Chapter 3 #2
“She’s a lovely girl,” Marguerite went on, keeping hold of his arm as she hobbled along beside him.
“I don’t know why she hasn’t got a boyfriend.
She was seeing a lovely fella a few years back but it didn’t work out.
She goes on dates now and again . . . or she used to.
I think she’s given up now. I keep telling her the right man will come along eventually.
” Her voice got quieter as they approached the kitchen door and she fell silent when Jamie pushed it open.
Heather smiled up at him from the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her. Then her eyes darted to Marguerite and she shot out of her chair.
“Mum! You said you wanted to stay upstairs. Why didn’t you shout me? I’d have helped you.”
“This handsome young man helped me instead,” she replied, patting Jamie’s arm.
Heather gave a quick shake of her head. “Where’s your walking stick?”
“Upstairs,” she said, waving her hand in the air as though to say it was irrelevant. “I’m fine without it.”
“Sit down,” Heather instructed, taking over from Jamie and leading her mum to a chair. “I’ll find your walking stick, then I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jamie said to Marguerite, at the back door.
“Thank you for helping her,” Heather said before dashing out of the kitchen, presumably on the hunt for a walking stick.
“I may be biased,” Marguerite said, glancing at the doorway where Heather had exited. “But she’s a very attractive young woman. She’s a catch.”
When Jamie’s lips stretched to a grin, Marguerite winked at him, making him snort a laugh as he waved and went outside.
What was it with mothers and matchmaking? His had been the same – constantly on the lookout for someone suitable for him. She’d died a year before he met Violet and he sometimes wondered if the two of them would have got on.
He suspected his mum would have preferred him to be with someone a little less bossy, but he liked to think they’d have rubbed along well.
His half-drunk coffee snagged his attention and he finished it in a few gulps before getting back to work on the greenhouse. The sun came out and the temperature increased a little. It was still a long way from being warm, but it was pleasantly mild – perfect gardening weather.
Removing the honeysuckle which had attacked the trellis arch was a satisfying job. Cutting it all the way back to the roots seemed drastic to Jamie, but Edward was right that the plant had got out of control.
Focused on sawing off a particularly thick stem he didn’t notice he had company until Marguerite was right beside him.
He whipped around. “You scared me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes were on the trellis. “This was always my favourite spot in the garden. I loved that honeysuckle.”
“Your husband told me to cut it back.”
She nodded, then her gaze drifted to Jamie. “Don’t tell Heather what I said earlier, will you?”
“I won’t mention it.”
“Good. She’d kill me if she knew.” Her chin lifted and her eyes misted over as though she’d drifted into a daydream. “Sometimes I think my daughter might kill me for my money,” she said, a manic edge to her words.
Jamie’s eyes widened. “What?”
“She wants her inheritance,” she said, a flash of anger in her eyes which disappeared as quickly as it had come. A nervous laugh burst out of her. “Oh, I am silly. What odd things I say sometimes. It was only a joke.”
Feeling entirely uncomfortable, Jamie looked up at the remaining vines tangled in the trellis. “I should get back to work . . .”
“Mum!” Heather marched towards them. “What are you doing out here without your walking stick?”
“I don’t need a walking stick,” Marguerite replied smoothly. “I’m not old and decrepit yet!”
“Maybe not, but you did just have a hip replacement. You’re supposed to take it easy. And you’re not supposed to walk unaided.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Marguerite said.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?”
Marguerite put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Chatting with the cute gardener.”
“Mum!” Heather’s cheeks pinked as she looked at Jamie. “I’m really sorry.”
“No worries.”
“I was only having a bit of fun,” Marguerite said with a dramatic sigh. “The world seems to have forgotten about fun. No one can stand a bit of teasing or a joke.”
“Let’s go inside,” Heather said. She’d just set off, holding her mum’s elbow, when she glanced back. “What have you done to the honeysuckle?” she asked with a frown.
“Your dad said to cut it right back.” Jamie looked at the sparse corner of the garden, then the pile of cuttings beside him and felt his stomach lurch.
He was sure he’d got the instructions right.
“It’ll grow back and look much healthier,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster – not enough to sound convincing.
Heather shrugged, then continued back towards the house with her mum. Jamie probably should have got back to work, but he couldn’t help but listen in while Marguerite talked to Heather about him.
“He’s ever so friendly,” she said. “And he’s got kind eyes. All sparkly and blue.”
“Mum!” Heather hissed, glancing back at Jamie, who looked away quickly, pretending to be focused on the garden.
“That sandy-blonde hair’s gorgeous too. And the scar gives him a bit of a rugged look.”
He trailed a finger over the scar that cut through his lip. If it weren’t for the fact that people tended to stare at it when they spoke to him, he could easily forget it was there.
“Why don’t you ask for his number?” Marguerite said loudly.
“Be quiet,” Heather seethed.
Grinning, Jamie returned to his task. Working in IT, his job had always been predictable.
Apparently the same couldn’t be said for the life of a handyman.