A Secret Garden: An utterly gorgeous feel good romance

by Katie Fforde

  ‘There you are,’ she said, as if Philly had taken hours. ‘I’ve put your tea down over there.’ She indicated a chair far too far from the fire.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Philly meekly and crossed the room. Then she picked up the tea and took it back to the fire. As she sipped it she wondered why, when Lady Anthea scared her so, she could be so defiant with Lucien’s ex-nanny. It was because Miss Hopkins was almost openly hostile while Lady Anthea was just posh. She resolved to be braver when she got home.

  Eventually Miss Hopkins left the room and Philly sensed she wasn’t the only one who relaxed after she’d gone. She felt bold enough to pick up a pouffe and take it to the fireside. Lucien put down the bourbon biscuit he had taken only one bite of and Roderick went to the drinks table again.

  ‘Not a baker, Sarah, is she?’ said Lucien.

  ‘Cakes are empty calories,’ said Roderick. ‘Shall we have sherry? Or go straight to the hard stuff?’

  ‘Hard stuff,’ said Lucien. ‘Not keen on sherry.’

  ‘Sherry for me please,’ said Philly, draining the cup of tea that was cold, too weak and had too much milk.

  ‘Will she be cross?’ said Lucien, taking the glass his godfather offered.

  ‘I’ll blame you,’ he said. ‘You always were her blue-eyed boy.’

  ‘God knows why,’ said Lucien. ‘I played her up terribly.’

  ‘Was she your nanny for long?’ asked Philly.

  ‘Couple of years. But I went to prep school when I was seven. She only came when I was six so it was only in the holidays for one of those years. She left when I was eight. Went to look after an ancient aunt.’

  ‘Then when the aunt died,’ said Roderick, ‘I inherited her. She’s very efficient but a bit, well… puritanical. She still talks about looking after Lucien as the height of her career.’

  ‘So, Rod,’ said Lucien after a couple of sips of whisky, ‘you might have guessed we haven’t only come for the pleasure of your company.’

  ‘You’ve come because you want money, I understand that perfectly. What’s the story?’

  Philly perched on her pouffe by the fire, sipping sherry and eating the bits of bread and butter that the others had ignored.

  ‘Well—’ Lucien began but was interrupted.

  ‘Why did you run away from home, boy? You had everything! A great education, loving parents, very comfortably off. You had anything your heart desired! Cricket coaching at Lord’s, skiing every winter, tennis coaching, sailing lessons, everything. And you just ran away from it all?’

  Philly was a little startled. She knew Lucien came from a privileged background but she hadn’t realised quite how privileged.

  ‘Broke your parents’ hearts,’ Roderick finished.

  ‘Obviously I was sorry they were upset,’ said Lucien, a little stiffly, ‘but I just didn’t want the life they’d marked me out for. I wanted to be a chef. They wouldn’t even discuss it.’

  ‘And respect to you that you knew that,’ said Roderick, ‘but now you want to be a baker? What happened to the cheffing? You need a bit of sticking power in this world, m’boy. It’s no good just picking things up and then giving up when the going gets tough.’

  Lucien exhaled, took another sip of his drink and another breath. ‘I’m not going to set myself up as a baker because the going got tough as a chef. Being a baker is far harder in many ways. As a chef I can have quite an easy life, especially now I’m known on the racecourse and sporting events circuit. It’s fairly well paid and I can do as many days as I like.’

  ‘So why give that up? Although I’m sure your mother would rather see you as a head chef with your own restaurant.’

  ‘I’m afraid what my mother wants for me and what I want for myself are two different things. It’s why I left.’

  Roderick nodded and drained his glass. When he’d refilled it he said, ‘That’s fair enough. And she’s a very strong woman, your mother. Likes her own way.’

  Philly, seeing how much whisky he poured into his glass, felt a tiny glimmer of sympathy for Roderick’s housekeeper, who obviously tried to moderate his drinking. But she quailed at the thought of Lucien’s mother. If it was tough facing his nanny, God knows how terrifying his mother would be.

  ‘Which is why I’ve come to you for backing,’ went on Lucien. ‘I explained a bit in my email—’

  Just as he was about to expand the door opened and Miss Hopkins came in, presumably to clear away the tea. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’ve moved on to drinks.’ Entirely unfairly, Philly thought, Miss Hopkins fixed her with a gimlet eye, managing to make Philly feel responsible for the debauchery. ‘Perhaps the young lady would like to see her room? It’s nearly time to change for dinner.’

  There was nothing for it but to leave the fireside and follow Miss Hopkins. At least, Philly thought, she’d have an opportunity to find some warmer clothes in her bag. Although she doubted that changing for dinner meant putting her jeans and fleece back on.

  Lucien had left her bag in the hall and Philly picked it up and followed Miss Hopkins up the stairs and along a lengthy and very draughty corridor that Philly was convinced led to the haunted east wing. She knew she would be miles away from Lucien and so any worries about tiptoeing along corridors were banished. There may well be a mad family retainer locked up in the same wing, of course, thoughts of Jane Eyre coming into her mind. She also knew, before she’d even been shown her bedroom, that she’d need to sleep in all her clothes.

  She decided to put on her jeans and a strappy top under her dress, and layer her cardigan back on over the top. She doubted Evil Mary Poppins would comment on her slightly outlandish costume and if she did, Philly resolved, she’d make out it was a ‘look’.

  As she set off back down the corridors, searching for the library and some warmth, she realised that most of her life people had looked kindly on her and she’d just been happy to be liked. Now she was faced with almost open hostility she found herself becoming stronger. It was heartening, she decided. So much better than it would have been the other way round.

  But before she could reach the comfort of the fire, she was intercepted. ‘The gentlemen are in the drawing room,’ said Miss Hopkins, giving Philly a glance that told her that jeans with a dress would never be a ‘look’ in her eyes.

  The fireplace in the drawing room was filled with a huge vase of dried flowers that stated firmly that it was summer and under no circumstances would the fire be lit.

  Roderick and Lucien were both wearing cashmere V-necked jumpers, Roderick’s slightly attacked by moth. He was also wearing a cravat that Philly could have done with borrowing.

  ‘Philly,’ said Lucien. ‘Come and sit down.’ He handed her a glass of sherry. ‘Nanny – Sarah – says dinner won’t be long. Did you find everything you needed?’

  She nodded, feeling it was too rude to say that she had failed to find a wardrobe full of fur coats. For a start it wasn’t Roderick’s fault she had packed inadequately for June in a big old country house, and secondly he and Lucien might not have got her reference to The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. There was something about this place that reminded her of adventure stories she had read as a child. It was more like a fictional setting than an actual house where somebody lived.

  ‘Drink that quickly,’ said Lucien, standing over her with the decanter, ‘then you can get another one in before Nanny comes back with cheesy biscuits.’

  Roderick was clutching a cut-glass tumbler and standing near a different decanter. Was it Nanny who had driven him to drink? Or was she keeping an eye on his drinking because she cared? Possibly both.

  By the time Miss Hopkins came in with a plate of biscuits spread with something pale pink everyone was seated with a suitably modest amount of alcohol in their glasses.

  ‘Dinner won’t be long,’ she said, handing round the plate. ‘So don’t spoil your appetites.’

  ‘What are we having?’ asked Lucien, who, as the favourite, had the required temerity.

  ‘Wait
and find out, dear. Then it’ll be a lovely surprise.’

  ‘It may not be that lovely,’ said Roderick gloomily when she had left. ‘She’s good at nursery food – macaroni cheese, shepherd’s pie, et cetera – but if people come she feels obliged to do a recipe.’

  Lucien groaned softly. ‘I could have cooked for you,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure, but that would have hurt her feelings horribly,’ said Roderick.

  Philly wasn’t convinced Evil Mary Poppins had feelings, but didn’t comment.

  ‘I’ve got out some nice wine,’ said Roderick. ‘Managed to get two bottles into the dining room. We’ll have to get the first bottle drunk quite quickly if we’re to be allowed to open the second.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Philly. She was already looking forward to telling her grandfather about the goings on. And Lorna. Thinking about Lorna she hoped she’d had a lovely time in France with Jack. She felt rather envious: at least it must have been warm in France.

  As predicted, they weren’t given too much time to sit over their sherry and fish-paste crackers. Before long they were ushered into a dining room that was even colder than the other rooms.

  ‘Sorry,’ muttered Roderick, seeing Philly unable to suppress a shiver. ‘Coldest bloody house in the county.’

  She smiled politely, not wanting to contradict him.

  As Roderick predicted, the food was disgusting. The first course was a pale pink pâté, which turned out to be the same as the one served on the biscuits. Then there were chicken breasts in what may well have been tinned soup of indeterminate flavour with undercooked rice.

  Miss Hopkins served, which meant no one wanted to say much, and while she was out of the room, Lucien topped up the glasses. Philly was by now tempted to follow her host’s example and down hers, in order to get a refill before Miss Hopkins returned with the next course.

  The pudding caused Lucien to exclaim in excitement. Whether this was happy excitement or dismay, Philly couldn’t tell. It was pale brown and served in little dishes.

  ‘Oh, Nanny,’ said Lucien, ‘you’ve done my favourite. Angel Delight!’

  ‘Mr Lucien!’ Nanny protested, adding a title to give her reproach emphasis. ‘May you be forgiven. All my food is made from scratch, just like the government says we have to.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Philly, gulping down her wine, which made it taste disgusting. ‘I love – er – chocolate – chocolate things.’

  ‘There’s cheese,’ said Roderick. ‘Sarah, could we have the cheese? I’ve got some rather nice port. I’d like us to have that. Don’t worry though; I’ll get it.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on serving cheese, Mr Roderick,’ said Miss Hopkins reprovingly.

  ‘I do think Lucien should try the port,’ said Roderick. ‘As his godfather it’s my job to educate his palate.’

  Lucien coughed into his hand.

  ‘I’ll fetch the cheese then,’ said Miss Hopkins with a sniff. ‘But I doubt the young lady will want to eat or drink any more. You go along to the drawing room, miss, and leave the gentlemen.’

  ‘I think Philly would like a glass of port,’ said Lucien.

  ‘And we have a damn fine Stilton. Lucien put it in the post for me,’ said Roderick.

  Miss Hopkins stood with the door open. ‘You gentlemen might want to discuss business.’

  ‘I assure you we’re not going to be discussing anything Philly can’t hear. She knows all my business plans,’ said Lucien.

  ‘I’ve had too much to drink to talk business anyway,’ said Roderick.

  ‘So we’ll sit down and have some port and cheese!’ said Lucien.

  ‘I think the young lady would prefer to leave you gentlemen,’ said Miss Hopkins persistently.

  Philly was finding this quite amusing. ‘I’m happy to leave you two to get drunk,’ she said, ‘if I could have a cup of tea in the drawing room?’

  Philly realised Miss Hopkins hadn’t intended to offer her anything but now, having made such a big fuss about her leaving the gentlemen, she was obliged to make tea.

  Philly nipped along to the library and raided the fireplace for kindling, firelighters, logs and matches. She was slightly tempted to steal some of the actual fire and carry it on a shovel to the fireplace in the drawing room but realised that would be extremely dangerous and, almost more importantly, she’d get very told off if she dropped any on an antique Persian rug. She removed the flower arrangement to under the window.

  Annoyingly, she was on her knees in front of the fire, blowing it, when Miss Hopkins came in with tea. Philly took the initiative.

  ‘So silly of me,’ she said, ‘I should have just asked if I could have had tea in the library, but I’ll soon have a good blaze here.’

  ‘It’s June. Fires shouldn’t be necessary. And I would not have liked you to be in Mr Roderick’s library unattended.’

  Quite right, said Philly to herself. I would have defaced all the precious first editions. How clever of you to spot I was like that. Out loud she said, ‘I’ll be quite happy here. Thank you so much for the tea. I expect you must be dying to get to bed. Guests are so tiring, aren’t they?’

  Miss Hopkins pursed her lips in agreement. ‘Breakfast is at eight o’clock. In the dining room. I wish you a very good night, miss.’

  19

  Philly was soon bored waiting for the others and for some reason didn’t feel like going back to the dining room. Perhaps Lucien and Roderick were talking about the loan. Instead of waiting any longer for them, she found her way to her bedroom and got ready for bed.

  She didn’t even attempt to have a shower or a bath. The guest bathroom was ill-equipped and had a spidery feel about it. Ball-and-claw baths were all very well in newly updated rooms full of shiny porcelain and stainless steel. In this bathroom full of ‘original features’ they just made the place seem even more draughty and unpromising than it did already. Maybe if they’d visited in spring, not early summer, the pipes to the towel rail would have been hot.

  Back in her spooky, chilly room, Philly got into bed with all her clothes on. She planned to warm up the bed a bit and then get undressed and into bed properly.

  She could just about read her novel by the bulb in her bedside lamp that was so dim a jam jar full of fireflies would have been more efficient. She felt cold and very far from sleep, but she must have drifted off, fully clothed and hunched over her book, because when she heard the door open she jumped.

  It was Lucien. ‘Shh,’ he said before she’d had a chance to make a sound. ‘If Nanny finds out I’m here, all hell will break loose!’

  ‘OK,’ breathed Philly. ‘But what could she do about it?’

  ‘Tell my parents. Believe me, it’s not worth it. I just came to give you these.’

  He handed her a mug and then, from under his arm, a hot-water bottle. ‘Nanny made the hot chocolate and the hot-water bottle for me.’ Then he took off his jumper. ‘It’s old but warm. Now I must go. Nanny isn’t young but she has the hearing of a bat.’

  ‘An old bat, obviously,’ said Philly, unable to resist.

  ‘You!’ He kissed her cheek and then fled.

  Philly smiled. The chocolate wasn’t terribly hot and was far too sweet but it was comforting, and the hot-water bottle even more welcome. What was most precious of all was that Lucien had brought them to her, risking the wrath of Evil Mary Poppins, and had gone without cocoa and a hot-water bottle for her.

  She was in the dining room at eight o’clock sharp the next morning. It was still cold, and although she knew it might invite comment, she had Lucien’s cashmere jumper on. As a gesture to it being morning, she hadn’t put her dress on over the jeans.

  Lucien arrived not many minutes later. His hair was damp but he looked on top of things. He had obviously slept better than she had.

  Miss Hopkins came into the dining room at almost the same moment, possibly having been listening out for Lucien. ‘Good morning. I trust you slept well,’ she said, staring at Philly’s jump
er.

  What she trusted, thought Philly, was the certainty that she wouldn’t say if she hadn’t slept well. Annoyingly, Evil Mary Poppins was right: she didn’t say the bed had been unbelievably uncomfortable and a bit damp. ‘Fine, thank you,’ she muttered.

  ‘I did too, thank you,’ said Lucien.

  ‘You always were a good sleeper, Lucien, even when you were little.’

  ‘The hot-water bottle and drinking chocolate helped,’ he said, winking at Philly in a way she was sure must be visible.

  Miss Hopkins turned to Philly. ‘Would you like cereal or toast?’

  ‘I suppose a full English is out of the question?’ said Lucien.

  ‘Indeed it is. Heart attack on a plate. Mr Roderick wouldn’t be able to tolerate it.’

  ‘Will Roderick be up for breakfast?’ asked Lucien.

  ‘No. He didn’t sleep very well so I’ve taken him up his breakfast.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to push off quite soon,’ said Lucien, helping himself to a slice of toast. ‘Is toast enough for you, Philly?’

  Philly nodded. Her stomach was growling, and was part of the reason she hadn’t slept all that well. ‘Plenty,’ she said.

  ‘I must say, miss, you don’t have the look of one who eats like a bird.’

  She’s saying I’m fat, Philly realised. She gave her the sort of smile she’d given the nuns at school when she didn’t like them. ‘Appearances can be so deceptive.’

  Actually she hadn’t meant to imply anything but she saw Evil Mary Poppins wince.

  Lucien ran up to his godfather’s bedroom to say goodbye and then they were off.

  ‘Put “greasy spoon” into the satnav and take us there!’ said Lucien.

  Philly laughed. ‘I must say, my stomach thinks my throat is cut.’

  ‘You sound like Seamus.’

  ‘I feel very hungry.’

  ‘I am so sorry to have put you through that. If I had any idea how ghastly it was going to be I’d have booked us in at a bed and breakfast.’

  ‘Where “a heart attack on a plate” is part of the deal,’ said Philly. ‘We would have been warm!’