by Katie Fforde
‘Oh yes!’ said Philly. ‘And you can just see what might be the statues to go on them under all that ivy.’ She pointed with her sandwich.
Anthea nodded. ‘So what’s that huge heap? It’s like a creature from outer space, only covered with greenery.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Lorna. ‘I think it might be a grotto.’
‘Wow!’ said Philly.
‘That would be terrific,’ said Anthea. ‘But what makes you think that?’
‘If this is a secret garden, belonging to the lady of the house – or, more likely, the lady of the Dower House – it might well have had a grotto.’
Anthea swallowed. ‘Well, come on, girls. Hurry up with your lunch. We need to investigate.’
Lorna stopped wondering if a strong gin and tonic at lunchtime was a mistake as, with Philly and Anthea, she tore at the greenery that covered what might be a grotto. There were brambles as thick as hawsers tangled up with ivy that brought fragments of stone with it as they tugged at the mass of vegetation. At last they were able to stop.
‘It’s definitely a grotto,’ said Anthea. ‘How absolutely splendid.’
‘That explains all those shells we found in Burthen House!’ said Lorna excitedly. ‘They used to ship them back from the West Indies by the barrel load.’
‘Really?’ asked Philly. ‘Why?’
‘Shell-work was a suitable occupation for women. And the ships were coming back empty,’ said Lorna.
‘So if the grotto is damaged, we can repair it,’ said Anthea.
‘If you can do shell-work,’ said Lorna, teasing. ‘You’ve probably done a course on it.’
‘It can’t be hard, if it’s a suitable occupation for women,’ said Anthea.
‘What about the statues?’ asked Philly. ‘Can we repair them? I had a closer look a bit earlier and they could be really lovely except there seems to be bits of them missing.’
‘Let’s go and look,’ said Anthea, and stepped nimbly over the tangles of greenery to where Philly had pointed.
‘Their middles aren’t there. They look a bit sad without them,’ said Philly after they’d pulled away the vegetation. ‘But they must have been really beautiful, don’t you think, Lorna?’
Lorna was aware the others were looking at her oddly. ‘Yes. Really beautiful originally. But they’re no good with the mid-section missing. It would take ages for anyone to make new torsos. Probably not worth doing.’
Anthea frowned at her. ‘Not like you, Lorna. You’re a great recycler.’
Lorna made a gesture, wishing she could explain how she felt about the broken statues. She went for honesty. ‘The thing is,’ she said bluntly, ‘they remind me of Jack. It’s the sort of thing he deals with as a stonemason. I loved this space being man-free.’
Anthea studied her again for a few seconds. ‘Very well. We won’t repair them. I’ll get Seamus to take them out of here and this can be a man-free space again.’
Feeling she’d got a result she hadn’t worked hard enough for, Lorna smiled faintly. ‘Thank you so much for being so understanding, Anthea.’
‘I can be, you know,’ she said. ‘Now, I’m going in to put the kettle on and get in touch with Peter. I need to tell him this garden might be quite expensive to restore.’
‘He won’t like that!’ said Lorna, somewhat aghast.
‘He will,’ said Anthea confidently. ‘It can be my birthday present. He never knows what to get me, hence the chainsaw course. I might even let it be my Christmas present too.’
Watching her make her way towards the house, Philly said, ‘It may have to be several years’ worth of birthday presents.’
‘I know. But if he’s happy to pay, I’d be delighted. It’s a wonderful project. It will really help to take our minds off our miserable love lives.’
Anthea turned back. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea!’ she called. ‘We can have my birthday party here!’
Lorna gasped, frantically trying to remember when Anthea’s birthday was.
Fortunately, Philly, who couldn’t possibly know, asked the question. ‘When is your birthday, Anthea?’
‘Ages away! The sixteenth of September.’
‘But, Anthea!’ Lorna was horrified. ‘By next year, certainly, it’ll be lovely, but look at what a state it’s in now!’
Anthea gave the surrounding flattened greenery, fallen trees and heaps of brambles a cursory glance. ‘Oh come on,’ she said bracingly. ‘We can do it. We’ll throw money at it. Or better, we’ll get Peter to throw money at it. Think how brilliantly you got the house’s garden up to scratch for the sculpture show!’
Lorna swallowed and then began to laugh weakly. Anthea was not a woman to accept excuses. ‘It will be a lot of money, Anthea. We’ll have to buy heaps of stuff – most of it really – full-grown.’
Philly nodded. ‘But I might be able to help out there.’
‘Good-oh. I’m glad you’ve accepted the challenge. You know what? Never mind the kettle. I think we all need another very large gin.’
24
Philly was in the secret garden admiring all the work that had been done since its discovery early in the summer. She hadn’t been able to sleep and had got up and gone straight to the garden. It was really early – about daybreak – and Lorna probably wouldn’t be there for a couple of hours yet. She was alone, making notes of plants she still needed to source for Anthea’s big day.
Now September was adding red and gold to the fields and trees and in the garden blocks of colour took the place of elder, sycamore and brambles. The birthday was less than two weeks off and the garden was very far from completed.
Although, if she hadn’t felt so sad all the time, she’d have been full of satisfaction for what they had achieved, which was immense.
She thought back to that first day, when the three women, including Anthea in Kevlar, were hacking through the jungle. They’d made some discoveries apart from the grotto and the statues that Lorna had wanted to get rid of. There had been several climbing roses. Lorna had cut them right back and fed them, watered them, possibly read poetry to them and they’d responded with strong new shoots. Next year, with luck, they’d begin to flower again. There had been some specimen trees that were beginning to show autumn colour. Sumach, with long pointed leaves, which had sent up suckers all over the place, was now under control and flame red. A ginkgo with fan-shaped leaves was turning yellow. There were some Japanese maples that were also tinged with scarlet.
The three women hadn’t done it all on their own. Seamus, Leo and various other young men with muscles had been brought in for some of the heavier work.
One of the walls of the grotto had collapsed and emptying the fallen soil, which included quite a lot of the ceiling, had been a big job. Whenever the weather was too bad for gardening, Lorna had taken a camping lantern into the grotto and replaced the shells.
They’d also made a proper path from Anthea’s original garden through to this one. The gate had been repaired and although it was mostly left wide open, the garden still felt secret and special.
Everyone had worked so hard yet there was still so much to be done. Although, to be fair, if it hadn’t been for Anthea’s bonkers idea about having her birthday party in the garden, they wouldn’t have achieved nearly so much.
Working together so hard, she and Lorna hadn’t talked much, but once, while they were resting after having got rid of a huge tree root, Philly admitted her only regret. ‘I knew I was right to send him away, but I didn’t tell him I loved him, in so many words. I should have done. I know he can’t get in touch with me but I’m so worried.’
‘I’m sure he knows you love him,’ Lorna had said, still panting a little. ‘Only someone who loved him could have sent him away for his own good. It was a very tough thing for you to do. I really don’t think you should worry.’
But Philly did worry – or did she just long for him? Maybe if they’d made love she’d feel more certain about things? Maybe it was ‘out of
sight, out of mind’ for him? Men were different. He was young, healthy and gorgeous. Maybe there’d be another woman there, pretty, willing and – more importantly – within easy reach.
She had just felt her throat constrict and was wondering if another bout of self-pity was about to overcome her when she heard a ping from her phone to indicate she had an email.
She pulled it out from her back pocket.
It was from Lucien and it had come through her website. Seeing his name gave her such a shock it took a second before she could read the message.
Parents took away my phone with all my details, and my laptop, but hope you get this. Can you ring me on my new phone?
Here he gave the number.
I’m allowed to have a phone, just not one with your details on it. I’m here 24/7. It’s really urgent.
With shaking and slightly sweating fingers, she pressed in the numbers. Through the long days and nights since that awful scene, when she’d watched Lucien get into his van to follow his parents, she’d longed to hear from him. But also, she had hoped not to hear from him. While he was silent she knew he was doing what he wanted to do. She hardly ever let herself imagine that he’d gone out of her life forever – only about once a day, maybe twice. And not for longer than a couple of hours at a time.
‘Philly?’
She nearly fainted to hear his voice saying her name. ‘Yes!’
‘Oh God, I’ve missed you so much and they’ll kill me if they find out I’ve contacted you but I need you!’
Philly found herself smiling and smiling. It was so good to hear him sounding just the same. ‘Whatever you want, I’m there!’ she said.
‘Can you come to me? I’m at a bakery. There’s a big food competition and show at the weekend. My boss – Geraint – it’s his bakery – has had to look after his wife. She’s gone into labour a bit early. I’m here on my own and I need help. It’s more than one man can do—’
Philly’s heart soared to think he thought she was the one who could save him. But she wasn’t a baker! Her cakes weren’t even that good. And this was professional baking he wanted help with. She couldn’t do it. ‘Oh, Lucien, I’d come in a heartbeat, of course I would, but isn’t there someone who can actually bake who could help?’
‘No – that’s the thing. It’s a competition. Only the professional bakers whose names are on the form can bake, or it’s cheating. But I’ve checked with Geraint. I can bring in unqualified help.’
‘I’m certainly that. Though how you’d prove that unless the judges come in and watch me do it—’
‘I’ll sort that out. I think you have to sign a form or something.’ She could hear the excitement and delight in his voice. ‘But you’ll be perfect. I know you’re not a baker, but you can light fires and we’re using old-fashioned wood ovens. I can teach you the rest.’
Philly didn’t argue any further. Lucien was such an optimist. She doubted if he’d be able to teach her to bake in the time but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be with him.
‘I’ll have to sort a few things here, then I’ll set off. Give me the postcode…’
When she’d said goodbye to Lucien she looked at her watch. It was only seven fifteen. She decided to go to Lorna’s house. If Lorna wasn’t up she’d email and not disturb her sleep. She knew that Lorna was throwing herself into this project as if her life depended on it, which meant very early starts and long days. She sympathised. Although they hadn’t talked about it much they knew they were both distracting themselves from the aching heartbreak they were both going through.
But now Philly was walking several feet above the ground because she was going to see Lucien, that very day! She tried to keep her happiness under control as she got into her van and set off to Lorna’s house.
Lorna was outside, putting something into her car.
‘Hey!’ said Lorna as she saw Philly. ‘What are you doing here so early?’
‘Hi!’ said Philly, unable to conceal her excitement. ‘I’ve got a confession. I had an email from Lucien. He needs me so I’m bunking off. It’s a bit complicated and I think he needs a baker, but apparently his bakery is up for a competition and he can only have help from unqualified people. Anyway, I don’t care. I’m going. I hope you don’t hate me for leaving you all in the lurch.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’ Lorna summoned a smile. ‘We’ll manage. But what about your market stall? I know Seamus is still baking up a storm but doesn’t he need someone to sell his cakes for him?’
Philly shrugged. ‘He’ll be able to find someone else quite easily.’
‘So would you like me to make your posies?’
‘Will you have time? With the garden still needing so much work?’
Lorna nodded. ‘It’ll do me good to take a break. I’ll do as many as I can and then add them to Seamus’s cakes.’
Philly turned to go. ‘Keep an eye on the nursery – there are things coming on. Just take what you need. Oh – and I’ve got quite a lot of pelargoniums coming. I forgot to say. They were grown for a big show but didn’t flower in time. They were a bargain. I hope Anthea won’t be snooty about them—’
‘She said she wanted colour at any price,’ said Lorna. ‘Leave that to me. You go and find your boy!’ Philly set off, but almost immediately skidded to a halt and turned back. ‘Just had an idea. If you need anything, here’s my notebook. It’s got all my contacts in it. Just in case.’
Lorna took it. ‘It’s really kind of you to trust me with this, Philly.’
‘I know you won’t lose it and you might need someone in it – you never know. I’m so sorry to be leaving you just when you need me most.’
‘That’s fine. Off you go!’ said Lorna. ‘Do what you need to do to help Lucien.’
Then Philly shot home to pack and to tell her grandfather what was going on.
They didn’t talk long before she bounded upstairs to throw some things into a rucksack. He just said, ‘You go for it, girl. And if you come back being able to make a decent loaf, that’s all to the good.’
Philly wasn’t expecting an industrial estate but the satnav said she was in the right postcode. Rather than drive round and round trying to find the right unit, she parked and then sent Lucien a text.
Stay there,
he commanded.
I’ll find you.
Two minutes later she was in his arms, being hugged so hard she thought she’d suffocate. The long embrace was ended by a short but very determined kiss, full of intent. It took Philly a while to get her breathing regular again.
Lucien took her hand. ‘The van will be fine here,’ he said. ‘Come on. There’s no time to lose.’
When they arrived in the unit, Philly’s first thought was that she’d been expecting something rustic and attractive and it all seemed very stainless-steel and factory-like, and her second was that Lucien looked awful.
‘Don’t they let you have time off to eat?’ she said. ‘You’re so pale and thin.’
He laughed. ‘I just don’t seem to go out in daylight much. We start work in the middle of the night so all the bread is fresh for the shop.’
‘There’s a shop? I thought you said something about a competition?’
He nodded. ‘There is. We’re doing “heritage bread” that’s cooked in wood-burning ovens. We’re practising for that. Do you mind if we work as we talk? Put your bag in one of those lockers and then put on some whites and a cap. I need you to get going on lighting the fire.’
‘This is not quite what I imagined, I must say,’ she said, looking about her. ‘I thought you said it was a wood-burning oven?’
‘It is. It’s there.’ He indicated a huge cast-iron oven. ‘And there’s the wood.’ He flung a hand towards a crate packed with evenly sized logs. ‘It’s all kiln-dried.’
‘So, easy to light,’ said Philly, tucking her hair into a black cap.
‘Yes, but I can’t be lighting fires all the time.’ Lucien seemed rueful. ‘Seriously, I can’t do this sing
le-handed.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Philly, ‘and I’m totally thrilled to be here, but although I know you can only have an amateur, don’t you know anyone who’s better at this than I am? I’m a plantsperson, not a cook.’
He grinned. ‘Indeed. But you’re also the woman of my heart, which is mostly why you’re here.’
Feeling ridiculously happy, Philly opened the huge heavy door to the oven and looked into the cave-like space. ‘Not sure this is a job for someone happier with a trowel or a dibber.’
He shrugged. ‘Rules are rules. The food fair and competition – did I mention it’s on Saturday? – say that professionals have to be declared on entry.’
Philly, listening, thought Lucien looked younger and yet more professional in his own black cap.
‘Geraint and I are the names on the form. He can’t do it, but if I get professional help and we win, the baker who helped me would share the award. With untrained help – someone will come and make you fill in a different form and declare you’re not a master baker in disguise—’
Philly giggled at the thought.
‘—then I can win it and I really want to – for Geraint. He’s been so good to me – taught me a hell of a lot. Very tough, but fair. I probably won’t win, but I’m going to do my damnedest.’
The way he looked at her made Philly determined to do her absolute best for him. ‘Tell me about Geraint.’
‘He’s some sort of connection of Dad’s. I think Dad thought he’d work me so hard I’d give the whole thing up. And to be fair to Dad, he worked my – well, never mind. But I loved it. I do love it. It’s what I want to do, to be, so I wasn’t going to be put off by hard work.’
Philly felt a burst of pride for him. ‘Of course not.’ Lucien grinned. ‘Of course, if Geraint had been a bastard I might have been put off, but he works just as hard. I’ve lost nearly a stone since working for him.’
‘And you weren’t exactly a porker before.’