Love in an English Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  She gave a little laugh. ‘You’ve got such a healthy attitude.’

  ‘It’s taken a while to cultivate.’

  ‘Cultivate!’ she said with a smile. ‘Do you always use gardening terminology?’

  ‘What can I say? I dig it!’

  ‘Very funny,’ she said. ‘Listen. I was wondering – I was thinking . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, we don’t really know much about each other.’

  ‘Is that bothering you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, perhaps a little too quickly to be totally convincing. ‘It’s just—’

  ‘You’d rather know who it is you’ve got hanging around your walled garden?’

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. ‘You must think I’m being silly.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you come round to mine this evening? I’ll make us dinner.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean for you to—’

  ‘It’s the least I can do. You can come and see my garden. That’s a pretty fair exchange for sharing yours with us, isn’t it?’

  Vanessa looked at his smiling face and she had to admit that she liked the idea of seeing his place. As an interior designer, she was appallingly nosy.

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘I’m at Beeches. It’s one of the cottages on the Brightling Road. Last one on the right, the same side as the church. Seven o’clock okay? That will give us some time in the garden before the sun sets.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said, acknowledging how everything with Jonathan revolved around gardens.

  Beeches was a tiny cottage on the edge of Elhurst. It was an end terrace with a small patch of front garden that led to a neat wooden door painted red. Vanessa, who had brought a bottle of wine and was now regretting it, wondering if it would give out the wrong signal, knocked on the door, pulling her light jacket around her. The dress she’d chosen to wear was a little too low-cut, she’d decided as she checked her reflection in the car mirror. But there wasn’t much she could do about that now.

  She took a deep breath. She suddenly felt nervous, which was silly really as they were just two adults having dinner together and talking about gardening. That was all. She needn’t get all anxious, because it wasn’t a date. Yet, she couldn’t help thinking that this was the first time she’d shared the company of a man since her husband’s death, and what would Oliver make of that?

  She shook her head. It was silly even to ask such a question. If Oliver were still alive, she would never be having dinner with Jonathan. But he was dead and, although she felt his presence still close to her whenever she walked in the garden and moved around his favourite rooms of the house, she knew he probably wasn’t looking down on her and guiding her every move. She was on her own now and she had to make her own decisions.

  In all the novels she’d read and the films she’d watched over the years, characters would always say that the departed spouse would have wanted the partner left behind to be happy. It was a comfort to hear those words and Vanessa had heard her fair share of such platitudes from her own friends, who had tried to persuade her to see other men, to date again, but she hadn’t had the heart for it. The happiness she’d known with Oliver could never be replicated so she wasn’t even going to attempt to find something similar, but there was something about Jonathan that she liked. He was easy to talk to. He was easy on the eye, she couldn’t help acknowledging that too, but she most certainly wasn’t thinking about him in terms of romance. They were simply two mature adults who had something in common: a passion for gardening.

  So why had she panicked in front of her wardrobe just an hour before? Because she wasn’t used to spending time with a single man?

  Suddenly, something occurred to her. What if Jonathan wasn’t single? After all, he’d never discussed his private life with her. Maybe he was married and Vanessa was about to join him and his wife for supper. She looked down at her outfit. She’d chosen a simple but elegant dress in a light linen. It wasn’t new or anything special but, then again, nothing in her wardrobe was new these days. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought a dress. It would seem like such an extravagance even though they now had money in the bank from the sale of the north wing. But why would Vanessa need a new dress? She never went anywhere. She had a few good suits she wore when working with clients and they all still had years of life in them. But she’d wanted to wear a dress tonight – not to be noticed or admired, but simply to feel feminine again.

  She knocked on the door and it wasn’t long before Jonathan answered it.

  ‘Have you been here long?’ he asked in a panic. ‘I was out in the garden.’

  ‘No, not long,’ she assured him.

  ‘Come in.’

  He was wearing a navy shirt and clean jeans and his dark red hair looked slightly less tousled than usual. She’d never seen him in anything other than his work clothes and had to admit that he scrubbed up very well indeed.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Vanessa said as she entered Beeches.

  ‘It belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me, knowing how much I loved the garden. Come and see it.’

  ‘Is it just us?’ she asked.

  ‘For dinner? Yes. Why?’

  ‘Just wondering,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘Is this a woman’s roundabout way of asking if I’m married?’

  Vanessa smiled. ‘Well, I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘I’m not married,’ he said. ‘It’s just me here.’

  ‘Okay, good,’ she said. ‘I mean – that’s good if you’re happy and if you . . .’ She shook her head in embarrassment. ‘You know what I mean.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I wish I did!’

  ‘I’m sorry. Let’s start again, shall we?’ She gave a nervous little laugh and they walked down a short hallway, entering the kitchen. ‘I brought some wine,’ she said, handing the bottle to him.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You don’t drink?’ She noted that his expression was suddenly serious.

  ‘I don’t. No.’

  ‘Silly of me. I should have checked.’

  ‘No, no – it was kind of you.’

  ‘I’ll just leave it here,’ she said, popping it on one of the kitchen counters.

  Jonathan looked flustered for a moment as his eyes followed her movement, but then he cleared his throat.

  ‘The garden,’ he said, opening the back door from the kitchen.

  ‘Oh my,’ Vanessa said as she saw it for the first time.

  ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’

  The garden was much larger than one would have imagined being attached to such a modest-sized cottage. It sloped away from the house and was bordered by a fine hawthorn hedge, which was delightfully frothy with its white blossom. Two large beech trees stood sentinel-like at the bottom of the garden – the trees Vanessa imagined had given their name to the house – but it was the view beyond the hedge that took her breath away.

  ‘I’ve never seen the valley from this point before,’ she said, taking in the sweep of wooded hills with the Downs in the distance.

  ‘It’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’

  ‘We didn’t have much of a garden growing up and I used to love coming here. Grandma let me use her little trowel and fork to dig around. I think that’s when I got hooked on gardening. She’d buy me packets of seeds to plant and then would give me all the credit when they grew, even though I wasn’t around to take care of them. I learned about the changing seasons and the rhythm of nature. She helped me see things – really see them.’ His voice was gentle and full of fond remembrance.

  ‘That’s really lovely,’ Vanessa said, feeling as if she’d glimpsed a little bit of this man’s soul.

  ‘She was a special lady.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t know her.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘You would have liked her. She liked you, you know, even though she never really met you. She
loved your garden.’

  ‘She came to Orley?’

  ‘Every year. She used to talk about your summer fete. I think it was the highlight of her year.’

  ‘Really?’ Vanessa said in surprise. ‘I wish I’d known.’

  ‘She used to talk about you too.’

  ‘Did she?’ Vanessa asked in surprise.

  ‘She talked about “the lovely lady of the manor”.’

  ‘Oh, you’re making this up!’

  ‘I’m not!’ Jonathan protested. ‘She used to tell me what you’d been wearing. What you’d said at the opening speech and . . .’ He paused.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She especially liked your hats.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She did. In fact, she once bought one at the village jumble sale. She was thrilled to find it. Apparently, there’d been quite a scrum to get it, but Grandma was victorious.’

  Vanessa laughed. ‘She sounds like quite a character.’

  ‘She was.’ A sad look crossed his face.

  ‘You miss her, don’t you?’

  ‘Every day,’ he said. ‘No exaggeration. Every time I’m in the garden, I’ll see something that I’d love to share with her or think of a little job to do that reminds me of her.’

  ‘When did she die?’

  ‘Twelve years ago.’

  ‘Are your parents still living?’

  ‘They retired to Portugal. They were hoping I wouldn’t want this cottage so they could sell it.’

  ‘But your grandma left it to you,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘My dad still thought he had a right to sell it and do what he wanted with the money, but I made sure he didn’t get a chance.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Whenever he visited, he’d be eyeing things up that he could sell in the future. He once even asked if he could take Grandma’s dressing table. I think it’s some kind of antique. Anyway, he’d clocked it.’

  ‘And did she give it to him?’

  ‘No way,’ Jonathan said, a gleam in his hazel eyes. ‘My dad is the kind of man who always knows the price of something but never its true value. He never loved this place and Grandma knew that. He would pace around the garden as if measuring it out. I think he would have sold it to a developer.’

  ‘No. Surely not?’

  Jonathan shrugged. ‘I’m not giving him a chance to find out.’

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, taking in the neat raised beds full of produce and the flowering shrubs and perennials in the borders, all set against the fantastic backdrop of the Weald.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She followed him back into the kitchen.

  ‘I have some elderflower cordial,’ he said. ‘Unless you’d like me to open the wine?’

  ‘Oh, no. Elderflower cordial sounds lovely!’

  He poured them both a glass.

  ‘I’ve just got to check on dinner.’

  ‘Can I . . .’ She motioned to the garden and he nodded.

  Taking her glass with her, Vanessa returned outside, walking down the herringbone path which led to a small greenhouse stuffed with plants. Everything was so neat and tidy. Vanessa believed that you could tell a lot about a person from their garden – almost as much as you could from their house – and she looked around now, clocking the fruit trees, flowers and vegetables. There was a birdbath too, and several nest boxes in secretive places.

  Vanessa took in the old metal obelisks that were supporting plants in the borders. They’d seen better days, but there was a wonderful rustic charm about them, as with the heaps of terracotta pots in all shapes and sizes which stood alongside the greenhouse. They were chipped and mossy, but utterly beautiful. She also noticed the homemade willow supports for the beans and peas and the recycled galvanised tubs that were now planted with herbs, and she smiled at the elegant columbines which nodded happily along the path, their pale flowers almost luminous in the fading light.

  The garden was at least three times the size of next door’s and Vanessa guessed that Jonathan’s grandmother had been able to purchase land from the neighbouring farmer at some stage. She’d certainly made the very best of it and Jonathan was obviously in love with it as much as his grandmother had been.

  Walking around it now, Vanessa couldn’t help thinking how wonderful it must be to have a manageable garden – a garden that didn’t need an army of people to take care of its acres of lawn, massive hedges and elaborate borders. But she adored Orley and got so much pleasure from walking in the grounds, and she truly couldn’t imagine life without it even though it was jolly hard work and caused her endless worry.

  ‘Dinner’s nearly ready,’ Jonathan said, joining her.

  ‘This is such a lovely garden,’ she told him.

  ‘I’m glad you like it. It’s very special to me.’

  ‘Do you get a lot of bird life?’

  ‘There are two blue tit families in the nest boxes and a blackbird’s nesting in the hedge over there.’

  ‘It’s a magical time of year.’

  He nodded. ‘I like coming out here in the evenings and listening to the nightingales in the valley.’

  Vanessa smiled. Nightingales had been one of Oliver’s favourite things too. She remembered a time when he’d taken her for a walk into the valley. The sky had been darkening and a cool breeze had made her shiver; she’d been on the verge of asking to return home when she’d heard that extraordinary sound for the first time: the song of the nightingale – a quizzical, complex song full of magic and mystery and so unlike anything she’d ever heard before. She’d stood transfixed, forgetting the cold of the night air with Oliver standing close behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. They’d been there for an age as the sky changed from navy to black and the stars came out to shine upon the valley. Then they’d walked home, holding hands, without speaking, knowing that they had shared a little miracle.

  ‘Vanessa?’

  She turned to Jonathan, almost shocked to see him there.

  ‘Sorry!’ she said.

  ‘You were miles away.’

  ‘Just remembering something.’

  ‘About Oliver?’

  ‘Silly of me.’ She quickly blinked away the tears that had mischievously arisen.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said kindly. ‘It’s not been that long, has it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ she said, thinking how incredible it was that moments like that could still creep up on her and catch her unawares.

  ‘And you were together a long time. You can’t just forget a person who’s been a part of your life for so long. It wouldn’t be right or normal.’

  Vanessa nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, laying a hand lightly on her arm, ‘I’ll just switch the oven off. Take your time and come in when you’re ready, okay?’

  It was sweet of him to give her a moment. She needed that and she took a few deep breaths of the evening air to centre herself. Would it ever go away, this terrible grief she carried around with her? It had eased somewhat over the months, but it still weighed her down, making her ache with longing for the man she’d loved so much. Jonathan was right: you can’t forget somebody you’d loved for so long just because they’re no longer there. All of the feelings you had don’t die with the person who has departed; they go on.

  She took a moment longer, listening to a startled cry from a blackbird who obviously wanted the garden to itself at this time of night. She took the hint and walked back into Jonathan’s cottage, entering the kitchen where a wonderful smell greeted her.

  The small table had been set with a white damask tablecloth that Vanessa guessed to have been another hand-me-down from Jonathan’s grandmother.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he said as he placed two white plates, which had been warming in the oven, on the table.

  He’d made a vegetable lasagne and served it with a fresh baguette and a bowl of crisp salad leaves.

&nbs
p; ‘From the greenhouse,’ he said.

  ‘It all looks delicious,’ she told him.

  ‘Let me top up your drink.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  They ate in silence for a moment before Jonathan spoke.

  ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’ he asked.

  Vanessa looked up from her plate. ‘You make it sound so official.’

  ‘I just wondered if you had anything particular on your mind.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ she said, and she really didn’t, although she couldn’t help being curious about this man and had indeed wondered about his past, especially since Tilda had pointed out that they knew absolutely nothing about him. ‘I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other a little better.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You start.’

  She grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d start. After all, you have the advantage. You know all about Orley and have an impressive record of each and every hat I’ve ever worn to the fetes.’

  He laughed. ‘True enough. Okay then. Where to begin?’ He picked up the breadboard and offered her another slice of baguette which she took, spreading it with gloriously golden butter. ‘I was born in Sussex, grew up in Sussex and will no doubt die in Sussex.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s been some other stuff along the way,’ he said with a wry grin.

  ‘Then tell me about it. Have you brothers and sisters?’

  ‘Nope. Just me.’

  ‘And you were close to your grandma. What was she called?’

  ‘Elsie.’

  ‘Elsie Dacre?’

  He nodded.

  ‘That name rings a bell. Was she on any committees?’

  ‘She was secretary for the WI for more years than I care to remember.’

  ‘Of course! I remember her now.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  Vanessa cast her mind back. ‘I once gave a talk to the WI. About the garden at Orley.’

  ‘Yes. I remember her telling me about it.’

  ‘I don’t remember any of the details, but Elsie came up to me afterwards and said she had a terrible confession to make. I couldn’t for the life of me think what it might be, but she told me that she’d taken some columbine seeds from Orley to sow in her own garden. She said she loved our garden and that she was trying to capture a little piece of it in her own.’