Marcus walked to the window and looked out. He gave a little nod, but didn’t say anything.
‘Ah, here’s Tilda,’ Vanessa said, mightily relieved when she saw her daughter returning with a tray on which sat five mugs, a teapot, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar.
Laurence sprang forward. ‘Let me help.’
‘It’s okay,’ Tilda insisted, placing it on the coffee table in between the two sofas before pouring the tea. She took Dolly a mug so she could drink it sat by her own window.
‘So,’ Vanessa began, encompassing Marcus and Laurence in what she hoped was a friendly smile, ‘Tilda tells me you’re from Elhurst.’
‘That’s right,’ Laurence said. ‘I grew up here. A little cottage on the edge of the village. I used to ride my bike past this house and wonder what it would be like to live here.’
‘And now you’re going to find out. I hope the reality won’t disappoint you.’
‘I’m sure it won’t.’
Vanessa smiled. Laurence looked so happy to be there and she couldn’t help feeling a little of his joy. It reminded her of the day when she had moved into Orley, packing her small car with a few cardboard boxes of possessions and making the drive from London pretty much as Laurence and his father had done today. It had been a strange feeling to know that the big old country manor house was going to be her home, and she’d been filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Tilda and Jasmine had never experienced it, having been born and raised here, but Vanessa had been an outsider, as Dolly had before her.
‘What sort of place are you leaving in London?’ Vanessa asked.
‘A flat overlooking the river,’ Laurence said. ‘I think the river’s the only thing I’m going to miss about London.’
‘Well, we’ve got the Ridwell here, as you may remember,’ Vanessa said, ‘and it often comes a little closer to the house than we’d like.’
Tilda shot her a warning look and Vanessa gasped.
‘Not to the north wing, of course!’ she quickly added. ‘But it often floods the south garden.’
‘Not often,’ Tilda said. ‘Occasionally.’
Laurence nodded, Marcus frowned and Vanessa wished that the wooden floorboards would swallow her up.
‘So, it’s just the two of you?’ she continued, desperate to change the subject.
Laurence cleared his throat. ‘Yes. My mother died two years ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Vanessa said, once again mortified that she’d brought up an unsuitable subject.
‘Just me and my dad these days.’
Marcus shifted uneasily on the sofa.
‘Well,’ Laurence said, finishing his tea, ‘perhaps we could—’
‘Yes, of course.’ Vanessa stood up. ‘You’ll want to have a good look around. Take your time, and feel free to explore the gardens too.’
‘River’s not flooded today, then?’ Laurence said, a little smile lighting his face.
‘No, no! Not for years.’
‘I’ll show you the way,’ Tilda said, and Vanessa watched in relief as her daughter led Laurence and Marcus out of the room.
A horrible silence descended after they’d left, filled with the malevolence of Dolly Jacobs, who was still sat in the chair by the south window.
‘You stupid woman!’ she said to Vanessa. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if they backed out of the sale now. In fact, I hope they do!’
As soon as Tilda had left and they were in the privacy of the north wing, Laurence turned to face his father.
‘You’re really going to live here, Dad?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘When did you make your mind up?’
They entered a large room, which was cold and echoey, and moved across to the window.
‘As soon as you turned off the motorway,’ Marcus said.
Laurence nodded. So, the Sussex Weald had worked its magic on him as Laurence had hoped it would.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? This is a pretty special place.’
Marcus didn’t say anything, but Laurence could see that there was gentleness in his father’s eyes as he stared out of the window, taking in the full beauty of the Ridwell Valley with its soft green fields and wooded hills. Had his father missed it as much as he had? he wondered.
‘Listen,’ Laurence said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, okay? Let you have a look around by yourself. I’ll – I’ll be around somewhere.’
It was a strange feeling to walk through the big bare rooms without an estate agent, but Laurence welcomed the silence as his thoughts roamed. This was going to be his home. Their home. He was so glad that his father was going to be part of this new life, and Laurence couldn’t help thinking that the peaceful setting could only do them good after the stresses of the last couple of years and the noise and strain of life in London.
He could hear his father’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards as he moved around. Laurence managed to keep one room ahead of him, giving Marcus the space and time that he would need to accept this place as his new home. He would give anything to know what was going through his father’s mind – the questions he might have and the memories that he must be reliving by being back in Sussex – but they would have plenty of time to talk later, he thought. Now was the time for dreaming.
Jasmine had left the door of the oast house open. The sun was still very weak at this time of year, but it was a welcome change from the grim grey days of the last few weeks, and she wanted to try and capture some of that light on canvas. In truth, she was also hiding out from the Sturridge man her mum and sister kept talking about. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She had nothing to say to him and wasn’t going to be a part of some fake welcoming party when he arrived. Nobody wanted him there, not really, so why pretend?
Jasmine didn’t do pretending very well and couldn’t understand people who did. It was absurd. If you felt something then you should just come out and say it. Although Jasmine suspected that her grandmother probably wasn’t mincing her words that day.
It was as she was washing some brushes, which really should have been washed the night before, that she heard footsteps. Turning around, she saw a man standing in the doorway.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he said, quickly backing away.
Jasmine could feel a blush heating her face. ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’
‘Him?’
‘Mr Sturridge. The man who’s going to live with us.’
‘I’m one of them,’ the man said.
Jasmine frowned.
‘I think you’re thinking of Laurence. My son. He came to view the property before. I’m Laurence’s father.’
‘Oh.’
There was an awkward silence, but despite having been quite determined not to be a part of the welcoming committee, Jasmine’s innate kindness got the better of her and she introduced herself.
‘I’m Jasmine, but most people call me Jassy.’
‘I’m Marcus. Most people call me grumpy.’
Jasmine found herself smiling, much to her surprise.
‘Look, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Marcus said.
‘You’re not. I haven’t begun yet. Actually, I’m not sure I want to.’
‘What – what were you doing?’ Marcus asked, looking around the oast house from the doorway.
‘I was going to paint, but I’m not really in the mood. I’m in one of my funny moods. At least, that’s what Tilda calls them. I’m just a bit restless, you know?’
‘I know.’
They held each other’s gaze for a moment and then Jasmine looked away. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d just told this Marcus Sturridge such a thing. She didn’t usually tell people how she was feeling.
‘Are all these paintings yours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have a closer look?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose. But don’t touch that one!’ she cried as the sleeve of his coat almost brushed a canvas as he walked into the room. ‘It’s still wet.’
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She watched as Marcus Sturridge walked around her studio. It was an odd feeling. Tilda and her mother usually got thrown out if they tried to enter and yet here she was inviting this stranger in.
‘You didn’t come for the first viewing, did you?’ she asked him.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I guess I didn’t think this was going to happen. I thought Laurence was just – well – messing about.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘I like finding things out,’ she said. ‘Mum’s always telling me that it isn’t polite to ask questions, but I can’t help it.’
Marcus gave a tiny smile.
‘Where did you want to live?’ she asked.
He sighed. ‘Nowhere really.’
‘What do you mean? You have to live somewhere!’
‘I didn’t care.’
‘That’s sad,’ Jasmine told him. ‘You should love where you live.’
‘And you love it here?’
She nodded.
‘I don’t blame you. It’s beautiful.’
‘You’ll be happy here,’ she said.
He looked as if he were about to laugh, but something seemed to hold him back. ‘I wish . . .’
‘What?’
‘I wish I could be as confident as you.’
‘I’m not confident,’ she stated. ‘I have a condition. It makes me honest, that’s all, which isn’t like normal people, is it?’
‘I see,’ Marcus said. ‘Well, honesty is always good, I think.’
‘Me too.’
‘So many people shy away from it, don’t they?’
Jasmine nodded. ‘I like you,’ she said. ‘Which is really odd because I don’t normally like strangers and I didn’t think I was going to like whoever was going to be living with us.’
Marcus laughed at that. ‘And that’s about as honest as you can get,’ he said.
Laurence was on his second lap of the south garden when he spotted his father.
‘Dad!’ he called, waving a hand. ‘How are you getting on? I thought I’d lost you.’
‘I’ve just had a very nice chat with Jasmine,’ he said.
‘Since when do you chat, Dad?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, we haven’t chatted for years!’
‘Well, I chatted with Jasmine.’
‘I have yet to meet the mysterious Jasmine,’ Laurence said. ‘What’s she like?’
His father looked thoughtful. ‘She’s like . . .’
‘What?’
‘No, you’ll laugh.’
‘Why would I laugh?’
‘Because she reminded me of . . .’
‘What, Dad?’
Marcus cleared his throat. ‘Spring.’
‘Pardon?’
‘She reminded me of spring. You know – fresh and bright, and full of life, but with a rawness about her.’
Laurence did a double take. ‘You’re suddenly a poet now you’re moving back to the country?’
‘I told you that you’d laugh.’
‘I’m not laughing,’ he said and they walked down a path flanked by flowers. ‘So, do you think you’ll be happy here?’
His father didn’t answer at first, but his long stare took in the fields full of sheep and the distant hills.
‘I think the chances are fairly good,’ he said.
Chapter 5
What exactly was it that solicitors did that took such an inordinate amount of time? Laurence wondered. When he made his mind up about something, he could be very impatient indeed, expecting the world to move at the pace he had set. Unrealistic, he knew, but he just couldn’t help it.
The last few weeks in London were torturous for him, knowing that his beautiful new home and garden awaited him and yet weren’t quite his. He did his best to throw himself into his work, tidying up all the loose ends and preparing himself for the life of a self-employed financial consultant. He had made many good friends in the business and already had a list of potential clients, which was heartening because he couldn’t help feeling some trepidation.
Finally, with papers signed and money exchanged, Laurence and his father left London on a crisp spring morning. As they entered the Ridwell Valley, they noticed that the river was twice its normal size as the ice waters had melted. It had already broken its banks several times over the long, dark winter months, but now it was receding. Snowdrops, crocuses and violets were emerging in the hedgerows, and the fields looked so very green now their snowy cloak had been finally shaken off.
Laurence kept sneaking little glances at his father as they drove towards Elhurst. Marcus hadn’t spoken since they’d left the motorway and didn’t even say anything when he saw the two large farm vehicles blocking the main road through the village.
‘This could take a while,’ Laurence said.
His father sighed.
‘Shall we?’ Laurence put the car into reverse. It would mean doubling back through the village and taking another lane that linked up with the one that led to Orley, and they both knew what that meant. It meant driving past their old home.
Laurence had avoided seeing it on his first viewing of Orley as he’d wanted the trip to be about the future rather than the past. It was about fourteen years since he’d last seen the place, his mother and father having moved to a property on the Kent coast for a change of scene and a breath of sea air shortly after Laurence had left university.
Turning left out of the village, the road dipped and the valley opened up to them. There were a few small cottages lining the lane that never seemed to change and Laurence slowed the car down as they reached the last one.
Field End Cottage.
It was a sweet little cottage with tiny sash windows that looked out onto the expanse of the Ridwell Valley. Surrounded by a garden with raised beds and an old greenhouse, it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a jigsaw puzzle.
‘You okay?’ Laurence asked.
His father nodded. ‘They’ve got a new front door.’
‘Yes, and the old apple tree has gone too.’
‘Well, it was looking iffy when we were here.’
‘Nothing stays the same forever.’
‘We should never have moved,’ his father said. ‘If we’d stayed, perhaps your mother would still be alive.’
‘You can’t think like that, Dad.’
‘She wouldn’t have been out on that road that day.’
‘No, but she would have been driving on different roads in different circumstances,’ Laurence told him. ‘We can’t change the past and you’ll drive yourself mad if you think that way.’
His father turned away, looking resolutely out of the window as the cottage grew smaller in the rear-view mirror.
It wasn’t long before they joined the lane which led to Orley.
‘I can’t believe we’re really doing this,’ Laurence said as he caught his first glimpse of the manor house. ‘You ready for this, Dad?’
‘I guess I’m going to have to be.’
They turned onto the driveway before parking in their own personal space which had access to the north wing. The removal van had arrived and the main entrance hall was full of boxes.
‘Mr Sturridge – welcome!’ Vanessa said, greeting Laurence as he entered the hallway.
‘Please, call me Laurence,’ he said. ‘Or Laurie. But not Mr Sturridge.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘And you must call me Vanessa. I hope your journey was okay,’ she said, switching her attention between the two men.
‘I think the worst part was getting through Elhurst,’ Laurence told her. ‘A slight agricultural hold-up.’
‘Oh, the roads round here are impossible, aren’t they? If anything larger than a Land Rover comes along, it’s absolute chaos! Can I get you a cup of tea or something?’
‘No thanks,’ Laurence said. ‘I think we’re just going to dive in.’
&nbs
p; ‘Well, you know where we are if you need anything.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, watching as Vanessa left the hallway, entering a room on the south side.
North and south, he thought. He and his father had journeyed south from London and now they were heading north.
‘What a horrible din!’ Dolly Jacobs complained when Vanessa entered her rooms.
‘It won’t last forever,’ Vanessa assured her.
‘It wouldn’t happen at all if I made the decisions round here.’
‘Everybody knows how you feel about it,’ Vanessa said, trying to keep her cool. ‘You’ve made your thoughts perfectly clear. But it’s going ahead – right now – and I think this is the best thing we could possibly do for Orley.’
Dolly heaved herself up from her chair and turned to glare at her. Leaning on her stick, she made her way to the corner of the room and opened the drawer of a beautiful old desk that had once been in Oliver’s study, handed down from father to son for countless generations. Vanessa had always been curious as to what Dolly kept in it and knew she was about to find out.
‘What is it?’ she asked as Dolly crossed the room holding something which she shoved into Vanessa’s hand. It was a black-and-white photograph of Orley.
‘See this?’
Vanessa looked at the beautiful old image. ‘When was it taken?’
‘Sometime in the thirties. Just before the war.’
‘And you’re showing it to me because . . . ?’
‘Because I want you to see this place has always been here, unchanged, unsullied. People have come and gone. Fires raged. Wars have been fought. But Orley remains, and it’s remained in the same family.’
Vanessa swallowed hard because she knew what was coming.
‘This house has been through all those challenges, but never has one of its owners thought to sell it off.’
‘Dolly—’ Vanessa began as she tried to return the photo.
‘Keep it,’ she hollered as she turned her back to Vanessa. ‘I want you to remember what you’ve done to this place.’
Vanessa didn’t hear Tilda coming into the morning room.
‘Mum – what’s the matter?’
Love in an English Garden Page 5