Love in an English Garden

by Victoria Connelly

  Chapter 18

  When Tilda awoke the next morning, she had five texts from Morton but none from Laurence, which left her with a strangely deflated feeling. But, then again, they did live in the same building so maybe he was hoping they’d see each other and that they didn’t need to text. What could you say in a text anyway? She sometimes hated the impersonal, impossible succinctness of a text. She’d once gone out with someone who’d texted her the weirdest messages. He’d seemed to have his own language or perhaps he was just bad at spelling, she thought. Anyway, she’d wanted to shout at him, ‘Just ring me up, okay?’ People didn’t talk anymore. Perhaps that was why she liked Laurence so much – because he talked to her. He listened too, which had also endeared him to her. He truly seemed to be interested in her and to care, and that was quite addictive.

  And the kiss? She smiled as she thought about the cosy, warm feeling of being so close to Laurence in the porch, with the swallows screaming across the inky sky and the evening air cooling their faces.

  She really did like him, but wouldn’t a relationship complicate things? What if whatever this was between them didn’t work out? They were neighbours now and, no matter how attracted she was to him, there could be years of awkward moments ahead of them if they got it wrong. Tilda sighed, chastising herself for being so negative when nothing but good things were happening to her.

  She got out of bed and showered, leaving her hair to dry naturally and enjoying the sensation of the warm air on it when she opened her bedroom window and leaned outside. It was going to be a beautiful day. It was a pity she had to teach at the local comprehensive because she would have liked to sit in the garden with her paper and pencil, the way she’d used to before the pop world had claimed her. After her day with Morton and her singing marathon with Laurence, she was finally feeling inspired to write again.

  Leaving her room, she made her way to the morning room, standing in the doorway for a moment, looking at the ornate plasterwork ceiling, the mullioned windows and the fine oak-panelled walls as if seeing them for the first time. It was probably the loveliest room in the whole of England and she felt so privileged to have breakfast there each morning. But would that all change if she launched another music career? Would she have to spend part of her week in London, if not move there altogether like last time? What sacrifices would she have to make?

  She remembered the sharp agony of missing home when she was on the road promoting ‘Summer Song’. How she’d longed to return to Orley, to sneak away from her impersonal hotels in the middle of the night and run back home to the Weald. And yet she couldn’t deny how much she’d enjoyed her time in the studio with Morton yesterday. It had felt right somehow, and natural. She’d loved it all – the mad scampering out to get coffee and the buzz of writing with someone. But it could so easily lead her to living in a way that she didn’t like.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jassy called over from the breakfast table.

  ‘Yes, darling – you do look funny standing in the door like that,’ her mother said, bringing her out of her reverie. ‘Come in and have some breakfast. Jassy was just telling me about her latest project. She’s painting something new every day for a month. Isn’t that exciting?’

  ‘Is Marcus joining in too?’ Tilda asked as she walked towards them.

  ‘He is, but he’s very slow so I’m not sure he’ll keep up.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on him,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘You’ve got to be hard if you’re a teacher, haven’t you, Tilly?’

  ‘Well, tough rather than hard,’ Tilda corrected. ‘And don’t forget to be encouraging too.’

  ‘Of course I’m encouraging!’ Jassy said. ‘Just yesterday, I told him that he wasn’t making nearly as many mistakes as when he began.’

  Tilda and her mother exchanged an amused glance.

  ‘So, how was London?’ Vanessa asked.

  Tilda had only said a brief goodnight to her mother and sister after getting back with Laurence, claiming tiredness. Now, however, she would face the questions head on.

  ‘It was good. We wrote a song.’

  ‘Really? That’s wonderful, darling!’

  ‘What’s it called?’ Jassy asked.

  ‘ “Blue-sky Girl”.’

  ‘Oh, lovely!’ her mother said.

  ‘Are you going to release it?’ Jassy wanted to know.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Tilda said, pouring herself a glass of fruit juice and taking a sip. ‘There’s a lot to think about.’

  ‘And no need to rush,’ her mother told her. ‘You take your time.’

  Tilda nodded.

  ‘Did Laurie go with you?’ Jassy asked.

  ‘Not into the studio. He had his own things to do.’ Tilda cleared her throat as she chose a cereal from the middle of the table.

  ‘So, you got on okay?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Tilda could feel the weight of her mother’s gaze upon her. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you telling us everything, Tilda Jacobs?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Jassy said, following their mother’s lead and staring at Tilda remorselessly.

  ‘I’m not blushing. It’s just a warm day.’

  ‘You like Laurie, don’t you? And he likes you. I can see that,’ Jassy said.

  ‘We’re friends, okay?’

  ‘Nothing more than that?’ Vanessa asked.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘I mean, he’s a handsome man. Sweet too. And goodness only knows they don’t come along very often. It would be only natural if you became . . .’ She paused. ‘Friends.’

  Tilda sighed, knowing that she wasn’t going to get a moment’s peace until she told them.

  ‘Oh, all right then,’ she said, forgetting all about her breakfast. ‘We kissed!’

  ‘You kissed Laurie?’ Her mother looked surprised by her admission.

  ‘Well, it was more like he kissed me.’

  ‘Where did he kiss you?’ Jassy asked.

  ‘On the mouth,’ Tilda said, knowing that’s not what her sister had meant at all.

  ‘No, where?’

  ‘In the porch.’

  Vanessa gasped.

  ‘What?’ Tilda asked.

  ‘That’s where I kissed Jonathan. Well, the south porch.’

  Jassy frowned. ‘Is the mistletoe still up there from Christmas?’

  Vanessa laughed.

  ‘Since when have you been kissing Jonathan, Mum?’

  ‘Since we went out on that evening walk.’ She gave a little smile and Tilda had to admit that it was wonderful to see her mother look so happy again.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Jassy said. ‘If you marry Laurie, does that mean we’ll get the north wing back or will he get the whole house?’

  ‘Jassy! Nobody’s talking about getting married! It was just a kiss.’

  ‘It’s never just a kiss,’ Jassy countered. ‘I’ve watched films and it never ends in just a kiss.’

  ‘Who’s been kissing?’ Dolly asked as she sneaked into the room, causing all three of them to jump.

  ‘Everybody!’ Jassy cried.

  ‘Traitor!’ Tilda hissed under her breath.

  ‘Is there something I should know?’ Dolly asked as she approached the table.

  ‘Probably not,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘I wouldn’t ask if I were you,’ Jassy said, noisily scraping her chair back and standing up. ‘Right, I’m off to paint before I catch this kissing thing.’

  Tilda couldn’t help grinning. She’d get her revenge one day when her little sister fell in love.

  Laurence had woken as the first light brightened the sky. Instantly, his mind flooded with Tilda and the lyrics from ‘Blue-sky Girl’ returned to him, making him smile. And the kiss. That sweet, gentle kiss. In all his years, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he had Tilda, but he’d been anxious about it too, not wanting to cross any boundaries. They were neighbours now and that might make things tricky.

>   He wondered if she was worrying as much as he was. Probably not. She was most likely writing more wonderful songs.

  Laurence suddenly baulked. What if Tilda wrote a song about him? Isn’t that what songwriters did? They used all their experience of relationships as material for their music. Her follow up to ‘Blue-sky Girl’ could very well feature Laurence. He felt cold just thinking about the possibility.

  Get a grip, he told himself. It was just a kiss. She isn’t likely to immortalise that in a song.

  But it had been a very special kiss – to him at least – and, if he could write songs, he’d have written twenty since the night before, he was sure of it.

  ‘But I’m a financial adviser,’ he said as he walked through to the kitchen for a cup of tea. For a moment, he thought about what Tilda had said about coffee. Maybe he should buy a big sack of the stuff.

  ‘Who am I trying to kid?’ he said to himself. He wasn’t an artist and he had to accept that. He’d never be able to write a song to express how he felt, but perhaps it was time that he did express how he felt about Tilda.

  He’d thought about texting her last night, but that would have been just weird, wouldn’t it? What would he have said, anyway: Made it home okay? He already knew that. But he wanted her to know that he cared about her.

  Taking his cup of tea through to his study, he switched his computer on. After his meetings in London, he had a whole heap of work to get through and so, for the time being, he put his blue-sky girl out of his mind and settled down at his desk.

  It wasn’t until late afternoon when his phone beeped with a text. It was from Tilda.

  In south garden. Want to join me? T

  He was out of his study before he could press ‘Send’ on his reply to her.

  She hadn’t told him exactly where she was in the south garden. There were a number of secluded benches, but Laurence instinctively knew that she would be sitting on the one overlooking the pond and, sure enough, as he approached he saw her there. She was wearing a wide-brimmed summer hat and a simple white dress, and on her lap was a notebook and pencil. She looked so peaceful and he was reluctant to disturb her, but she had summoned him and he very much wanted to talk to her.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  She looked up. ‘Hi. Come sit.’

  Laurence didn’t need to be asked twice.

  ‘Been writing?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I have.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Been . . .’ She paused. ‘Spreadsheeting?’

  He laughed. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I spent the day in school,’ she told him. ‘I take one after-school class and a few individual pupils during the day. It’s a nice job. I don’t have to travel far, the work is rewarding and the pay isn’t bad.’ She shrugged. ‘But it still doesn’t fulfil me. It’s annoying, sometimes, to admit to this hunger I have for something more.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be annoyed by it; you should embrace it.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that.’ She flashed him a smile.

  ‘And did you need to hear it?’

  ‘I think I did.’

  He watched her closely, waiting for her to go on but she didn’t. ‘You know what you’re going to do, don’t you?’

  She looked at him and he felt as if he were holding his breath both for himself and for her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said at last.

  ‘And?’ he dared to ask.

  ‘I’m going to give things a go with Morton.’ She chewed her lip and her brow furrowed. ‘I can’t not do this.’

  ‘Tilda, I’m so pleased.’ He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘And excited!’

  ‘I’m so excited, I can hardly breathe!’ she confessed. ‘But I’m not doing this for the fame or a position in the charts.’

  ‘I know you’re not,’ he assured her.

  ‘It’s purely about the music this time. It’s about having a vision and sticking to it. Morton understands that better than anyone. He’s on board with this. He’s not going to use me or turn me into something I’m not just to take advantage of the public and make a quick buck.’

  Laurence nodded. ‘Don’t forget to breathe!’

  She looked puzzled. ‘How did you know I was holding my breath?’

  ‘I think you do that a lot – when you’re all excited and stressed at the same time.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘You’re right. I do.’

  ‘Take a few good, deep breaths.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m going to have to employ you as my manager.’

  ‘I’d readily agree,’ he said, knowing she was joking, but kind of hoping that she wasn’t.

  ‘I used to get like this before a performance. It’s like an adrenaline overload where everything’s speeded up as if somebody’s hit the fast-forward button on your life.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s just how I get whenever I open a new spreadsheet.’

  Tilda play-punched his arm and he laughed. ‘Silly!’

  ‘Sorry. Couldn’t resist,’ he said. ‘There’s not a lot in my line of work that gives you an adrenaline rush. That’s probably why I’m so fascinated with yours.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget that adrenaline might drive a decent performance, but it makes you feel really bad!’

  They sat quietly for a moment, watching as a pair of swallows dipped low over the pond.

  ‘What’s it like?’ Laurence asked at last.

  ‘What’s what like?’

  ‘Standing in the middle of the stage with a crowd before you.’

  Tilda took a deep breath, as if imagining herself in that very position again. ‘Wonderful. Terrifying. It’s like nothing else in the world. You see all these faces staring back at you, and you know they’re waiting for you to perform and entertain them. You have the power to make them love you or hate you and, before you begin, you don’t know which way that’s going to go. But, when the music starts, you get buoyed along and there’s no stopping you, even if the crowd’s booing, there’s this need – in me at least – to get to the end of that song.’

  Laurence must have been staring at her because she frowned at him.

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head. ‘That must be amazing.’

  ‘It is. But you’ve seen what the flipside of that can be. It can go from being the best experience in the world to the worst at breakneck speed.’

  ‘So, when do you think you’ll begin recording with Morton?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Soon.’

  ‘That’s really great.’ He took her hand again.

  ‘Laurie?’ she said gently.

  ‘Yes?’

  She cleared her throat, suddenly looking very unsure of herself. ‘You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met.’

  He smiled at that confession, but he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive too, as if he sensed what was coming next.

  ‘What is it, Tilda?’ he asked when she looked down at the ground. ‘Tell me. I can take it.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t want to . . .’ She paused and pulled a strand of hair, twisting it around her finger.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want to have to tell you this, but I need space. For the present.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She held his gaze. ‘You know what I’m saying?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I mean I can’t get involved. Romantically.’

  ‘And you think that’s what’s happening here?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I was hoping so,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure how you felt about it all, but I really like you, Tilda. You’re talented and fascinating and beautiful.’

  ‘And completely overwhelmed by what’s happening at the moment.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I like you. I really do, but it’s not a good time. I need to keep a clear head. I need to be focused. Do you understand?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he told her. ‘And I wouldn’t want to do anything to stop you reaching your full potentia
l. I really wouldn’t. But I’d love to be part of it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Perhaps I can just be a good friend? You know, listen to you when you need to talk, and talk to you if you need any advice.’

  ‘You’re too good to be true.’

  ‘I assure you I’m not. I’ll still want to be kissing you at every available opportunity.’

  ‘Laurie!’

  ‘Sorry. I promise not to kiss you again unless you explicitly ask me to.’

  She gave a tiny smile. ‘You don’t mind then?’

  ‘Of course I mind. I’m only human! I want to get to know you. I think we could be really good together.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  She looked out across the garden and then turned back to him. ‘Can I answer that another time?’

  He sighed. ‘You certainly know how to keep a fellow on tenterhooks.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘Don’t apologise. You don’t need to.’ He let go of her hand and stood up from the bench. ‘Just know I’m here for you, Tilda.’

  She nodded and he turned away, walking back through the garden towards the house and trying desperately to believe that she hadn’t completely given him the brush-off.

  It was later that day when Jonathan’s van pulled up in the lane. Vanessa wasn’t expecting to see him again that week because the team weren’t due until Tuesday, but sometimes he popped round between jobs.

  ‘I just couldn’t wait,’ he explained when she met him at the front door, leaning towards her and kissing her.

  She invited him in, but he turned around and looked up at the sky. ‘Come outside.’ So she did.

  They walked around to the walled garden. It seemed funny being there on their own without the team, but she loved having some peaceful, private time with Jonathan without any interruptions from the likes of Andy and Oz.

  ‘How are things with Dolly?’ he asked as they sat on an old wooden bench that overlooked the raised beds.

  ‘Interesting,’ Vanessa said. ‘She’s still gruff with me, but she doesn’t seem so confrontational. I think she’s hoping I’ll bring you to see her again. She’s always dropping you into the conversation.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘You made quite an impression on her.’

  Jonathan smiled. ‘I guess I just have a way with the ladies.’