The Garden of Forgotten Wishes: The heartwarming and uplifting new rom-com from the Sunday Times bestseller

by Trisha Ashley

  While we drank it, I told her all about my arrival in Jericho’s End, the Misses Price-Jones – or Mrs, in Myfanwy’s case – my glimpse of Wayne Vane (over whose name we both giggled), who was probably a cousin, and then, finally, my surprise discovery that Ned Mars, with whom I’d been at college, was the owner of the Grace Garden, where I was to spend the majority of my working hours.

  ‘Elf hadn’t mentioned the name of their new shared gardener to Ned, so he was totally taken aback, too, when he saw me, and not in a good way.’

  ‘I’d no idea you were at college with Ned Mars,’ she said. ‘He’s that tall, fairish bloke who presents a TV gardening series, This Small Plot, isn’t he?’

  ‘He was,’ I agreed, surprised she knew even that much because, despite growing up in a green-fingered, garden-centre-owning, plant-obsessed family, Treena remained totally uninterested in anything except animals. It had always been that way, while I, merely the adopted daughter, was a bark chip off the Ellwood block.

  ‘I was at Honeywood Horticultural College with him, though he was a year ahead of me. But although it’s affiliated to a university, Honeywood’s such a small college out in the sticks that we all knew each other. There was only one pub within walking distance, so that helped, too.’

  Treena had been at a different university, training to be a veterinary surgeon at the same time, so she’d never visited it.

  ‘But if you were students together, why wouldn’t he be pleased to see you, even if it was a surprise?’

  ‘Well, for a start, he’d heard about that resignation letter I’d supposedly sent to the Heritage Homes Trust, with the allegations of inappropriate behaviour against several staff members, and he thought I’d create another scandal when he’d just been embroiled in one himself.’

  She frowned in an effort of recollection. ‘That does ring a bell. There was some kind of scandal about him early last year, but I can’t remember what it was.’

  ‘“LOVE RAT TV GARDENER CAUGHT OUT IN HOT BED”,’ I suggested helpfully. ‘That was the gossip column headline.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Yes, that’s it. Hadn’t he been having an affair with the married director on his gardening show?’

  ‘Except that he wasn’t. The whole thing was all in the mind of his jealous ex, and there was a perfectly good explanation for that picture they printed of him in a clinch with his director.’

  Then I told her everything I’d gleaned from my Google search and what Myfy had told me.

  ‘Of course, they had to print a retraction and an apology in the next issue, but by then the damage had been done – and it was compounded by another student from Honeywood selling a trumped-up sensational titbit to a gossip column. Ned’s quite sensitive under his rugged exterior and the lies had a terrible effect on him.’

  ‘But half the male so-called “personalities” on TV really are love rats, aren’t they?’ Treena pointed out. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it would harm his career, once the dust had settled, even if it had been true.’

  ‘It was more like mud settling, than dust. One minute everyone loved him, because he was so open and enthusiastic and nice, and then the next, they were willing to believe sordid stories and say vile things on social media. His image was well and truly tarnished and the TV company got cold feet about the next series, even though the tabloids retracted the main story. When there was some talk of getting different garden designers in for each episode in future, he just quit and went back to Jericho’s End, to put it all behind him and start a new life. And then, of course, I arrived on the scene!’

  ‘Wanting to put your own past behind you and start a new life where no one knew you,’ she said. ‘It’s odd how things work out.’

  ‘It certainly is. I’d no idea he had any connection with Jericho’s End when we were students, but he must already have been living at Old Grace Hall by then. Myfy told me his parents were killed in a car crash when he was in his teens, and he made his home with his great-uncle Theo. And now he’s inherited.’

  ‘And Mum and Dad had adopted you by then, too, so you were Marnie Ellwood, not Vane.’

  ‘It’s not that uncommon a name, so I don’t expect he’d have made any connection with the Vane family at Jericho’s End – who sound ghastly, by the way, so I think I’m going to keep that connection totally secret!’

  ‘To go back to the scandal thing, surely if he was innocent, then everyone would soon move on to the next bit of salacious gossip about someone else? He only had to sit it out.’

  ‘Perhaps it dragged on longer than it should because of that nasty bit Sammie Nelson sold to the gossip columnist.’

  ‘She must be a total cow,’ Treena said.

  ‘Yeah – I never liked her, though I wouldn’t have thought she’d do something that unpleasant. The journalist wrote the article so cleverly, though, that there was nothing you could pin down, just innuendo and suggestion. Sammie was in my year,’ I added, ‘but she wasn’t interested in having female friends.’

  ‘Oh, that kind,’ Treena said. ‘And everything she hinted about in that article was untrue?’

  ‘Absolutely. But there are always people willing to believe the worst, aren’t there?’

  ‘I suppose so. Perhaps it isn’t surprising that Ned wanted to hide himself away.’

  ‘Like me – though luckily for him, he had somewhere lovely to do it in. Old Grace Hall is the most amazing Tudor house, like an overgrown fairy-tale cottage. And now he can get his teeth into the wonderful project of restoring a walled apothecary garden and opening it to the public,’ I enthused. ‘That’s where I come in. Oh, and there’s a horribly overgrown rose garden, too. I’m dying to hack my way into that and see what’s there!’

  ‘It sounds like your idea of heaven,’ Treena said, amused. ‘If he’ll let you help him, that is?’

  ‘He can’t really afford not to, because he’s trying to restore it all on a shoestring and they’re getting me dirt cheap. Anyway, I’ve had the whole thing out with him this morning and put him straight about that damned resignation email! I had to tell him a little bit about Mike, which I really didn’t want to do, in order to convince him I wasn’t likely to cause trouble in future.’

  ‘I should think not!’ she said indignantly.

  ‘Myfy and Elf had already told him they were certain I was a good person, which might have helped … and, of course, once I knew what had happened to him last year, I sort of understood why he was petrified I might start throwing accusations about. But I think we’re OK now. At least he’s employing me, and I mean to prove I’m both sane and hardworking.’

  ‘You can always set him on to me, if you think he has any doubts,’ Treena suggested. ‘I’ll put him right!’

  And if he made her really angry, he might just find himself microchipped and neutered, too, I thought, amused.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to learning about the apothecary garden. I saw what looked like a blown-up photo of the original plan on his office wall, and as well as being huge, it’s very unusual for the late seventeenth century. I’m longing to get my secateurs into that rose garden, too!’

  She laughed. ‘I think it sounds like your idea of heaven, rather than mine!’

  ‘Definitely. I know it’s going to be hard work, but fun! Ned’s going to show me round the garden tomorrow morning, and I can hardly wait. The Lavender Cottage side of things won’t take me long, once I’ve given everything a good pruning, probably an hour or so a week in the afternoon, just before I go up the River Walk.’

  ‘River Walk?’ she echoed.

  I told her about this unexpected addition to my duties and added, ‘You’ll have to come and see it all – and the Grace Garden, when it opens at Easter.’

  ‘I’ll let you settle in first, unless I’m called out to Risings to see those spoilt Pekes again. And then, Luke is starting his dig at the monastic ruins on the Tuesday after Easter, so I expect I’ll be popping in to see what’s happening there, too.’

  ‘I
t should be fascinating,’ I said tactfully, though I didn’t think Treena had much more interest in old walls and post holes than she had in gardening.

  She helped me to carry down the last of the stored things from the spare bedroom and we managed to fit them into the car. There was the little chair and the tiny white-painted bookcase to get in somehow. In the end I had to pile things high, with a travel rug tucked over it all, and leave the roof down, so it was going to be a chilly drive back.

  ‘It’s amazing what you can get in a Citroën 2CV,’ Treena said. ‘You’d think it was made of elastic.’

  ‘It’s a Tardis.’ I wished, though, that I could put a giant luggage strap around it, in case it sprang open like a suitcase with a broken lock.

  Treena checked her watch. ‘I’m doing evening surgery, then it’s my turn to be on twenty-four-hour emergency call. I’ll take the dogs for a good run now, before I go back. Do you want to come?’

  ‘I think I’d better take all this stuff back and unload it,’ I said. ‘I might have time for a little walk round the village after that, to stretch my legs.’

  ‘OK. And let me know how things are going. See you soon.’

  We hugged and I drove off, full of hotpot and cream horn and a faint and probably entirely unfounded stirring of optimism.

  10

  Cat Flap

  It was mid-afternoon when I bumped and rattled my overstuffed car across the humpbacked bridge and parked outside the café. It was a pity it was their closing day, because Charlie would have made short work of carrying everything up to the flat.

  I had a key to the café door, but didn’t somehow like to use it and instead began to haul everything round to the back door. It took me about a dozen trips, and the chair, with its elegantly scrolled and padded back, was the last thing. The heap sitting on the crazy-paving terrace looked like a slightly dubious garage sale, with odds and ends sticking up out of boxes and strange bundles tied with string.

  I sat on the chair for a minute to recover, before going upstairs to open all the doors and deposit the first box in the corner of the living room with those already there.

  When I got down again the French window to Myfy’s studio further along opened and she stepped out, followed by a tall, hawk-nosed and handsome man. His silver hair was as long as Myfy’s, but caught back in a thick plait and he was dressed from head to foot in black.

  Myfy was wearing a knee-length patchwork and beaded tunic over harem trousers, and a black cloak was draped over her shoulders. Together, they looked as if they’d stepped out of a slightly dark fairy tale, or a mythical kingdom.

  Catching sight of me, they came over and Myfy introduced the tall man as her husband, Jacob Springer.

  ‘He’s an artist too, did I say? Or perhaps more of a sculptor, really, since he mainly constructs three-dimensional moving things.’

  ‘I’m a kinetic artist,’ he said, shaking hands.

  ‘Right …’ I said uncertainly, thinking that would be one to google on the new laptop.

  ‘Let me give you a hand, if you’re taking all this lot up to the flat,’ he offered.

  ‘It’s the last of the things I had stored with my sister, Treena, in Great Mumming, Myfy,’ I explained. ‘You did say you didn’t mind if I brought it here to sort.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said, as Jacob, without another word, seized the chair and bore it upwards.

  ‘I’d let him get on with it,’ she advised, when I made to follow with a box. ‘He’s very strong and it won’t take him a minute. I’ve seen Ned, by the way,’ she added, ‘and I’m so happy everything’s been resolved. You can both put the past behind you now, can’t you? There’s so much to do and I’m sure you’ll enjoy working in the Grace Garden.’

  ‘I’m fascinated by it and dying to know all about Ned’s plans to restore it,’ I agreed. ‘And I’ll soon have your garden tidied, too. It’s just got away from you a bit.’

  ‘Or quite a lot. My gardening is rather spasmodic – the painting comes first.’

  As Myfy’d said, Jacob had everything up to the flat in no time. The last thing to go was the small white-painted bookcase. Then he ran lightly down the steps and smiled.

  ‘There – I’ve stacked it all in the living room.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said gratefully. ‘It would have taken me ages to do it on my own.’

  ‘Not at all. I could hear that insane cat on the other side of the door to the cottage, Myfy,’ he added. ‘I think it was swearing and the door handle kept rattling.’

  ‘I found the door to the landing was open first thing this morning,’ said Myfy, ‘and shut it again. Was he bothering you last night, Marnie?’

  ‘I went to bed late and heard him trying to get in,’ I said, ‘and I thought he might disturb you, so I opened it. And then I decided I’d better leave the door ajar in case he needed his litter tray, or anything.’

  ‘He must have taken a fancy to you, which is more than he seems to have done to us!’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t mind him coming into the flat, if you don’t object to the door on the landing staying open.’

  ‘Not at all, but if he’s going to make a habit of it, maybe Jacob should put a cat flap in the door instead, so you can shut it and have a bit of privacy.’

  ‘A big cat flap,’ agreed Jacob. ‘I’ll get one. You wanted me to make a wall-mounted pigeonhole for Marnie’s post at the bottom of the stairs anyway, didn’t you?’

  ‘But won’t a big cat flap spoil the door?’ I asked. I mean, Caspar was practically the size of a tiger.

  ‘It’s not one of the original old ones. Father had it put there when we knocked through to the flat, so it doesn’t matter,’ Myfy said.

  Jacob wrapped her in her cloak. ‘You mustn’t get cold, my darling,’ he said. ‘There’s still a chill in the air.’

  They smiled fondly at each other and I felt as if I was intruding on a private moment.

  Then Myfy turned to me and said: ‘Well, we’ll leave you to it – we’re going out to see friends.’

  They went off, Jacob’s arm around Myfy’s shoulders, and I climbed the stairs and made some coffee, contemplating the now much larger mountain of stuff to be sorted. I suspected an awful lot of it would be heading for the bin, the recycling or the charity shops. I’d make a start that evening. But first of all, I needed to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.

  Outside, the sun had vanished and dark lavender-grey clouds had begun to gather. It was colder, too, and although I could see one or two cars and several people on the main street, there was no one on my side of the river.

  I could imagine that on hot days there would be tourists all over the Green, though, picnicking and eating ice-cream, or rattling through the turnstile to the River Walk and the Fairy Falls.

  I paused to look at the Victorian turnstile, which was practically a work of art, heavily embossed with leafy foliage and clearly built to last for ever. It was painted a dark royal blue and freshly gilded on the lettering and embellishments.

  A more modern metal shutter had been pulled down over the entrance side and secured with a large padlock.

  There was a public viewing point between the high wall around the turnstile and the bridge and I stood there for a few moments, watching the dark water slide by in a deep channel, before cascading down into the pool on the other side.

  Water, especially any kind of waterfall, is always magical and mesmerizing, but eventually I tore myself away and headed for the bridge.

  There was someone standing in the embrasure at the highest point, a man with his back to me, leaning over to drop pebbles into the Devil’s Cauldron.

  He straightened and turned as I approached and I recognized the wiry figure of Wayne Vane, his hair, the colour of scraped carrots, blown into elf locks around a freckled face that should have been pleasant, but was instead lit with a kind of smouldering malevolence that took me aback.

  For a moment, I wondered if he could know wh
o I was – though why that should make him angry, I had no idea – but from what Elf and Myfy had said, he didn’t sound a pleasant character, so perhaps he just hated everyone.

  I quickened my pace and would have gone past with just a nod of the head, if he hadn’t stepped directly into my path.

  His head lowered like that of an angry bull and he said, in a voice that grated like a rusty gate, ‘I want a word with you!’

  ‘Me?’ I said, startled.

  ‘Yes. You’re the new gardener they’ve taken on at the Hall, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, though I’ll be dividing my time between there and Lavender Cottage.’

  His face twisted spitefully. ‘Gardener? New slave, more like, but you’ll soon find out. They work you to the bone for a pittance and then begrudge you a bit of fruit or veg to take home. I was giving Ned one day a week, but he fired me. Doesn’t need me, now he’s got you on the cheap, but I could tell you a few things about that Ned Mars …’

  ‘Do you know, I’d so much rather you didn’t, thanks,’ I said crisply and, sidestepping neatly round him, walked quickly over the bridge and turned right up the hill. I could feel his eyes on my back, but there was no sound of pursuing footsteps.

  I quickened my pace anyway. On this side of the road there was a narrow pavement and then the drystone wall dividing me from the steep wooded drop to the river, which was a long way below. All the buildings seemed to be clustered on the other side, backed up against a steep rock face.

  I glanced back and, to my relief, Wayne hadn’t followed me, but was making off in the other direction, towards the car park by the ruins. I wondered if he’d left his van there, or was heading back to Cross Ways Farm on foot … if he still lived there, with the rest of the Vanes. Mum had said she had an older brother and various uncles and cousins living nearby and they were all very clannish, though, of course, a lot of time had passed since then and things could have changed. Myfy had said that that strangely repressive religious sect her parents had belonged to, the Strange Brethren, had died out …