Love in an English Garden

by Victoria Connelly

Jonathan nodded and they took a moment to admire the cottage garden with its blue delphiniums and foxgloves, its pink peonies and heaps of lavender. Great swathes of climbing plants smothered the front and threatened to take over the thatched roof, and a forest of hollyhocks made it hard to see any of the downstairs windows.

  ‘The house looks as if it’s going to be swallowed up by the garden at any minute,’ Jonathan said. ‘Do you know who lives there?’

  ‘Mr Taylor. He’s a widower. He spends all his time in the garden.’

  ‘I can tell.’

  ‘He used to bring us plants to sell at our summer fete. They were glorious and would sell out as soon as I announced the fete open.’ She smiled. ‘You know, I’d forgotten all about that until just now.’

  ‘The fete was special to a lot of people,’ Jonathan told her. ‘I really think you should start it up again.’

  Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘It’s something that’s crossed my mind too.’

  They glanced at each other and then took one last look at the garden before crossing the road towards the footpath. The sun had blazed a rich pink trail across the sky and the air was still warm. All the same, Vanessa was aware of how quickly it cooled down in the evenings and put her jacket on. She was wearing a pair of old blue jeans and a white blouse covered in tiny sprigged flowers, over which she wore a pale pink jumper. It was a cosy, feminine look which she’d made her own over the years.

  Looking at Jonathan, she noted the light waxed jacket that was full of rips and tears and the corduroy trousers that looked old but were neat, just like his big walking boots.

  They took a narrow path which sloped steeply into the valley. Vanessa was perfectly capable of managing by herself, but she accepted Jonathan’s hand when he stretched it towards her. It was warm and strong and surrounded her own small cool hand, making her feel wonderfully safe as he led the way.

  ‘I often come into the valley on summer evenings. It’s a good way to cool off after a hot day’s work,’ he said as they entered a wood.

  ‘I love walking through the woods just as it’s getting dark,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you don’t do it on your own.’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  He turned and looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I’ve lived here for thirty years, Jonathan.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘I’m not scared of going for a walk in the countryside.’

  ‘You should get a dog or something,’ he told her. ‘A big one. Something that would defend you.’

  ‘Oh, rubbish!’

  ‘I’m serious. I don’t like to think of you wandering around on your own.’

  He was being silly, of course, but she couldn’t help liking his protective streak.

  The floor of the wood was carpet-soft, with last year’s leaves and needles making a wonderful cushion for their feet. It hushed their steps too, so that they could drink in the peace of it all.

  Suddenly, they’d left the trees behind them and the valley opened out with the river running through the middle of it. They stood side by side as they gazed upon the serene scene. There was something very special about the countryside at dusk; it seemed to be breathing out, relaxing into itself after a long day, Vanessa thought, smiling at her fancifulness.

  She cast a sideways glance at Jonathan. His face was relaxed as if he too was breathing out for the first time that day.

  ‘We’re very lucky to have all this on our doorstep,’ she said in a hushed, reverent tone, noticing that they were still holding hands.

  ‘I tried to bring the team out here one evening after work,’ he said.

  ‘What did they make of it?’

  ‘We didn’t even get this far, I’m afraid. Nat hit his head on a branch in the wood and Oz said he was getting bitten by mozzies. Jenna wasn’t impressed either. She kept asking what did the countryside have to do with her.’

  ‘Oh dear. You’ll have to try again.’

  ‘They’ve grown up in a totally different world and this one seems so alien to them.’

  ‘That’s really sad.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I mean, I can’t imagine a life without woods and hills and fields. I’d be lost. Still, they seem to be adapting to life in a garden so that’s something. Good progress.’

  They stood for a moment longer and then they heard it: the song of the nightingale, filling the air with its melody. Suddenly, Vanessa was back in time, standing with Oliver, listening to that same song. Hot tears pricked at her eyes and it was all she could do to blink them away. Don’t go there, she told herself, because she could so easily go there and make tonight about her and Oliver again. But she was with Jonathan. He was the one who’d invited her to join him and she wanted to be here with him, and so she had to make tonight about her and Jonathan.

  There were so many things that would remind her of Oliver, she knew that, and it was only right – he’d been her beloved husband and best friend for thirty years – but she had to start making new memories if she truly wanted to live her life.

  ‘Isn’t that incredible?’ Jonathan said. ‘It was waiting for us.’

  She smiled, willing herself not to cry. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, seeming to sense that something was wrong.

  She blinked quickly before looking at him, giving him the biggest, brightest smile she could muster.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  They crossed a field where sheep were grazing. The river was softly silvering the landscape, wending its way past an oast house whose roof and cowl looked like a witch’s hat against the darkening sky. A ghostly barn owl flew low over the long grasses of a neighbouring meadow, its wings sleek and silent, and still Jonathan held her hand. She didn’t want the moment to end, but she was all too aware that night was approaching.

  ‘We’d better head back to the car,’ Jonathan said. Did she detect a certain reluctance in his voice?

  They’d taken a circuitous route which brought them out a little further up the lane from Mr Taylor’s cottage.

  ‘I wish it was lighter just a little longer,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘The longest day of the year will be here soon.’

  ‘I know. I love that. I hate winter, when the darkness forces you inside.’

  They got back into the van and drove the short distance back to Orley, where yellow lights spilled onto the garden from the mullioned windows.

  ‘Can I show you something?’ she asked as he cut the engine.

  ‘Of course.’

  They got out of the van and entered the east gate through the yew hedge, and Vanessa led the way through to the south garden. Their feet crunched softly on the gravel pathway but, thankfully, Dolly’s curtains were drawn and Reynolds the terrier must have been asleep because they managed to miss being barked at.

  ‘What did you want to show me?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Everything!’

  He laughed, and all of a sudden the garden was flooded with moonlight, causing Vanessa to gasp.

  ‘I didn’t know there was a full moon tonight.’

  ‘It’s been hiding behind the clouds.’

  ‘Well, there you are,’ Vanessa said, giving a little ‘ta-da’ gesture with her right hand. ‘Everything!’

  ‘And I thought the garden at Beeches was pretty spectacular at night.’

  ‘But it is,’ Vanessa assured him.

  ‘Yes, but this is something else.’

  They stood next to each other in silence, drinking in the splendour.

  ‘White flowers are magical at night, aren’t they?’ Jonathan said. ‘It’s like they’ve captured the essence of the moon in their petals and are shining it back at the heavens.’

  Vanessa looked up at him, his hair bright in the moonlight and his eyes dark and intense. He took a step towards her and Vanessa knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to kiss her.

  She didn’t move, didn’t say anything and, when
his hands reached out to cup her face, she knew that she truly wanted to be kissed by this man right here, right now in the moonlit garden, with the glow of the white flowers all around them like wondrous candles. And oh, how right it felt.

  ‘Was that okay?’ he whispered a moment later.

  A little laugh escaped her. ‘That was very okay.’

  ‘Because I wasn’t sure how you’d respond. I thought you might . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Slap me.’

  ‘I’d never slap you!’

  He gave a shrug. ‘I know you’ve been through a difficult time and that you’re still going through it, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to show you how I feel about you.’ He reached out and stroked her cheek with his garden-roughened hands.

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes.’

  All of a sudden, it began to rain. At first it was a sweet and gentle summer rain that made them laugh, but it soon turned heavier.

  ‘Here!’ Jonathan said, reaching into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulling out a squashed hat before placing it on Vanessa’s head.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Let’s run for the south porch!’ she said, and she took his hand and they tore across the lawn, huddling together against the wooden door and its tiny covered arch. There wasn’t much room, but Vanessa didn’t mind the fact that Jonathan’s body was close to hers and neither did she mind when he turned to face her, bending down to claim her mouth in another kiss. Only he crashed into the peak of the cap.

  Vanessa laughed and quickly removed the hat, lifting her face so that he could kiss her without injury.

  ‘Wow!’ he said a moment later. ‘I didn’t expect this tonight.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ she said. ‘It must be the moonlight.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not the moonlight; it’s you. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  He took a deep breath and caressed her face. ‘It probably goes back to when I was coming out of the shop in Elhurst and I saw this strikingly beautiful woman.’

  ‘No!’ she said incredulously.

  ‘Fine, don’t believe me,’ he said, grinning at her.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Truly,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t think grabbing hold of a stranger and kissing her in the middle of the village would be the best of ideas.’

  ‘Good call.’

  The rain continued to fall, softly quenching the summer lawn and showering the plants.

  ‘Jonathan?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Let’s start the fete again.’

  He leaned back a little so that he could see her face properly. ‘You really want to?’

  ‘More than anything!’

  ‘Well, that’s great!’

  She laid a hand on his chest. ‘But I’ll need your help. I can’t do it on my own.’

  ‘I’ll help. Rod and the team will too.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Vanessa – this will be brilliant. It’ll give the team something real to aim for – we can sell some of our produce from the garden. There’ll be loads to choose from over the coming months. You’ve seen what we’ve been growing.’

  ‘Yes! And I can cut fresh flowers to sell. We can even get Mr Taylor to bring some of his plants too.’

  They smiled at each other as if they were sharing a great secret. Vanessa couldn’t remember feeling this happy in years.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ he said at last. ‘Not that I want to.’

  ‘I don’t want you to,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe we could move into the porch here together. I think it could be a very cosy home.’

  She laughed and they kissed again.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, resting her head against his chest for a moment. He kissed her brow and she watched as he walked down the path and out into the east garden. She listened to his van as it drove away and only then did she open the door and go inside. Closing it behind her, she stood with her back against the ancient wood, reliving the moment in the moonlit garden over and over again. It had been crazy – crazy and wonderful – and she felt giddy at the realisation that she could still fall in love.

  Chapter 16

  Tilda opened her laptop in the living room and grimaced at her inbox. Morton Singer . . . Morton Singer . . . Bloomin’ Morton Singer. Her inbox was full of messages from him, as was her mobile. He was trying to wear her down, wasn’t he? And he probably knew that her curiosity would get the better of her and that she’d have to listen to each and every attachment he’d sent her.

  She clicked on the first message.

  Check this out, Tilda. It’s a hit for sure! M.

  She looked at the attachment, her eyes wary. Perhaps there was a virus attached. Perhaps that’s the excuse she could give him for not opening any of them, but the cursor was hovering over it, nevertheless, and she clicked on the file. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen and then, suddenly, box after box came up on her screen. There was a virus attached!

  ‘Oh, God!’ Tilda cried. ‘Shut it down! Shut it down!’

  She pressed key after key, trying to stop the boxes from opening, and was just about to switch her laptop off altogether when she heard a light tapping at the door.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Laurence asked, his head popping round.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Tilda admitted. ‘It’s my laptop. It’s going into meltdown.’

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Please.’

  Laurence joined her on the sofa and took the laptop from her. She watched as his fingers danced over the keys, restoring order on the screen and calm in her.

  ‘There you go,’ he said a moment later.

  ‘Oh, thanks! I thought I’d killed it.’

  ‘No. Not quite.’

  ‘I hate computers,’ she said. ‘Well, when they’re not working.’

  ‘I’m kind of reliant on mine now for my business. It’s become the centre of my world.’

  ‘That would drive me crazy,’ she confessed.

  ‘So how do you write your songs and music?’

  ‘With good old-fashioned pencil and paper.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. There’s something about the connection between the brain, the heart and hand that works best for me. I did once try composing on my laptop, but it was a complete disaster. There wasn’t that special connection.’ She smiled, but then her smile turned into a frown as she realised that Laurence was staring at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Laurence said. ‘I just love hearing how artists work. It’s a different world from mine. I really admire you. You and your sister – you’re both so talented.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. We just do what’s in our hearts and hope for the best.’

  ‘So, are you going to open those?’ he asked, nodding towards the emails.

  Tilda looked at the screen. ‘I haven’t made my mind up yet.’

  ‘No? Because I’d have had them all opened by now.’

  Tilda continued to stare at her inbox as if it were her mortal enemy.

  ‘Just open the first one,’ Laurence said, whispering in her ear like a little devil sitting on her shoulder.

  Her hand hovered over the keyboard and, a couple of clicks later, a blast of music filled the room.

  ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed, a look of horror on her face.

  ‘Is that you?’ Laurence asked as Tilda struggled to find how to close the file.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘You suppose?’

  ‘I’ve never heard it before. Morton—’

  ‘The guy who visited you?’

  ‘Yes. He keeps sending me these downloads. He’s been manipulating songs of mine.’

  ‘I like it.’

  �
��Do you?’

  ‘It’s great! Can you turn it up?’ Laurence asked.

  ‘I really don’t want to do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ The music suddenly ended. ‘What did you stop it for?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Play another.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Go on! This is more fun than I’ve had in ages and, if you don’t play another, I’ll be forced to return to my boring old desk and get on with some boring old work.’

  She looked at him and the silly, sad expression he was pulling, and something in her felt just a tad sorry for him.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘one more.’ Laurence nodded eagerly and Tilda opened another track.

  ‘What’s this one?’

  She read the email. ‘Morton says it’s an artist he’s working with.’

  ‘Play it.’

  Tilda opened the file.

  ‘The music’s pretty decent, but her voice is nothing compared to yours.’

  She smiled, stopping the music. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘One more?’ Laurence asked.

  ‘Laurence—’

  ‘Go on – humour me!’

  She opened the next file.

  ‘There – that lovely voice of yours again.’

  ‘It’s another track of mine he’s been messing with.’

  ‘It’s good. It’s really good.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course I do! You must be able to hear how good that sounds?’

  ‘Well, I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘It’s full of life and energy and fun! But it has a real heart to it too. Listen to that part again.’

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘Just before the chorus-thing.’

  ‘Chorus-thing?’

  ‘I don’t know how to talk about music other than, “Oh, I like that” or “Oh, that’s terrible!” ’

  She rewound about twenty seconds.

  ‘There – that bit. That’s lovely, isn’t it?’

  Tilda’s head cocked to one side. She had to admit that it was.

  They listened to all the tracks Morton had sent her, replaying some over and over again and, before they knew it, a whole hour had passed by.

  ‘I didn’t mean to open any of those,’ she said, closing the lid of the laptop and leaning back on the sofa.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you must admit that was fun!’