Chapter Three #2
As she flicked over a few more pages, a sheet of folded paper fell out and she opened it up, curious to know what it was.
The folded A4 paper was clearly a plan for a planting area of some sort.
James had drawn out a rectangular area and then sub-divided it into segments and labelled each area: runner beans, peas, raspberries, lettuces, potatoes, plus many other fruits and vegetables.
She tucked it back between the pages and then flicked forward in the book until she found the section entitled “Perennial Plants”.
If she was being honest, this was what she really loved.
Flowers of all colours and shapes and sizes.
Beyond a sense of curiosity, she had no real interest in James’ meticulously drawn plan; she would fill her garden with a beautiful display and, like a child in a sweet shop who is determined to sample everything, she greedily admired all the pictures.
The sound of her phone jolted her out of her horticultural daydream.
‘Hello, Mum, is everything okay? Nothing’s happened, has it?’ Even after all the time she’d lived away from home, she still experienced the same knee-jerk reaction whenever her mother called out of the blue.
‘I’m fine, darling, I was just dying to hear how you got on visiting that garden. Was it nice? Where did you say it was?’
‘It’s attached to a block of flats a few minutes from the station,’ she replied, answering the easier of the two questions first. ‘It needs a bit of work but I’m looking forward to the challenge, to be honest.’
‘Good for you! Show me some photos next time you come over and I might have some ideas for you.’
After she’d assured her mother that everything was okay and no, she wasn’t paying a fortune for the privilege of looking after someone else’s garden, she returned to her garden book.
Despite her initial reactions, it was true what she’d said about looking forward to the challenge, and she felt very protective of her new experiment.
Her mother meant well by offering her ideas, but Rosie knew from experience that she could easily end up just doing what her mother wanted.
It was how it had been at home after her dad died.
It was also how things had been with James sometimes, if she was being utterly truthful.
Rosie smiled. This time it would be different because it would be totally her own creation and she would learn from her own mistakes.
One thing was for sure, the owner of the garden was not likely to interfere!
*
On Monday morning Rosie arrived early for work.
She wanted to visit her garden straight after work and start making plans, so she’d driven in and brought a change of clothes with her, which she put in her locker.
She then headed back to the ladieswear department and to her counter, where she immersed herself in the bustle of the day.
Pennewicks Clothing Emporium was as old fashioned as it sounded.
Customers entering the polished teak revolving doors would find themselves transported into a more genteel world on the other side, where attractive goods went hand-in-hand with exemplary customer service.
It was established in 1890 by the Pennewick family and still remained in private hands.
However, as retail practices had changed after a century of trading, and in the face of a rapid expansion of shopping outlets on the newly created industrial estate that were selling cheaper, imported goods, there had been a steady downturn in profits, amid whispers of selling up.
That was, of course, until the American pop sensation of the noughties, Kara Millana had been visiting Haxford (the reason long since lost to urban myth) and raved about the “quaint little ol’ English store” that had supplied merchandise to the Earls of Haxford no less.
Instead of being regarded as an out-moded, redundant model of a Victorian shop, it now became trendy to visit Pennewicks.
It was seen as the place to buy things by people who cared about quality British-made clothing and not just the bottom line.
And instead of the fictional Downton Abbey’s Earl of Grantham, they had their very own Earl of Haxford to boast about.
The tourists flocked in their thousands.
Rosie could always tell when the tourist season got properly underway.
The coaches usually arrived in what locals referred to as the Old Town around late morning, and then the store was filled with the cosmopolitan chatter of foreign languages and American accents.
Sometimes, when she felt a customer needed a little guidance, she might let slip that the countess herself had admired whatever item of clothing was under discussion and that invariably clinched the deal.
To their knowledge, the current Countess of Haxford had visited the store on no more than two occasions.
However, it didn’t stop her manager joking that if Rosie was to be believed, the Countess of Haxford had admired almost every single item in the department.
Rosie always smiled sagely. She understood that sometimes customers appreciated a bit of help, especially those whose bored partners abrogated all responsibility for clothes shopping and just sat in the tea shop next door.
After a non-stop day and only half a lunch break, Rosie would normally have been tempted to go home and put her feet up, but today she had her exciting new venture, and as she walked out to the car with Simon, she told him all about the advert in the window and how she’d negotiated a reduction for the state of the plot.
‘What do you think? Am I mad?’ She laughed. ‘Do you know what, even though it’s a complete mess, it’s so totally different to anything I’ve ever done, I’m really looking forward to the challenge.’
Simon looked thoughtful. ‘Well,’ he said cautiously, ‘it all sounds very ambitious but if you’re happy, that’s all that’s important. And you know I’m available to help out if you need anything doing.’
‘Cheers, Si. Although I should be okay as I can always rope in Mr Tetchy to help with loading stuff into the car. Thank goodness for hatchbacks, eh?’
‘And who’s Mr Tetchy?’
‘Oh, he’s the owner of the flat.’ Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘Technically he’s only renting it himself, but if there was an award for being supercilious and the complete opposite of charming, it would definitely go to Connor Forbes.’
Simon choked back a laugh. ‘I assume that’s not the Connor Forbes you’re talking about?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘No idea. Who’s he then?’
Simon’s face was a picture of incredulity. ‘Oh come on, seriously? You’ve never heard of Connor Forbes? Don’t you watch telly?’
‘Obviously not the same programmes as you.’
‘He is – or was until recently – shacked up with that celebrity chef Bonnie Appleton. You must have heard of her?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘They did this television cookery programme called Bonnie Appetito. She flounced around in the kitchen doing the cooking and he stood around in a dinner jacket and chatted. At the end he acted as food taster and was an alleged wine connoisseur, although I think he really just read the guff off the label.’ Simon wrinkled his nose.
‘It’s all a bit cheesy really but it’s very popular.
My mum loved it, and she’s desperately hoping there’ll be a new series at some point, but maybe it wasn’t James’ cup of tea. ’
‘Er … no. James detested reality TV or celebrity-based programmes. I always felt guilty if I watched those sorts of things,’ she added by way of explanation.
Rosie unlocked her car and chucked her handbag on the passenger seat.
There had been many occasions when James had found her happily channel surfing; he rarely said anything but she invariably felt as though she’d been caught doing something shameful.
‘Well, my advice would be to stay clear of Mr Connor Forbes,’ said Simon in an unusually assertive tone of voice.
Rosie patted his arm. ‘You’re a regular knight in shining armour, but you have nothing to worry about. And let’s be honest, celebrities don’t live in flats in Mickleborough Gardens, so it’s hardly likely to be the same person, is it?’
It was only a short drive between Haxford Old Town and the station end of town, but the commuter traffic was predictably slow.
As she turned into Langley Close and pulled up in what she hoped was the correct allocated parking space, she smiled.
She was here. By moving the driver’s seat backwards, she managed to give herself just about enough space to wriggle out of her work skirt without losing her knickers as well, and pull on a pair of jeans, although she wished she’d thought through the logistics a bit better.
Next time she would go home first, she decided.
She got out of the car and swapped her sensible black court shoes for a pair of wellington boots.
Today was going to be largely a reconnaissance operation, but she had bought a pair of secateurs and gardening gloves from the hardware shop in her lunch break, so she decided to do something practical too.
First things first, she slid a fiver and two pound coins into an envelope and scribbled Connor’s name on the front.
Parking round the back meant walking past her garden and the one with the beautiful marigolds, in order to reach the flats.
She quietly posted the envelope through Connor’s letterbox before heading back down the path.