In a Country Garden

by Maeve Haran

  Back in her cottage Ella saw the red message alert blinking on her phone. It was a message from Laura asking her to call.

  Laura had been wrestling sleeplessly with what to do since early morning and ringing practical, calm, down-to-earth Ella had seemed like a good idea. That was when she left the message. Then she remembered the blog Ella had written using the details of her marriage breakdown and she felt angry and betrayed all over again. True, Ella had been abjectly apologetic, but deep down it still rankled.

  She decided to make up some story when Ella rang back and make her decision alone.

  Should she lend the money to Gavin or was she being completely naive and stupid to trust a man she hadn’t even met, but only messaged? It struck her again that it had been odd that they hadn’t even talked on the phone. Certainly they hadn’t known each other long and Gavin had always had a valid excuse for not being able to call. But still.

  And then another text came through.

  My darling, I can’t believe fate could be so cruel to stop me holding you in my arms at last. And I will have to pay for the British Airways fare anyway as it is too late to cancel. Your Gavin

  Housewifely Laura suddenly couldn’t bear the idea of a wasted fare. She came to a decision before the smile had even left her face and rang her bank on the spot.

  There, it was done. She messaged him back the details and ran a bath, dreaming of the new underwear she would put on, and the look on his face when they finally ran into each other’s arms.

  Ella took a deep breath and dialled Laura’s mobile. When her friend answered there was an odd, dreamy note to her voice.

  ‘You’re not taking Valium or anything, are you?’ Ella asked, only half joking.

  ‘Oh, Ella, of course I’m not. Actually, I’m incredibly happy.’

  ‘So, tomorrow’s the big day.’

  ‘Yes, yes it is.’ Was that a note of anxiety creeping into Laura’s voice?

  ‘Well, good luck with it all. Let me know how it goes.’

  ‘Ella . . .’ Laura began. Should she confide her worries in Ella after all?

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing.’ No, she wouldn’t. She knew Ella would advise caution, and really it was too late for that. ‘Bye. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too. Bye.’

  Ella put the phone down. Somehow she wasn’t reassured at all.

  Ella had always been someone who felt better when she took action. In one of the articles she’d read about internet scams a simple solution was suggested. It might not work, but it could provide the answer as to whether this Gavin was genuine.

  The only thing was, she needed a photo of him and the only way she could think of was to grab that screenshot Laura had on her phone. But how?

  There was only one thing for it: she’d have to go to London and see her. And if Laura worked out what she was doing, it might well cost Ella their friendship forever.

  ‘Hello, nice to meet you.’ Claudia held out a hand to Spike’s Uncle Bill and welcomed him into the lounge where Olivia, Bella and Rose were already sitting. Fortunately for all concerned, Mrs Lal was taking her new duties very seriously and was at the shop full-time.

  ‘Call me Billy, everyone does.’ Billy turned out to be a grey and grizzled version of Spike, fortunately without the Mohican, and even shared his nephew’s barrow-boy charm, though in Spike’s case it was tempered by a college education. ‘I expect you’d like to see my CV.’ He handed them over a single sheet of paper. ‘I don’t believe in embroidering.’

  Rose had to admit his disarming grin was very taking, but she was far too old for such things to be of interest. What she really cared about was the food.

  ‘Fine. Well, just tell us briefly about yourself,’ she suggested.

  ‘I was crap at school, failed at everything. The only thing that interested me was cooking. That was considered about as normal as being a ballerina. This was before all these TV chefs, Gordon Ramsay effing and blinding all over the shop. My dad thought I’d gone off my head. But I got an apprenticeship at fifteen in a big London hotel.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘That was tougher than the army, I can tell you. Survival of the fittest. But I watched and learned and I felt part of something at last, with people who got me.’

  ‘And what did you do after that?’ prompted Claudia.

  ‘Moved to another big hotel. Assistant pastry chef.’

  Rose perked up. She loved a pudding.

  ‘The kitchen was hot as hell. We had to change our jackets three times a night and most of us got chef’s arse.’

  ‘What on earth is that?’ demanded Rose, unshocked as usual, as Bella struggled to repress a giggle.

  ‘It’s the perspiration. Makes your skin raw, a handful of cornflour down your trousers helps.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ replied Rose, somehow staying deadpan.

  ‘After that I worked my way up to the dizzy heights you ladies see me at today.’

  ‘And now, Spike says you might be ready for a quieter life?’

  ‘Too bloody right. My back’s giving in. The body can’t take it. Spike mentioned your chef here had thrown in his cards and that I might like the set-up. I’m not a hippie,’ he added defensively. ‘Always thought they were a bunch of middle-class wankers. All that peace and love on Mummy and Daddy’s handouts. More of a Metallica man myself.’

  ‘I might have guessed you would be,’ Rose nodded.

  ‘So what’s the deal here?’

  Bella outlined the offer they had discussed between them.

  Billy nodded. ‘Okay. Could I see the accommodation now? And do you have any rivers nearby? I’m a bit of a carp fisherman in my spare time.’

  ‘I’m surprised you have any,’ Bella smiled as she got up to show him.

  ‘Oh, er, Billy . . .’ Rose began. ‘Do you have a wife – sorry, partner – or any children who might live with you?’

  ‘Two exes. Cheffing and marriage don’t go, to tell you the truth. And a terrific son. But he’s all grown-up now and he didn’t make the mistake of following in my footsteps.’

  While Bella showed him round the cottages that were still available, the others discussed him.

  ‘What do you think?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘I liked him,’ Rose answered at once. ‘Quite a colourful character, but honest. Of course we’d have to try his food.’

  ‘You don’t think we’ve got enough colourful characters?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘You mean Mrs Lal?’ jumped in Olivia. ‘She’ll be all right. She just needs occupying. And anyway, you can’t have too many colourful characters. Take it from me, the enemy of old age is boredom. Well-meaning bloody carers asking if you’re all right, dearie, and how are your bowels today? Give me rough and ready Billy any day.’

  ‘Well, that looks like the answer then,’ Claudia nodded. ‘We’ll ask Bella what she thought too and see what the man himself has decided. I just hope our rivers are bursting with carp.’

  They all left the lounge at the same time, just as Bella and Billy were returning and Murdo Binns had appeared from nowhere.

  ‘Murdo,’ Rose twinkled mischievously, ‘meet Mr Williams. Mr Williams this is Lord Binns.’

  ‘Not another bleedin’ aristo,’ Billy commented cheerfully. ‘Thought I’d be getting away from your sort.’

  ‘Right,’ replied Murdo, looking mystified.

  ‘Mr Williams, Billy, we’ll email you over something this afternoon,’ Rose said. ‘What sort of notice period do you have to give?’

  ‘I handed my notice months ago. Spikey said I’d end up with a heart attack at my age if I didn’t leave soon.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Rose agreed. ‘And don’t forget the other condition.’

  Billy looked at a loss.

  ‘When you have to put cornflour down your trousers.’

  This sent him off into guffaws as Bella showed him the way out.

  ‘Curious chap,’ Murdo opined. ‘Bit of a rough diamond. Who on earth is he?’

  �
��We’re rather hoping he’s going to be our new chef.’

  ‘Ah. Where is he based now? Army camp? Open prison.’

  ‘Actually,’ Rose replied, enjoying herself hugely, ‘he’s coming to us from the Ritz.’

  She would treasure Murdo’s look of astonishment for quite some time.

  As it was such a sunny day, Olivia decided to go and visit her husband’s grave and make a final decision about the headstone. Len had only wanted his name and dates, but somehow that didn’t seem to do justice to a man who had so enjoyed life

  ‘I miss you, you know,’ she found herself saying out loud. ‘I bet you’d be surprised how much.’ She was about to turn away, taken aback at what, from anyone else, she would have described as sentimentalism, when she caught the sun gleaming off a three-foot-tall metal manikin.

  ‘Hiro! What are you doing here?’

  Olivia reminded herself for the hundredth time that Hiro wasn’t a person but a machine.

  ‘Lou lets me come. I don’t think he’s sure what to do with me.’

  ‘Are you missing Leonard too?’

  The large artificially blue eyes looked at her. ‘More than I could have imagined. Except that robots don’t really have an imagination, so maybe it’s just habit.’

  Despite herself, Olivia felt touched. Hiro was like an electronic Greyfriars Bobby, the Skye terrier who spent fourteen years guarding his dead master’s grave until he died there himself.

  ‘Me too.’ A beat of silence passed when they both looked down at the recently turned turf.

  A thought occurred to her, but maybe it was too ridiculous. She would talk to Lou Maynard and see what he thought.

  ‘I’m trying to think what to put on the stone.’

  Hiro raised a metal arm in salute. ‘How about “Bowled out at 92” or just “A good innings”? He loved cricket so much.’

  Olivia smiled. ‘Thanks, Hiro. You could be on to something there.’

  Ella rang the bell of Laura’s flat, her arms full of flowers and holding a bottle of champagne. She’d been feeling terrible for the entire train journey and had almost turned back but loyalty to Laura – even if Laura didn’t see it that way – made her feel it was her duty to try and protect her friend, especially as she was so vulnerable after her divorce.

  She’d emailed ahead and Laura was expecting her, though not the presents. ‘What’s all this?’ Laura asked as Ella pressed them into her hand.

  ‘To wish you luck for tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. He arrives at midday.’ Was that the tiniest quaver of uncertainty in her voice?

  ‘I thought these would make you feel festive.’

  Laura laughed, looking ridiculously young and happy. ‘I don’t think we should waste champagne on men. They usually prefer beer. Let’s you and I have it.’

  She went off to the kitchen to get glasses.

  Her iPhone lay between them with the photograph of Gavin as a screensaver. Ella quickly grabbed it and photographed it, then just as quickly put it back, feeling like Judas with the fateful kiss.

  Laura poured the fizz into two flutes and held up her glass. ‘To friendship. As we’ve often said, “husbands come and go, but friendship lasts forever!”’

  Sal sat down in the reception area of the Princess Mary Hospital’s imaging department, just as she had when she’d first been diagnosed. She knew the ropes very well. She would be asked to go into a cubbyhole, lock the door, remove her top and put on a hospital robe. Her remaining breast would then be placed on the good old salami slicer, aka the mammogram machine. Very likely she would have to go and have a core biopsy when a needle would be inserted to remove cells to examine under the microscope. Then she might have to wait a week – a week! – before she got the results.

  An hour later, she came out of the hospital just as lonely and desperate as she had been last time. Why the hell hadn’t she told Lou after all?

  ‘I thought this is where I’d find you,’ said a voice behind her. ‘I was so worried I called Ella and she guessed you might be here when I explained why I was so concerned about you.’ She whipped round to find Lou leaning on the door of a waiting taxi. He opened his arms and she ran into them. He held her very tight as she began to cry helplessly.

  ‘Sally Grainger, my beloved girl, you’re not a very good actress, you know. I don’t suppose you’re aware you glance downwards continually and feel your breast when you think no one’s looking. You’ve been looking like Marley’s ghost for at least a week now. It was just a matter of when you deigned to share your misery with me.’

  ‘Oh, Lou, it’s just so bloody unfair when finally I’m happy! I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Love is never having to say you’re sorry.’ Lou quoted the famous line from Love Story. ‘What bollocks!’ he added. ‘That’s one British word I do love. Love is continually having to say you’re sorry and hoping the other person is big-hearted enough to forgive you. Fortunately I’m famously big-hearted and I do forgive you.’

  Sal sniffed. ‘Thank God for you, Lou Maynard!’

  ‘And for you, Sally Grainger. Come on, we can get through this together. And don’t forget, I’m an American and an optimist.’

  Finally she grinned. ‘And for once I’m really glad you are!’

  ‘Well, there you go. Now how much longer are we going to keep this taxi waiting?’

  Sal climbed into the back and put her head on Lou’s shoulder as they drove back to the manor. Sal tried not to think of the extravagance, still amazed she was with someone who could afford a taxi all the way to Surrey and who had loved her enough to come and find her.

  Life wasn’t so terrible after all.

  Twenty-Three

  Laura arrived at Heathrow two hours before the flight, but then she loved the drama of airports, the reunions and the farewells, the tiny children rushing to meet Dad back from some trip abroad. It made her feel quite Richard Curtis – soppily sentimental and inclined to read happy endings into the most unpromising of circumstances, quite possibly including her own.

  She had dressed carefully without overdoing it in a pretty blouse and soft fluffy cardigan, wrap skirt and her knee-length, high-heeled, confidence-inducing suede boots.

  She sat in Costa coffee just near Arrivals trying to guess from people’s clothing where their flights had come from. This was easy with the Aussie ones where tired but happy holidaymakers wore their shorts and T-shirts, even though it was winter at home, to try and prolong that holiday feeling just a little longer. The New York flights were a mix of smart business types and baggily dressed ordinary Americans. The Indian flights were her favourite: with their apprehensive grannies in crumpled saris terrified of having come to the wrong destination, love and relief lighting up their faces at the sight of tiny grandchildren racing towards them with bunches of wilting daisies.

  She looked at her watch for the tenth time. Not long now. The BA flight from Beirut was bang on time. She was conscious of feeling almost sick with excitement mixed with apprehension. Was she completely barking mad to be falling in love with a complete stranger at her age? She determinedly pushed the five thousand dollars to the back of her mind. She was sure he’d give it back to her sometime. Besides, it was only money. Even if she couldn’t really afford it.

  At last a stream of passengers who looked as if they were from Lebanon started to emerge and make their way through the gate, anxiously watching out for family, friends, colleagues or taxis that had arrived to meet them.

  Several hundred passengers passed by until finally the stream began to thin out. There was still no sign of Gavin. She decided to message him, but for once got no reply. How odd. Maybe his phone was switched off from the flight.

  There was still no word from him when the passengers from the next flight began to arrive. Had he missed his flight? But if so, surely he would have got in touch with her?

  Squashing down her rising panic, she decided to go and ask the BA information desk, feeling obscurely comforted that the flight was
with a British airline.

  The girl on duty was charming and eager to help. ‘Right. Your friend’s Christian name is Gavin. What’s his surname?’

  Laura drew a complete blank. Ridiculous, as his name must have been on his original profile with Out There, but that seemed such a long time ago.

  ‘Foster!’ she suddenly remembered.

  ‘Fine,’ the girl said, smiling reassuringly. ‘I’ll just put Gavin Foster into my system.’

  She deftly typed away on her keyboard. There was a pause that seemed to go on forever. ‘That’s strange,’ she commented as Laura’s stomach began to turn to liquid, ‘I don’t seem to have a Gavin Foster. Are you sure that’s the right name?’

  Laura shook her head, all the fears she’d repressed beginning to surge back and engulf her in a tidal wave of horror. There was something very wrong here.

  Slowly she turned away and walked without glancing behind her towards the tube station.

  Mrs Lal looked round at the revamped shop and felt deeply gratified, like God when he had created the world in seven days and saw that it was good. The truth was, she had been feeling at a loss since she’d arrived in England. Her daughter clearly found her presence overpowering, she was frankly fed up with matchmaking and the fortune telling was one step up from a parlour game. But this! Here she could use her talents and make some money for the charity at the same time. Helping other people was a new sensation and one that could grow on her, she felt. Of course she’d quite like to win the award at the same time.

  She had a good business brain, as well as a well-developed fashion sense, and she didn’t see why she couldn’t bring them together here.

  ‘What is the weekly turnover in the shop?’ she asked Minnie.

  Minnie jumped. ‘Vera never mentioned. We just stick labels on things. Vera did the cashing up.’

  ‘But you must have an account book? Some kind of record?’

  ‘I suppose it would be by the till.’

  Eventually they found a letter to Head Office mentioning £950.

  ‘Good God! That’s peanuts. Let’s try and double it this week. If not treble it?’