Love in an English Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘And the descendants of those seeds live on today. Did you see the columbines?’

  ‘I did. I was actually admiring them. How funny! I think there are probably little pieces of the garden at Orley scattered right across the village.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘I can’t believe that was your grandmother. I’m so glad I met her.’

  ‘She was a big fan of yours. She loved her local lady of the manor.’

  Vanessa shook her head. The idea of having a fan was way outside her comfort zone, and as for the title ‘lady of the manor’, that had never sat easily either. Yes, she opened the annual fete and, yes, she was happy to give the occasional talk to a local group, but that was it. She was a private person who just happened to live in a rather extraordinary house.

  ‘So,’ she said, eager to move the subject away from her, ‘have you any family of your own?’

  ‘Er, no,’ he said.

  ‘No lady in your life?’

  Jonathan took a mouthful of elderflower cordial before answering. ‘I’m pretty much married to my work.’

  Vanessa watched his face closely as he gave his evasive answer. ‘So nobody special?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ he said. ‘Next question?’

  She took a breath. So, that was the end of that particular subject, she thought. ‘Have you always been a gardener?’

  ‘Pretty much. Although it was tough at first to make a full-time living from it. I was working for a small company for a while before breaking out on my own, but it’s pretty good now. I like being my own boss. It suits me.’

  ‘And how did you become involved with your team?’

  There was a pause before he answered, and he gave a little shrug. ‘I believe in giving back. I knew Rod and he told me a bit about what he was doing and I got on board with it.’

  ‘I think it’s really wonderful – what you’re both doing. It must feel good to make a difference.’

  ‘I hope I do.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said. ‘Have you seen the looks on the faces of those kids when they finish for the day? They’re practically glowing and that’s not just from all the fresh air. I think they have a real sense of pride in what they’re doing with you.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘You must know that.’

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘It’s hard to tell sometimes. You think you’re making headway with a youngster, that you’re really getting through to them. You show them that life can be good, different – that they can make wholesome choices.’ He stopped. ‘It doesn’t always work out, you know. We can’t save everybody.’

  A sudden chill seemed to descend and a feeling of sadness encompassed her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here, she thought. She had no business prying into this man’s private life, picking at him with her questions when he clearly wasn’t happy answering them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, scraping her chair back and standing up. ‘I should—’

  ‘Vanessa – no, wait.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Please sit down. I’m sorry.’ He got up himself and reached a hand out towards her, touching her shoulder and encouraging her to stay.

  Vanessa sat back down. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ she told him.

  ‘You didn’t. It’s just, well, I don’t normally talk about this stuff.’ He sat down again. ‘Well, that’s gone and ruined a perfectly nice evening, hasn’t it?’

  She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘No, it hasn’t.’

  ‘You see why I stick to plants now? I don’t do company well.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ she said. ‘The way you talk to those kids is pretty amazing. You have something special with them. And we’ve been getting along all right, haven’t we? Until I started probing you, that is. I’m sorry about that. Shall we just erase the last ten minutes and start again? I’d really like to do that if I haven’t put you off talking to me forever.’

  ‘It would take more than that to put me off you,’ he said, and there was something in his tone that put her at her ease, knowing that he valued her friendship.

  They finished their meal and then Jonathan led her into the tiny living room at the front of the cottage.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ he said. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?’

  ‘A tea would be lovely,’ she said.

  ‘Coming right up.’ He left the room and Vanessa’s eyes began to dart around as they had done in the garden. His shelves were crammed with books and Vanessa was delighted to see that many of them were books about gardening – everything from encyclopaedias and journals, to guides on how to plant or prune and manuals about landscaping.

  After perusing the shelves for a couple of moments, her designer’s eye noted the old-fashioned wallpaper of the room, which was a sweet floral pattern from, she guessed, the 1980s. It was actually very similar to a modern one she’d seen recently which had been incredibly expensive. But this one was lovelier because there was a mellowness to it that only age could bring.

  The curtains, which weren’t yet drawn against the night sky, were Sanderson, she thought, a classic country style that suited a property of this period. The colours were faded and she guessed there wasn’t a lot in the cottage that was Jonathan’s choice. It was very much a hand-me-down home, but he seemed completely at ease there and she guessed that his real home was the garden anyway.

  Turning around, she saw a beautiful if battered-looking notebook sitting on a side table. It was bulging slightly because it was filled with newspaper clippings and loose pieces of paper. Curious, Vanessa opened it and saw that it was a journal. Was it Jonathan’s? She’d never seen his handwriting before, but guessed that it must be. He had nice writing. It was slightly forward-sloping with big loops. He wrote in blue ink. She liked blue ink. There was something tremendously beautiful about blue ink in a world of black typeface and she couldn’t resist reading a few lines.

  July 21st – the garden is parched and the soil cracking. No rain for weeks now and the water butts are long empty.

  So, it was a gardening journal, she thought as she read on.

  R not good today. I stopped work early and came home.

  Who was R? Rod perhaps?

  A teaspoon clattered onto the floor in the kitchen, causing Vanessa to jump and close the journal before being discovered.

  It was then that something caught her eye: a framed engraving hanging on the wall behind a standard lamp. She walked towards it. At first, it appeared to be of a man striding across a field, a hilly landscape threaded through with a river far below him but, on closer inspection, Vanessa saw that the arm she had thought was merely swinging was, in fact, sowing seeds and that he was carrying a large container strapped around his neck.

  ‘You like it?’ Jonathan asked, coming into the room with a tray on which sat two fat pottery mugs of tea, a sugar bowl and a milk jug.

  ‘I do. Who’s it by?’

  ‘It’s a Clare Leighton print from the nineteen thirties. It’s called “Sowing”. From her book – The Farmer’s Year.’

  ‘It’s wonderful. There’s a real sense of his movement, isn’t there? He’s so graceful. It’s like a kind of dance over the land.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘I like the clouds. They’re so alive.’

  ‘And the church amongst the huddle of houses in the valley. It’s really lovely. We don’t have many engravings at Orley. I wish we did. They’re special, aren’t they?’

  Vanessa’s eyes drifted away from the picture and looked at the bookshelves again, and that’s when she saw a small photo frame in silver and black. It was a portrait of a young woman, a very beautiful young woman with short fair hair and a pretty smile. She turned to Jonathan, who seemed to have clocked her looking at it and turned away. Vanessa’s mouth opened but she didn’t say anything, remembering the awkward scene in the kitchen. It wasn’t her place to probe into this man’s life and so she tactfully returned her gaze
to the books before her.

  They talked for a while about their favourite gardening titles and she watched as Jonathan pulled down volume after volume, opening up pages to share his favourite photographs and reading out passages that were special to him. She noticed that many of the pages were dog-eared. She did that too, which used to annoy Oliver intensely even if it was a brand-new novel and not one of the ancient tomes which belonged in the library at Orley. She knew better than to manhandle those. But Jonathan had no such qualms when it came to making a book his own and she saw that some passages were underlined and that he used empty seed packets in lieu of bookmarks.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said at last, returning one of the books back to the shelf, ‘you were going to tell me about yourself.’

  ‘Was I?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, I’m the hat-wearing lady of the manor,’ she said with a smile.

  He gave her a quizzical look. ‘There’s more to you than that.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Her hands surrounded her mug of tea in a tight embrace, finding a comfort in the warmth. ‘Everything changes, doesn’t it?’

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘I find that hard.’ Their eyes met and she saw him swallow. ‘But one gets on.’

  ‘And you have two wonderful daughters,’ he prompted.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry you haven’t met them yet.’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I’d like you to, and I’d like them to meet you.’

  ‘Then I’m sure we will,’ he said.

  She looked anxiously around the room as if trying to fasten onto something they could talk about without doing too much damage.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘This hasn’t been very successful, has it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, this was meant to be about getting to know each other and I’m afraid that I upset you with my questions and I haven’t been able to answer yours.’

  ‘It’s been a complete disaster, hasn’t it?’

  She was about to nod, but saw that he was smiling, and there was a definite twinkle in his bright hazel eyes which made her smile too.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you’ve been through a hard time losing Oliver and it takes a while to bounce back from such things. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. You’re a good person, doing wonderful things for your community.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Of course you are.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Have you any idea of the difference you’re making to me and the team just by letting us dig a bit of earth?’

  ‘But you’re helping me.’

  ‘Then that’s what I’d call a success. Just as this evening has been.’

  She gave a wry grin. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘How can you not?’ he asked. ‘You’ve seen my garden. We’ve established that you knew my grandmother, you’ve looked at my treasured gardening books and I sincerely hope you enjoyed my cooking.’

  ‘Oh, I did!’ she said quickly.

  ‘There you go then. That’s not too bad as evenings go, is it?’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is.’

  They chatted a little while longer, keeping comfortably to subjects like books, music and the latest gossip from Elhurst, and the atmosphere between them was definitely more relaxed. Finally, Vanessa checked her watch and stood up.

  ‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ she said, ‘but it’s time I was getting back.’

  ‘Dolly keeping tabs on you, is she?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. She doesn’t miss much.’ Jonathan escorted her to the front door. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I’m really glad we did this.’

  ‘Me too.’ She opened the door.

  ‘Wait just one moment,’ he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Vanessa was about to ask him what he was doing when he returned a moment later with the bottle of wine.

  ‘Here. It’s wasted on me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want it? For guests?’

  ‘I never keep alcohol in the house.’ He handed her the bottle.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘If you’re sure.’ She turned to leave and he followed her out, standing on the pavement as she got into her car.

  ‘See you soon,’ he called, and she waved before starting the engine.

  It was with mixed feelings that she left Beeches that night. She’d sincerely enjoyed Jonathan’s company but, as she drove back through the village and turned into the valley towards Orley, she couldn’t quite work out who had been holding back the most that evening: herself or him.

  Chapter 13

  ‘You were out. All night!’

  Vanessa jumped as her mother-in-law crept into the kitchen. Turning around to face Dolly, she noted the red face glaring back at her as if the old woman had been hoarding all the resentment of the night before, ready to unleash now.

  ‘You’re exaggerating. I was home well before eleven. Not that it’s any of your business,’ Vanessa said, turning her back on Dolly as she cleared away the breakfast things.

  ‘It jolly well is my business whilst you’re living under my roof.’

  Vanessa didn’t rise to the bait. They’d had this argument so many times in the past and she didn’t have the energy for it this morning. Besides, she was in a good mood. The more she thought about her evening with Jonathan, the more she realised how much she liked him. He was a good man. A kind man. And how often did you find one of those? Okay, so their conversation had hit a few walls, but perhaps they’d been going too fast too soon.

  Too fast too soon. Honestly, it was as if she were dating again, which she certainly was not. She must stop putting such notions in her head. They were friends – friends who still knew relatively little about each other, but who were content with things the way they were.

  ‘Where were you anyway?’ Dolly asked.

  ‘Are you still here?’

  ‘Of course I’m still here. Where else would I be?’ She made a derisive noise.

  Vanessa could think of all sorts of amusing responses to that particular question, but held her tongue.

  ‘Well,’ Dolly said at last, ‘I can’t be standing here all day. Hermione’s on her way.’

  ‘Don’t let me keep you,’ Vanessa said, deciding to steer clear of Dolly’s old crony. Hermione Warbouys was one of Dolly’s oldest friends and would come to Orley every week or so. Vanessa wasn’t really sure what they talked about, but she had a feeling that she got more than a few mentions judging by the evil looks she received from Hermione whenever they happened to cross paths. One thing Vanessa took comfort in was the fact that Oliver hadn’t been able to stand Hermione.

  ‘The Witch of Ridwell’, he’d called her, because she used to terrify him as a child and things hadn’t got much better when he’d grown up. Now, she was terrifying Vanessa.

  Perhaps it would be better if she took her cup of tea into the garden, she thought, moving quickly in order to get away from Dolly and avoid Hermione, but she didn’t move fast enough because she ran right into Hermione as she opened the front door.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Hermione said. Like Dolly, she was in her late eighties.

  ‘Good morning, Hermione,’ Vanessa said politely. She had always been polite to this woman even though she’d never received a civil word from her. ‘What a lovely morning. I’m just on my way out.’

  ‘With a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The old woman tutted. ‘And what does Dolly have to say about you taking the family china out of the house?’

  ‘She can say what she likes.’ Vanessa gave a little smile and walked down the path to the sound of Hermione harrumphing. She would no doubt enjoy her morning with Dolly all the more now that Vanessa had given her something to grumble about.

  The May morning was still and perfect. The sky was a he
avenly blue with a few wispy clouds playing over the distant Downs, and the air was warm enough for rolled-up sleeves. The wisteria on the south-east corner of the house was at its peak right now, its rich purple flowers vibrant against the golden stone. Wisteria had always been a favourite with Oliver. He used to lean out of the mullioned windows and scoop the drooping flowers in his large hands and inhale their scent. Vanessa smiled as she remembered, and then went out into the walled garden.

  She liked coming here in between visits from Jonathan and his team, walking around to see their progress. Now, she sat on an old metal bench which was slowly rusting away into the ground. It was the type of bench that was kinder on the eye than it was on the bottom and Vanessa wished she’d brought a cushion with her. What would Hermione have said about that? she wondered with a rebellious grin.

  She cast her eyes over the garden, taking in the glory of the raised beds, which would still have been a tangle of weeds had she not met Jonathan.

  ‘Jonathan.’ She spoke the name softly, thinking of the night before. She still couldn’t help feeling embarrassed when she thought about it. Instead of easy conversation, they’d done an uneasy dance around each other. And yet there had been moments when she’d felt a certain warmth between them, like when they were in the garden as the light was beginning to fade and the air was cooling. Perhaps they should never talk in any place other than a garden. Maybe that was their natural setting.

  She was just finishing her tea when she saw a young man entering the garden. He was wearing ripped jeans and sunglasses, which seemed a very odd look first thing in the morning in a country garden.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Vanessa asked, instantly on her feet and on her guard. Maybe he was one of Jonathan’s lot, although he looked too expensive, she thought, noticing his designer jacket.

  ‘You live here?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t get in.’

  ‘Why do you want to get in?’ she asked, wondering if he was a new breed of burglar who asked for the key first.

  ‘I’m here to see Tilly.’

  Vanessa was immediately on alert. Nobody but her family or her music fans called her Tilly. Was this young man somebody from the press hoping to get a story?