itself, and to let go of the day, but still her mind felt like it was galloping.

  She took out her phone and texted Kathleen to let her know where she was, and then she rang the number of the only person she felt she could truly talk to about all of this.

  ‘Cape?’ she said a moment later.

  ‘Anne Marie? I’ve been worrying myself silly since you left. Where are you?’

  ‘By the Thames.’

  ‘What? Whereabouts?’

  ‘Medmenham.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘Contemplating drowning.’

  ‘Anne Marie!’

  ‘I’m joking!’

  She heard him sigh. ‘I take it things didn’t go well with your mum?’

  ‘You could say that. She refused to talk about it.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘And Grant was there.’

  ‘Grant?’

  ‘And he had the nerve to think I was going home with him. I can’t believe he and my mum were talking as if I didn’t have any opinions of my own. They thought everything was all right and I’d just been a bit silly.’

  Cape cursed.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You want to come over?’

  ‘To yours?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘We could have something to eat. I was going to make chilli tonight.’

  Anne Marie could almost feel her stomach rumble in response.

  ‘Okay,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Good.’

  He gave her his address and a list of directions which involved country junctions, potholes and blind bends, and Anne Marie walked back to her car, feeling a little bit calmer for having talked to him.

  The cottage at Bixley Common was easy enough to find. Wonderfully isolated down a dead-end lane and completely surrounded by hills, it was an
idyllic setting.

  Anne Marie got out of the car, hearing the happy screech of swallows as they swooped through the late afternoon sky. Poppy, who was in the small front garden, waved as she saw her, and Cape soon appeared at the front door.

  ‘You found us!’ he called. ‘Come on in and I’ll get you a drink. What would you like? I’ve got some lime cordial if you fancy. It’s pretty good with ice.’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’

  ‘Poppy – why don’t you show Anne Marie the back garden while I fix the drinks?’

  Poppy nodded and slipped her hand into Anne Marie’s. The sweet gesture was almost enough to undo her and she did her best to blink back the tears as she allowed herself to be led through the house and out into the garden. As far as she could remember, Anne Marie had never held a child’s hand before. She’d certainly never had any physical closeness to her step-daughters. It felt strange and wonderful – a gift, she thought.

  ‘I love our garden,’ Poppy announced. ‘It’s not as big as Morton Hall, but I love it all the same.’

  Anne Marie could see why. What the garden lacked in size, it made up for in charm, with a tiny greenhouse in one corner, a couple of raised beds and borders full of spring colour.

  ‘Here,’ Poppy said. ‘Sit beside me.’

  Anne Marie sat down on a bench next to Poppy, who still had hold of her hand.

  ‘I like to come here and think,’ Poppy told her.

  ‘Really? There’s a bench at Morton Hall where I used to go to think.’

  Poppy looked up at her. ‘Did you go there when you were sad?’

  ‘Yes. And when I was cross or stressed too. Or happy.’