A Secret Garden Read online

  ‘Told you!’ said Lucien happily.

  ‘It may just be the effect of the whisky,’ Lorna said, teasing.

  10

  ‘Well,’ said Jack a while later, as he and Lorna walked towards his car having said their goodbyes to Philly, ‘considering that wasn’t at all what I’d planned for the evening, it was surprisingly good fun.’

  Lorna decided to ignore the reminder he’d wanted to take her out to dinner. ‘Yes it was. I hope Philly isn’t going to be driven mad by Lucien. I rather gathered Seamus has invited him to lodge with them.’

  ‘I think it will be fine. He’s a good lad and a very hard worker. I see quite a lot of young men in my work and they’re not all grafters by any stretch.’

  ‘He’s a bit unexpected, isn’t he?’ said Lorna. ‘I do like him but he’s a bit of a force of nature and I hope…’ She paused.

  ‘What?’

  She had been going to say she hoped Lucien didn’t break Philly’s heart but had suddenly realised she didn’t really know Jack. People had been treating them as a couple, and in a way they’d been behaving like one, but they were hardly even friends. More acquaintances really. ‘Oh, nothing.’

  He opened the car door for her and when he’d got in but not started the engine, he said, ‘Would you like to see what I do? As a day job? When I’m not being an artist?’

  ‘That would be fascinating!’ said Lorna and then had a reality check and tried to backtrack. ‘I mean, I would really like to know what a mason does in a church but I’m very busy. This open-garden thing is terribly short notice. I don’t think Kirstie can have any idea of how much work getting a garden ready for public scrutiny entails.’

  He put his hand on hers, just for a second. ‘Come on, I’m sure you can have some time off.’

  ‘After dark,’ Lorna agreed.

  ‘After dark is no good for me.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what, I’ll let you have a good go at the garden – I might even come and help you at weekends – and then, when you’re fed up and need a change of scene you can let me know and get the tour.’

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ said Lorna, glad that the perfect solution had been found. The ball had been left in her court; she didn’t have to pick it up and serve.

  ‘But you won’t let me know, will you?’

  Quite how he’d worked this out when he really didn’t know her at all, she couldn’t guess. ‘Well—’

  ‘You don’t get me, do you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She was flustered. She certainly didn’t get him! She liked him – a lot – but she had no idea why he seemed so keen to be friends with her.

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ he said calmly. ‘But I won’t push it. Now. I will when I think the time is right, though.’

  It was odd, sitting in the dark, in the car, not looking at each other, but it encouraged Lorna to ask something she’d wondered about since he’d first mentioned it. ‘Tell me, you said you’d worked out where you knew me from. So where was it? I’m sure I’d have remembered if I’d met you before.’ She realised this was a bit revealing, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  ‘I will tell you that too, but not yet.’ He started the car and they set off.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me now! It’s so annoying not knowing. I keep racking my brains trying to think where we might have come across each other and never come up with anything.’

  He laughed gently. ‘Sorry about that. But I can’t tell you until the time feels right.’

  Lorna punished this stubbornness by not making any more conversation on the way home. She was worrying about the kissing thing again. She’d kiss any other friend on the cheek when she said goodbye but somehow with Jack she felt awkward.

  He obviously didn’t share her awkwardness. He got out of the car, waited until her key was in the lock and, when the door was open, said, ‘Goodnight, Lorna. It was a lovely day. Thank you.’ Then he kissed her firmly on the cheek and watched until she’d gone in.

  ‘Er – goodnight, Jack,’ she said, and went quickly through her front door, keen for the awkwardness to be over and feeling very odd.

  By the time the kettle had boiled for a soothing mug of camomile tea she concluded that the oddness was because it had been a long time since she’d been near any man apart from Peter and he wasn’t much given to friendly pecks on the cheek. And somehow this kiss was different from when he’d kissed her after the dinner party.

  It wasn’t good, she decided, taking the tea upstairs into the bathroom where it could cool while she had a shower. Once again she reflected that she had to get out more, as the saying went. But how?

  Internet dating. Maybe she had to think about it seriously. Hot water poured over her and she revelled in it for a moment. But was it really her thing? If anyone else had suggested this, she’d say: Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it; but having listened to so many tales from Peter about totally unsuitable matches she was wary. Although – she wrapped herself in a warm towel and sipped the tea – he had now met Kirstie thought the internet. And that seemed to be going really well.

  As she padded through to her bedroom she examined her feelings. How did she feel about Peter, the man she’d always thought of as the love of her life, finding love with a much younger woman? It ought to matter to her a lot, she realised. But somehow it didn’t hurt any more. Her pride was still a bit bruised, but her heart? No.

  So what had cured her? Surely it wasn’t Kirstie. You weren’t cured of longing and pining by the appearance of an attractive younger woman at the side of your love-object. It must be something else.

  But although her mind refused to accept it, her thoughts kept returning to Jack. Jack was a nice man. Good-looking, a sculptor. Practically perfect in every way, as Mary Poppins might have said. Except he wasn’t perfect. He was too young for her.

  After she had seen off Lorna and Jack, Philly went back into the house to find that Lucien had removed all traces of the party. The dishwasher was chugging away and the table cleared.

  ‘Gosh! That was quick,’ said Philly, a bit stunned. ‘I’ve only been out of the room about five minutes.’

  ‘I’m a professional kitchen tidier,’ said Lucien, wringing out a cloth so hard Philly expected it to beg for mercy. ‘If you don’t clear up quickly, you never get home. Talking of which, I’ll get out of your hair—’

  ‘No!’ said Philly urgently. ‘I mean, God, after all you’ve done, the least we can do is give you a proper bed.’

  ‘No, really—’

  ‘We had the family over at Christmas. You can have the room my parents slept in. It’s the best of the bedrooms.’ She paused. ‘This is a four-bedroom house, and it’s good for the rooms to be used, otherwise’ – she lowered her voice, embarrassed – ‘they just get filled up with junk.’

  Seamus came in. ‘Goodness me. Has the Kitchen Fairy been?’

  Philly giggled. ‘I don’t think Lucien would like to be described as a fairy.’

  ‘Certainly not. Shall I make tea?’

  ‘I could murder a cup of tea,’ said Seamus. ‘There’s some cake in the tin.’

  Feeling that she didn’t really want to be there while Lucien ate what wasn’t good enough for the stall, Philly said, ‘I’m going to make up the spare room for Lucien, Grand. I think he deserves a proper bed after all he’s done.’

  ‘Indeed. Will you have a cup of tea when you come back?’

  Philly was tempted but decided she was really tired and had to be up early in the morning. ‘I won’t, thanks. I’ll do the bed and pop down to say goodnight.’

  As she burrowed in the linen cupboard for the sheets they’d bought specially for her parents she wondered what on earth she’d say about Lucien when they had their next catch-up call. Knowing her mother, this would make her nag them even harder about using Skype, something she and Grand had resisted as she knew her mother would demand a tour of the house. If she knew there was a boy involved she’d become an irresistible force. Maybe Lucie
n would have gone by Sunday night and she needn’t worry.

  She came down a bit later to find Seamus and Lucien deep in conversation about bread.

  ‘Maybe you can have a go tomorrow?’ Seamus was saying.

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Lucien, ‘but we’ve got to finish Philly’s polytunnel first. Mind you, I could get it going and do the polytunnel while it’s rising. Maybe we could start a sourdough mother?’

  ‘What’s one of those when it’s at home?’ asked Seamus.

  ‘It’s when you mix flour and water – could be wine or beer even – and allow it to catch the wild yeasts in the air. You can call it a starter.’

  Philly frowned. ‘I prefer that name. I think one mother is enough, thank you very much. But if you want to make another one—’ Then she remembered that he’d run away from home and felt her joke might have been out of place. ‘Sorry,’ she added.

  Lucien looked at her, confused for a second, and then, obviously deciding he didn’t understand why she was apologising, went on: ‘It’s supposed to be quite easy.’

  ‘We’ll never have the ingredients. Where would you buy them?’ asked her grandfather. ‘Some specialist bakery place, no doubt?’

  ‘Nope. Flour and water should do it.’

  ‘Well, we’ve plenty of that,’ said her grandfather. ‘Philly! He liked the cake. He thought using ground hazelnuts instead of almonds worked well with the chocolate.’

  ‘Good,’ said Philly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.’ Biting her tongue on the words, Don’t stay up too late, you two, she went to her room.

  Having had a shower she didn’t really need to do much more than brush her teeth and fall into bed, but instead she found some cream her mother had given her (to stop her getting those dreadful broken veins people who work outdoors always get) and applied it carefully.

  She was aware of feeling very happy. Downstairs was a boy – young man? She didn’t know how she thought of him – who was not only very easy on the eye but was also getting on really well with her grandfather. But she knew enough not to get overexcited. He probably wouldn’t stay long and even if he did, he would most likely think of her as an annoying younger sister, or even a non-annoying one. But he was there and she was determined to enjoy his company even if he did shake up their cosy lives more than somewhat. In fact, he already had.

  11

  ‘Oh! Marion!’ said Seamus, saying hello to his daughter-in-law. ‘You’ll be pleased with us this time! Philly’s met a young man!’

  It was the weekly Sunday-evening phone call from her parents and now Philly groaned, cursing herself for not telling her grandfather about her plans to say nothing about Lucien even being in the house. And to say she’d ‘met a young man’ implied all sorts of things. Her mother would leap to conclusions like a salmon to the fly.

  Philly didn’t actually need to be able to hear her mother to know exactly what she was saying: partly from experience and partly from what her grandfather was saying. The trouble was, Philly knew, that although her mother was desperate for her to find a husband and have children and go back to Ireland where her mother could take them over, she had no faith in Philly’s ability to pick out her own mate.

  Seamus held out the phone. ‘She wants to speak to you.’

  Philly took the phone and sat down, glad that Lucien was out. He’d had a call from someone he knew who ran a pub and needed someone to knock up bar meals at short notice.

  ‘Hiya—’ Philly began but wasn’t given time to say more.

  ‘Well, darling, tell me all about this young man then. What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He’s a chef but, Mam—’

  ‘Is that a stable job, do you think?’

  ‘No, not at all, but it doesn’t matter—’

  ‘Of course it matters, darling! You need – every woman needs – a man who can keep them, at least when they’re raising children!’

  Philly didn’t know where to start with this. ‘I meant it doesn’t matter because Lucien is only staying with us. He’s not anything to do with me personally.’ She was proud of this; it sounded very detached.

  ‘Oh, come on now, you can’t tell me two young people living in the same house won’t have feelings for each other! I didn’t come down in the last shower.’

  ‘No! Really and truly! It was Grand. He heard Lucien was—’ At the last moment she stopped herself saying the word ‘homeless’ because then her mother would think Lucien was a tramp. ‘Had nowhere to stay, and said he could stay with us for a few days while he got himself settled in the area. It may only be for a couple of nights.’

  ‘Oh,’ said her mother, deflated.

  Philly felt guilty. She had lied to her mother for very good reasons but hearing the disappointment in her voice made her sad that there wasn’t a boyfriend for her mother to worry about. ‘He is very good-looking though,’ she said, by way of reparation.

  ‘Ah!’

  Philly could imagine her mother sitting up straight in her chair, head on one side, straining to hear a subtext that might mean her daughter was interested in a young man. ‘But don’t get excited. I’m sure he wouldn’t ever be interested in me but he is a very good lodger—’

  ‘Lodger? I thought it was just for a couple of nights?’

  ‘What I meant was, he’s very helpful, clears up and cooks great food.’

  ‘You know a lot about someone you say you’re not interested in.’

  ‘We met because he was cooking at a dinner party. I told you. I tasted the food; it was great. He cares about food a lot which is why he and Grand get on so well.’ This at least was true.

  ‘Well, you just watch yourself. You don’t want to get involved with a handsome devil.’

  Philly laughed. ‘Would you rather I got involved with an ugly one?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Philomena,’ said her mother.

  A few hours later, Lucien came back to find Philly still up. She had her laptop open and the kitchen table was covered with gardening books.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or something? Or there’s a beer?’

  Lucien smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m good, thanks. What are you up to?’

  ‘I’m trying to work out what I can grow in time to make the Burthen garden spectacular.’

  He nodded. ‘Seamus gone to bed, then?’

  ‘No, actually, he’s still out.’ She frowned. ‘It’s partly why I’m still up.’

  Lucien frowned now. ‘You’re worried about him? What can have happened? Where did he go?’

  ‘He’s gone to Lady Anthea’s. She rang him to say she had a problem with a tap. He shot round there before I could blink. And yet a dripping tap is hardly an urgent problem.’

  Lucien shrugged. ‘I suppose it could have caused a flood, gone through a ceiling or something.’

  Philly suddenly clutched the table and got up. ‘That’s the van! He’s home. He mustn’t know I waited up for him.’

  ‘No! Wait! Philly—’

  She hesitated and then it was too late: she’d never get out of the room and up the stairs before her grandfather came in. She sat down quickly.

  Feeling guilty, she looked down at the mess of paper and books in front of her.

  ‘Oh, hello, Grand,’ she said as he appeared in the kitchen.

  ‘Hello! You two still up? Not waiting for me, were you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Philly, crossing her fingers under the table. ‘I’ve been working and Lucien’s just got in. How did you get on with the tap?’

  Seamus looked confused for a moment. ‘Oh! Well, I fixed it. And then stayed on for a nightcap.’ He looked at his granddaughter. ‘It was herbal tea.’

  Philly snorted. ‘Herbal tea? You, Grand? You’ve always said it tasted of gnat’s piss before.’

  ‘It depends on the herbal tea,’ he said sniffily. ‘Now I think I’ll get to bed. It’s late. And I suggest you two do the same.’

  Lucien and Philly looked at eac
h other. ‘Well, that’s us told,’ said Philly. ‘But why was he so grumpy about it?’

  ‘He looked caught out,’ said Lucien. ‘As if drinking herbal tea with an old lady was something to feel guilty about.’

  Philly bit her lip. ‘It’s crazy. It’s not as if – well—’

  ‘You mean, if they had a thing going?’

  Philly was horrified. ‘Surely not! They’re both so old!’

  Lucien shrugged. ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘No! She’s such a snob. Even Lorna, who’s her friend, says that.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with your grandfather?’

  ‘Lucien, you know as well as I do. You’re a posh boy. My grandfather is a car mechanic with an Irish accent. Lady Anthea isn’t going to…’ She shuddered. ‘I can’t even let my mind go there.’

  Lucien chuckled. ‘You’re right, I am a posh boy, although I do hope I’m not only that. And I can’t imagine my grandmother ever fancying—’

  ‘Please don’t use that word.’

  ‘—a car mechanic with an Irish accent, but, well, people differ.’

  Philly sighed deeply. ‘I’m sure it’s impossible. Now I’ve got to have a nightcap. Do you want hot chocolate?’

  ‘Oh, cool! I’ll make it. Have you got any chocolate we can grate? High cocoa solids if possible.’

  Philly wasn’t in the mood for Lucien’s cheffy notions of what hot chocolate should be. ‘No. I’ll make it. With bog-standard drinking chocolate. OK?’

  Lucien held up his hands. ‘Whatever! I’ll make you proper hot chocolate with vanilla bean or star anise some other time.’

  As Philly whisked chocolate powder into hot milk she realised that she’d lost her shyness of Lucien. She’d told him off quite sharply. And the sky had not fallen in. Good!

  As Lucien sat at the kitchen table, obviously not, as Philly had been going to do, planning to take his hot chocolate upstairs, she sat down too.

  ‘You must think my cheffy ideas are a bit ridiculous,’ he said.