‘We’re not ashamed to be sisters—in fact, we like it,’ she said, and they smiled a smile of such similarity that it was quite unnerving. God knows, it had been bad enough having only one of Rosie.
‘We wanted everything out in the open,’ Star said, and they finally sat down, to my relief.
‘I don’t understand how you met.’ Gabe was staring at them with wary fascination.
‘I went surfing when I was at the Gramps’ in Cornwall, and met Rosie there,’ Stella said. ‘Only I call myself Star mostly. Everyone said we were so alike it was uncanny, and we really got on—better than sisters—and, well, we talked, and then when I had to go back to the USA to finish school we’ve been texting and emailing.’
‘And you were asking me all those questions about when I was younger,’ Gabe exclaimed.
‘Yes, and Rosie’s mum had told her all about this gardener she’d met, and so we just worked it out.’
‘So Gabe is Rosie’s father and Star’s?’ Rhodri said, his brow furrowed.
‘Duh!’ Nia said. ‘Hand the man a coconut.’
‘Well, it’s all a bit confusing,’ he confessed. ‘So…if Fran and Gabe get married eventually, when her divorce comes through, they’ll all be one big fam—Ouch!’
Nia’s elbow had connected with his ribcage.
Rosie and Star bent identical severe gazes at Gabe. ‘That depends. Rosie and I both have to get to know Dad. I was only a little girl last time I saw him, and Rosie’s hardly met him.’
‘You were such a plump little thing last time I saw you!’ marvelled Gabe, and Star gave him a dirty look. ‘I can’t believe you two look so alike now.’
‘Puppy fat,’ Star said. ‘I outgrew it.’
‘Look, this has been quite a shock,’ Gabe said. ‘A nice one, but a shock. So why don’t we all go back to Fairy Glen and talk things over? Get to know each other a bit? I’ve got some family photo albums there too. What do you both say?’
They looked at each other, then nodded.
‘Well, OK,’ Star agreed. ‘But I’m staying with Rosie tonight.’
‘That’s all right, Mum, isn’t it?’ Rosie demanded.
‘Yes—yes of course!’ I said hastily.
‘Good luck!’ Nia mouthed to me as we left.
I thought we would need it.
I thought so even more when we got near enough to see a familiar estate car parked outside the cottage. Then the door swung open and Ma stood in the doorway, resplendent in layers of lurid paisley print and high-heeled mules with pink feather pom-poms on the front.
‘Darlings!’ she said when we were all inside and barely begun on the who’s who bit, and took us all into a sort of group hug. And even when she declared slightly cheesily, and with tears in her eyes, ‘One big happy family at last!’ there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Gabe’s were watering more because he was laughing, and so, after a minute, were mine.
‘If you only knew the heart-searchings we’ve had about how we were to tell you two girls the truth!’ I gasped. ‘And then you walk into the pub bold as brass together as if you’d known each other all your lives.’
‘Well, that’s just how we feel,’ Rosie said.
‘Now I have two granddaughters,’ Ma said complacently, and I didn’t point out that actually Stella is no relation to her at all.
‘You, Fran,’ she directed me, ‘go to your house with Gabriel and bring back some elderflower champagne. This is a celebration! And food—bring food. While you’re gone, I want my new granddaughter to tell me all about herself.’
As we walked down the dark lane we both heaved a sort of sigh, and I said, ‘Well, that’s not how I’d have chosen to do it, but at least it’s all out in the open.’
‘Do you think it’s all going to work out, Fran?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think everything’s going to be a bed of roses instantly; we’re all going to take some time to get used to each other and settle down to the idea that…well, that we’re a sort of extended family.’
‘We could be a contracted family,’ he suggested, putting an arm round me. ‘If you marry me when your divorce comes through, that is.’
‘I don’t think that is the opposite of an extended family,’ I said critically. ‘And it’s too soon. Remember slowly?’
‘Oh, sod slowly,’ he said and, pulling me close, kissed me long and hard.
The champagne was a trifle delayed…
Epilogue: Heaven-Scent
Of course it all had to come out in the press (I suspect Nia’s sister, Sian, of having something to do with it), and ‘SECRET LOVE-CHILD SCANDAL OF TV GARDENER!’ was possibly my least favourite headline. But on the whole there really wasn’t that much scandal to rake up: Rosie’d been born before he was married to his first wife, and she was only secret because I never knew who Gabe was. Our engagement made a neat and tidy ending to the story—love restored, and sealed with a rose diamond—and of course he promised me a rose garden too. How could I resist?
Media interest in the story soon died down, but I’ve had to accept that Gabe will never be able to walk from one end of St Ceridwen’s Well to the other during the holiday season without being accosted by drooling female fans.
Luckily, most of the locals see him as the jewel in the crown of the area’s growing prosperity and clam up when asked for directions to where he lives, so Fairy Glen remains for the most part quietly dreaming in its little backwater.
But then, once the new series of Restoration Gardener is aired he may lose some of his celebrity status to Dottie, who he says can be seen in practically every shot, generally brandishing a riding crop and telling the cameraman to ‘Clear orf!’
By high summer it was clear that Rhodri and Nia were making a rip-roaring success of Plas Gwyn—and of their relationship. They’ve had more coach-party bookings than they can handle, so goodness knows what it will be like after they feature in the autumn TV series!
Nia’s lovely pottery pieces, especially the delicate porcelain jewellery, sell like hot cakes, as do my cards and calendars in the gift shop. And, speaking of hot cakes, Carrie has opened a tea shop up there now, Teapot2, where you can buy perennial favourites such as ‘Mades of Honour’, ‘Furry Cakes’ and ‘Ginger Parking’ to your heart’s content.
Before the extension to Fairy Glen was built, the cottage was bursting at the seams whenever Rosie, Stella, Ma and the dogs were all visiting at once. And until we all shook down into the normal give and take of family life things were sometimes difficult; but, then, I never was a romantic who expected everything to go right all the time.
Just as well.
When I look back on my life, it’s been like a maze, a rose maze, where all the paths bring me back to Gabe, however I twist and turn. Now both I and the garden around me are settled, seeded and well dibbled, and an air of heavy expectancy hangs on the hot August air.
I work with the door and windows of my little Caribbean-style studio open and the faint chatter of the two girls can be heard in between the joyful ditties of suicidal despair they are playing.
Every so often one of the hens strays over the threshold, moaning quietly (usually Shania, she’s very sociable). The fragrance of the old roses in tubs outside hangs heaven-scent on the air, and the heavy drone of fat bees adds the base notes to a symphony of bliss.
Gabe’s been away filming but he will be home soon and I can feel little shivers of excitement running up and down my spine just at the thought of seeing him again.
I tell you, if any serpent dares to raise its ugly head in my new Eden, the Apple of Contentment is going to be rammed right down its throat faster than you can say Cox’s Pippin.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Andrew L. Guthrie, General Manager of that glorious little paradise on earth, the Queen Elizabeth II Botanic Park, Grand Cayman, for kindly advising me on the history of rose cultivation on the island.
About the Author
Trisha Ashley was born in St H
elens, Lancashire, and gave up her fascinating but time-consuming hobbies of house-moving and divorce a few years ago in order to settle in North Wales, though her only claim to the area is a Welsh grandmother.
For further information on Trisha Ashley, visit her website at www.trishaashley.com
Visit www.authortracker.co.uk for exclusive updates on Trisha Ashley.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
1
First published in Great Britain as The Generous Gardener by Severn House Publishers Ltd., Surrey, 2004
Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2008
Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Extract from Trisha Ashley’s new novel © Trisha Ashley 2008. This is taken from uncorrected material and does not necessarily reflect the final version.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © 2008 ISBN: 9780007329014
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East-20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1 Auckland,
New Zealand
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
Sowing Secrets Page 34