Chapter 4
Lunch was a most satisfying meal. The soufflé was light and fluffy, accompanied by asparagus and served with a glass of sparkling wine.
The pudding that followed was a pavlova.
“In your honour, my darling,” Iris said, patting Emma’s hand.
She looked around at the other guests. “I don’t think there is a single Australian home that doesn’t serve a pavlova to guests on special occasions. ”
Emma nodded. “Ours was always with passion fruit. I do miss that.”
“Ah yes. Passion fruit. So delicious, but those bloody seeds are so annoying.” Iris laughed again. Emma noticed that Iris had got through two glasses of wine and that Cynthia was watching her nervously.
“So where exactly did you grow up?” Emma asked.
“Where didn’t I?” Iris was still chuckling.
“All over, that’s the answer. Never in one place long enough to feel like it was home.
My father was a bit of a drifter, I suppose you could say.
He never stuck with one job for long. We’d be in Victoria and he’d hear of a mining opportunity, a new gold strike or copper or something and off we’d go again.
My poor mum was very patient and never complained, at least to me.
But it meant I never had proper schooling, and then they both died when I was quite young and I found myself working as a maid.
What a shock that was, I could tell you.
The first night on that sheep station there was a thump, and a dead sheep had been delivered to the back porch.
I was told to go and skin it and butcher it.
As if I had any idea how to do that! I’d never done manual work before, but do you know what?
By God I did it! I went away and threw up afterwards but I did it.
I wasn’t going to let the buggers beat me.
” She wagged a finger. “I’d like to see the youth of today do that.
Your generation has grown up coddled. You’ve never really faced a challenge. ”
Tony caught Emma’s gaze and gave her a wink. She felt her cheeks turning hot again and was annoyed with herself for acting like a schoolgirl. He was just being friendly, she told herself, but it felt good to have an ally.
Iris took another good swig of wine. Her face grew wistful. “But we were once in the Hunter Valley. I liked it a lot. So green, and the scent of all those gum trees. And the bellbirds. Ah yes. I’d happily have stayed on there.”
Emma felt the homesickness welling up at the mention of the bellbirds. She had proved that she was not a big-city girl. But would she be able to write another book if she moved back to Australia? Here she had a willing publisher, waiting for her. All she needed was inspiration.
Mrs Fisk came in carrying a tray with coffee cups on it. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your coffee now,” she snapped, glaring at them, then proceeded to pour the coffee.
“Now,” Iris announced, when they had finished their cups, “I’m going to take my nap, same as I do every day, and you gentlemen can show Emma the grounds. Show her the sunken garden. She’ll like that. I’ve got some Aussie plants there.”
Tony Gordon stood up, but Iris gripped his sleeve, restraining him. “Not you, darling. You have to entertain Cynthia while I snooze, and I may need you later.”
Tony looked puzzled but sat down again. Emma felt a stupid surge of disappointment that he wasn’t coming with them.
“Shall we?” David stood and helped Emma out of her seat. “Do you need your coat? I think it’s quite pleasant out there now.”
The shoes Emma was wearing were not suitable for walking through wet grass, but it had been a command, not a request, so she had to comply.
She was still feeling a little overwhelmed at the way Iris had taken to her, a little bit like a fraud that Iris felt her book was worth praising.
Perhaps like her Iris was homesick at times and had enjoyed being taken to the Hunter Valley in Emma’s story.
Jeremy Feathers had accompanied them, a big man wearing a beautifully tailored suit and a grey silk cravat.
Being Iris’s agent must have been profitable, Emma thought.
They came out of the house to a pleasant afternoon of slanted sunlight and puffy white clouds.
The men set off across the forecourt, then turned to the right.
Emma wondered how far they intended to walk, since her heels would not make walking across lawns easy.
Also she was not used to wine at midday and felt the effect of both wine and sherry buzzing in her head.
“Let’s go this way,” David said. “Iris wants to show you her prize.” They followed a path around the house and then between sections of lawn and flower garden.
Ahead of them was a high hedge that blocked the view of what lay beyond.
As they came closer Emma saw that the hedge hid a tall brick wall with a door in it.
Jeremy turned the doorknob and motioned for Emma to go first. She gasped as she stood at the top of a shallow flight of steps.
The sunken garden below was arranged in a series of flower beds with gravel paths between them.
The last roses were still putting on a magnificent show, although white and yellow petals had fallen onto the raked paths.
Creepers covered the old brick walls, their leaves now turning a vibrant red.
The air smelled of perfume and hummed with the buzz of bees.
In the centre was a fountain, splashing gently, and dotted around were white marble benches.
Several white doves were bathing themselves in the fountain basin, and their cooing echoed from the high walls.
“It’s like the Secret Garden!” she exclaimed.
The two men smiled. “It certainly is,” Jeremy said.
“I rather think Iris created it to be so. She had this house completely rebuilt to her taste, you know, and the grounds, too. It was quite a ruin when she bought it. She likes to come here when she is creating. She says it takes her out of the world and helps her think.”
“I’m sure it does,” Emma said. “It’s absolutely lovely.”
“Shall we sit?” David said, patting a bench beside him.
Emma sat and Jeremy came to sit on her other side, almost squashing her.
She glanced warily. Why were they sitting together like this, all close together on one bench when there were other seats around?
Was she being paranoid? she asked herself.
She was alone in a walled garden with two strange men.
She glanced back at the gate, still standing open.
She could make her getaway if she needed to.
“You may have wondered why you were brought here,” Jeremy said. He had a big, hearty voice, but he was speaking in a hushed undertone as if he didn’t want any outsider to hear.
“Yes, I did wonder,” she said. “I presumed it was because I’m a fellow Australian and she was curious to meet me.”
“That’s true,” Jeremy said. “She wanted to give you the once over, to see if you’d do.”
“Do what?”
Jeremy cleared his throat and looked across at David. David hesitated before saying, “I mentioned earlier that Iris is writing another book.”
“Yes, you did. How wonderful.”
“Not so wonderful,” David said. “I also mentioned that she is having memory lapses. You probably noticed a couple at luncheon. She called Tony by his father’s name. She forgot the doctor couldn’t make it today.”
Emma stared at him, wondering where this was leading. Did Iris now need someone to be with her? A companion? But she already had Cynthia.
“She’s started the book, Emma,” Jeremy said.
“But she can’t finish it. She can’t remember what was supposed to happen.
She gets very frustrated and upset and she has come to realize that she might never be able to finish it.
But it’s important to her. It’s Inspector Melrose’s first case.
It’s like putting a seal on the whole series.
The book in which we finally get to know who Melrose really is. ”
Emma was still staring at Jeremy. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because she wants you to finish the book,” Jeremy said.
“Me?” The word came out unnaturally loud, causing the doves to flutter away, their wings flapping like paper.
She gave an uneasy laugh. “But that’s ridiculous.
I’m the last person she’d want. I have written one small book.
I have no experience. She could have any writer.
Anyone would be honoured to work with her. ”
“She wants you,” David said. “She is quite adamant about it.”
“Why? Why on earth would she want me?” Her words echoed around the garden.
“Who can tell how Iris’s mind works?” Jeremy chuckled.
“She’s always been a law unto herself. What other Australian would decide to write a series featuring a Scottish detective who drinks whisky when she knows nothing about either?
But if you want an answer, my dear Emma, I think perhaps she sees something of herself as a young woman in you. ”
“And she just told you that your story resonated with her. She says she’s passionate about justice,” David added.
Emma shook her head fiercely. “I’m sorry but I couldn’t do it.
At least I couldn’t do justice to an Iris Blackburn novel.
You’ve read my book. You were the one who decided to publish it, Mr Spencer.
It’s a typical small first novel. You said it had promise.
But promise isn’t the same as being a fully-fledged writer. ”
When neither man said anything she went on. “I told you before that the Melrose books are not my style—the prose is too spare and the subjects a little too dark. I don’t think I am the right person at all.”
“Nevertheless Iris wants you, and Iris is accustomed to getting her own way.”
She had been looking at David as he spoke. Jeremy touched her hand, making her jump. “You do realize that this would make you as a writer. You’d have the clout to do what you wanted after this.”
Emma still shook her head, digesting the truth in this statement. “I’d be afraid of letting Iris down.”