The Garden of Little Rose

by Suzanne Snow

‘Don’t look at the garden,’ he said sheepishly, reaching out and playfully covering her eyes. Then his hands fell away and he said, ‘Róisín isn’t the only one that needs your help.’

  She followed Mac around to the front of the buildings, a smile already lighting up her face. A path from the cottages led down to a tiny and deserted golden beach tucked amongst the cliffs, completely private and hidden from the road above. Mac came to a halt beside her and she turned to look at him, hardly bothering to conceal her exhilaration. ‘Mac, this is absolutely incredible!’

  ‘Isn’t it? I never get tired of the view. No matter how often I come here, I always stop and stare before I do anything else. Come and see the cottage.’

  He took a key from his pocket and they walked up to the first entrance. Long, narrow and single storey, with a window painted a bright, sky blue on either side of the front door, the stone cottages were whitewashed. He unlocked the door, pushed it aside and stepped back to let Flora enter first. Inside, the kitchen and living room were open-plan and small, with one blue wall surrounding a wood-burning stove and three white walls to brighten the effect. Rugs covered the wooden floor and a basket of logs nestled against a striped armchair pushed close to the fireplace. Through an open door, Flora could see a bedroom with a double bed and a pile of artists’ canvases propped against a wall.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Mac asked, his voice gentle through the quietness.

  She turned to look at him, her face shining with pleasure. He was propped against the small square table squashed between the few kitchen cupboards and tiny stove. It was smaller than even her little cottage, but she loved it anyway, as she was sure he had known she would.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she told him, diverting her gaze to the deep window overlooking the beach so that he could have noticed only the briefest moment of pleasure. Thoughts of last night and what she might have unknowingly revealed were still tumbling through her mind.

  ‘Well, it’s extremely basic but it’s yours for the rest of the week, if you want it?’

  ‘Are you serious? I can stay here?’

  ‘Of course I am. I know it’s going from the sublime to the ridiculous but if you think you would feel more at home here, then please do consider it. Sorry, I feel I ought to have offered it to you sooner.’

  Flora took a few steps from the window into the bedroom and glanced around, excited by the idea of the cottage and being so close to the water. ‘Please, don’t apologise, it’s really kind of you. How soon can I move in?’

  ‘Now, if you like. I’ll have the hotel pack for you and bring everything here.’

  Flora dismissed his suggestion with politeness. ‘Thanks for the offer but I can take care of it myself.’

  ‘I thought you might say that. Help yourself to whatever you need; the kitchen is quite well equipped, and you can order whatever you like from the hotel and they’ll bring it down.’ He paused, and their eyes met again in the brief silence that stretched across the room, memories of last night hovering between them. ‘But you won’t, will you?’

  ‘No. But I do appreciate the offer.’

  ‘I’d bring some basic provisions back at least. It’s a long way to the mainland for a pint of milk if the shop is closed.’

  Flora laughed. ‘I think we both know I could knock on a neighbour’s door and they’d give me some.’

  ‘Good luck with that.’ Mac grinned as they slowly drifted towards the door, drawn outside to the glorious little beach beyond the cottage. ‘The nearest house is about a mile away, so I’d still go to the shop, if I were you.’

  Flora was still smiling, the salty tang in the air hitting her senses immediately, and she instinctively bent down, unlaced her boots and took them off. They were far too heavy to wear on a beach and she stuffed her socks inside, loving the feel of the sand between her toes. The tide had risen higher even in the short time they had been here; she straightened up and glanced across at him.

  ‘Couldn’t help it,’ she said happily, tracing a pattern in the sand with her toes, and she recognised the amusement in his gaze. It was the same look she had seen at the wedding and then again last night, when his reticence had seemed to diminish and been replaced with teasing gentleness. But she heard his quiet sigh and realised then he was dressed for the office; he didn’t have any more time for this silly diversion.

  ‘Sorry, Flora, to rush you but something has come up with a client and I have to go to Edinburgh to meet with them. I ought to be going.’

  ‘Of course.’ She grabbed her boots and turned back towards the car. The sand scraped against her skin, as she set off up the hill to the gate, mingling with the damp grass soaking her feet. ‘Please will you give me a lift back to the hotel so I can collect my stuff?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said immediately, falling into step alongside her and making Flora wish he didn’t have to leave. She knew she must be more careful; she mustn’t allow absurd impulses to interfere with her usual wisdom or hard-won resistance, as they had last night. Mac reached the little gate before she did and pulled it open for her to pass through.

  Once he had returned her to the formality of the hotel, she immediately set about packing to leave. Within an hour she was back at the cottage after a trip to the shop, key in hand, and let herself in, thrilled with her new, albeit still temporary, home. She knew Sophie would not approve of her leaving the spa behind, and Flora had no intention of confessing that she hadn’t been near it for any of the delectable treatments on offer. She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and swung it on the thick, obviously home-made, patchwork quilt. The sun was already brightening the white walls and she headed to the window and opened it, smiling at the sound of the sea lapping at the beach just a few yards away. Grabbing what she would need for work, Flora left the cottage, locked it behind her and set off on foot.

  When the evening drew near, it was a pleasure for her to leave the garden at Róisín and head back to the beachside cottage instead of the hotel. She took her time on the way, familiarising herself with the northern part of the island, and it was almost thirty minutes later when she arrived. She opened the door again to the lovely little house and sank into the armchair next to the fireside, closing her eyes to enjoy the solitude and rest her weary muscles after a day spent mostly digging. There was no Wi-Fi and absolutely no suggestion of 4G – or even 3G – and so she left her phone beside the bed, unperturbed by the lack of signal. Her handset was unreliable at the best of times and her brother Charlie was always trying to persuade her to upgrade it, but Flora didn’t see the point when it was often dropped in soil or falling out of her pockets at work.

  A bath was out of the question when she saw the tiny cubicle that housed a shower, so she undressed quickly, shivering in the cool air as she stepped inside. Once the hot water had done its best with her aches, she brushed her wet hair, scooping it into a high ponytail, and slipped on pink shorts and a simple vest top over her underwear. It was still warm outside, and she opened the door and strolled down to the beach.

  She dropped down onto the sand, amongst crushed shells and bits of dried seaweed, idly watching the glint of small fish in the clear water and the bob of seals near the rocks on the opposite side of the hidden cove. It was beautiful and silent, and she loved it. She tilted her head back, soaking up the evening sun on her skin, and stretched out her legs, allowing her toes to wriggle in the sea warmed by the Gulf Stream. She would swim in the morning – it was all far too inviting to miss the opportunity. But the persistent rumbling in her stomach reminded her that room service was no longer available, and she stood up, resolving to come back outdoors the moment she had rummaged in the fridge and produced something for supper.

  Sand clung to her damp feet as she strolled back up to the cottage, and she was lost in thoughts of Tamsin and the garden when she heard the unmistakeable sound of a car in the lane above her. Surprised, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes as she squinted through the light. She saw the gate above the cottages swing open and Mac hea
ding rapidly down the path. It was too late to dash inside without being seen and he spoke, cutting through the sound of the sea as he neared her.

  ‘Hey.’ He was still wearing the shirt and trousers from this morning, crumpled now, and she noticed tiredness as a quick hand moved to disguise a yawn. ‘Sorry, long drive. Hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  His eyes dropped to take in her simple clothes and long legs in shorts, and desire danced through her all over again. Pinned by the sudden heat in his look, Flora tore her glance away first. She had not expected to see him again today and her voice was a scratched murmur that betrayed the response she had hoped to conceal. ‘No, of course not. I was just going inside to make something to eat.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said idly. She wished she could smooth away the tiredness evident on his face with her touch and then sent the thought away; it was not her place. ‘Well, see you later. I think I’ll go and change.’ He gave her a final nod as he moved towards the cottages and she watched, puzzled.

  ‘Back at Róisín?’

  Mac paused, almost at the second cottage, and when he turned around, she saw the surprise in his expression. ‘No. Didn’t I tell you? I’m living in the cottage beside yours when I’m here, until I can move into the house.’

  ‘What? You’re staying next door?’ Flora had no chance to keep the alarmed squeak from her voice as she realised what he was telling her. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and faced him, the delectable thought of having him so close hurrying through her mind. She had assumed that he was either living in the hotel or camping at Róisín whenever he was on the island.

  ‘Yes. Cassie – my sister – and I have been coming here since we were small. She usually stays in your cottage to paint; I think she left some canvasses here last time. Is it a problem?’

  ‘No, of course not. I was just surprised, that’s all. I’d assumed both the cottages were empty. Mac, are you sure I won’t be in your way?’

  ‘No.’ His smile was patient and Flora tried to ignore the softness in his narrowed gaze. She swallowed when she noticed him tugging the shirt from the waistband of his chinos, freeing it to drift around his hips, and he casually undid a couple of buttons. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Well then, I think I’ll head inside and leave you to it.’ She was feigning brightness and hoped it wasn’t too obvious. ‘Good night.’

  She spun away from him and stepped inside her cottage, banging the door and making sure it was locked, even though she was certain he’d have a spare key. She knew it was going to be difficult to pretend that everything was fine when he would be sleeping just the other side of the wall – even if it was two feet thick. For an irrational few seconds, she longed again for the impersonal space of the hotel, where she could more easily ignore him and not have to think about his proximity. Unwelcome reminders of Mel’s wedding and the amazing kiss with Mac raced into her head as she rummaged distractedly through the kitchen cupboards, leaving her longing for the intimacy they had shared then.

  Her search revealed eggs and bread, and from the fridge she collected butter and cheese, and set about making herself an omelette. She had barely begun, when there was a rap on the door and she jumped, dropping the wooden spoon she was holding. Of course, she knew who it would be as she unlocked the door and faced Mac. He had changed into shorts and a dark blue T-shirt, the tiredness already gone.

  ‘I’m going to throw some fish on the barbeque, if you’d like to join me? It won’t be as good as the hotel, but it seems a bit silly to eat on my own when you’re just next door.’

  ‘Oh.’ Eat on her own was exactly what Flora was planning to do and she felt a bit mean as she considered his offer. She dithered for a minute, rubbing one foot against the back of her leg. She still hadn’t let go of the door. ‘That’s kind of you, but no, thanks.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Why not, Flora?’ Mac asked patiently, dipping his head to one side at her confusion. ‘We’re the only two people here, and what possible sense does it make to sit inside on our own and not share? And it’s the most perfect evening.’

  Put like that, there wasn’t a good reason to refuse – not one she could reveal anyway – and Flora blew out a breath, only too aware that she was getting caught up in something she would not be able to easily evade. ‘Okay. Thank you. But let me help – what can I do?’

  ‘Salad,’ he answered, as she finally let go of the door. She stepped outside and he reached behind her to leave the door on its latch, passing her the key and she slipped it into a pocket. ‘Are you any good at chopping?’

  ‘Just branches,’ she retorted, and he laughed. He pointed to a folding table and the barbeque set up beside it on the beach, near the water, already smoking as the coals became hotter. ‘I’ll be back in a minute – make yourself at home.’

  Flora strolled down to the water and set to work on the salad as Mac disappeared into his cottage, returning a few minutes later with a tray loaded with food. She tried not to stare; it all looked so much more delicious than the simple supper she had been planning.

  ‘Do you like prawns and scallops?’

  ‘Love them.’ Her mouth began to water at the thought of such a meal.

  ‘And salmon?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She watched as he expertly threaded skewers with pineapple, prawns, scallops, cherry tomatoes and baby onions, dipping the kebabs in a thick, gooey sauce and placing them on the grill. The barbeque hissed immediately, and the salty smell of seafood cooking drifted across to her as the smoke rose to the sky. She tried not to be too impressed with his skill and concentrated instead on slicing cucumber, pears and crisp green lettuce, dropping everything into a bowl. He was turning the kebabs with one hand, while dusting the salmon with seasoning with the other, and she thought it really wasn’t fair that he looked so good in shorts.

  ‘Where did you learn to cook like this?’ she asked, bending to retrieve a scrap of pear that had missed the bowl. She carefully wiped off the sand and chucked it in. ‘Or is all of this something you had the hotel chef whip up for you? No offence.’

  ‘That’s okay, none taken,’ he replied, flicking a stray tomato at her. She laughed as she hurriedly ducked out of the way and it shot past her head. ‘This is all my own work. After travelling the best part of a year in South America and living off street food, once I got to university, I didn’t want to go hungry so I learned a few basics, nothing that would take me very far. When I’m in Edinburgh I tend to eat out more; I suppose I only really enjoy cooking when I’m here, on the island. How about you?’

  ‘Me? Do I cook?’ Flora paused, holding the knife steady in her hand as she considered his question. What she did in her own kitchen didn’t exactly match up to this unexpected feast on the beach. ‘Sometimes, mostly if I have friends around for dinner. I get by, but the microwave is used more often than the oven.’

  It wasn’t quite the same, cooking for one, but she didn’t tell him that. Her ex-boyfriend David had been careful about his diet and she had quickly given up trying to find dishes he would deem acceptable. They had almost always eaten in restaurants when they had been together.

  ‘Beer?’

  ‘Thank you.’ She reached across to take the bottle Mac had offered, enjoying the taste of the cool drink on her tongue. She found a jar of home-made dressing on the table and dribbled it over the salad, hoping she hadn’t smothered it.

  Mac had been right; it was the most beautiful evening. The sun was setting somewhere far in front of them, sliding gently into the sea, and the water was calm. The ferry service had ended for the day and only the little dot of a yacht sailing miles away was visible on the horizon.

  ‘Grab a plate, these are ready.’

  She thanked Mac as he dropped a perfectly cooked kebab onto the plate she had picked up, and she took some salad from the bowl. She watched as he lowered the salmon onto the grill, smiling easily at her while he loaded his own plate. He helped himself to a
beer and stuffed a tomato in his mouth.

  ‘Not bad.’ He peered into the salad bowl to check her work. ‘I never saw cucumber cut that way before.’

  ‘You’re so rude,’ she exclaimed, starting to laugh at his impish expression. ‘You can do it yourself next time, chef.’

  ‘Next time?’ He paused and the look he gave her with his questioning grey eyes was amused, challenging her.

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Flora hadn’t intended to sound flustered and she lowered her voice. ‘Speaking figuratively.’

  ‘Then it’s your turn to cook tomorrow.’

  ‘Won’t you be back in Edinburgh?’ She kept the question casual, as though his reply would not matter.

  He shook his head. ‘Not if there’s a chance of a decent meal here.’

  She laughed again, loving the feel of the sand between her bare toes and the gentle swish of the water lapping nearby. ‘You’d do better at the hotel; you’ve set the bar pretty high with all this. I’m not known for my skill in the kitchen.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said, giving her a quick grin. They wandered along the beach with their plates, stepping over shells and clumps of dried seaweed stranded on the sand. He pointed to some rocks, their backs worn smooth by years of high tides splashing over them. ‘Shall we sit here?’ They settled down, facing the sea, and Flora realised that she was starving, as she began to eat, tugging the food from the skewer with her fingers.

  ‘This is fantastic, Mac, thank you,’ she said appreciatively, as she devoured another kebab. ‘Much better than the omelette I was planning to have.’

  ‘You’re very welcome. So, what will you cook for me tomorrow night?’

  Flora hoped he was joking. But he seemed quite serious, even if the smile was still playing around his lips. She realised then how easily he had changed from the well-dressed businessman into this laid-back figure, sprawling beside her and hungrily eating the food he had prepared for them.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she replied smoothly, inching her foot away from the tempting nearness of his bare leg. Tomorrow was Thursday and it would be her last evening on the island. Leaving so soon filled her with dismay. The days had easily sped by, becoming memories she would never forget, and Tamsin’s face danced in her mind again. ‘It will be a surprise to both of us. But beans on toast is looking good right now. I found a couple of cans in the kitchen earlier.’