Chapter Fourteen
‘So wait, this woman just upped and left the village without a word?’ Lucy asks, her mouth hanging open. ‘And no one knows where she went?’
Lifting my cider for a gulp, I shake my head. ‘I even asked Victor, since Rosemary would be around the same age as him now. He remembers her, and how she vanished in the night with no trace, but that’s all he had to say.’
‘Wow, weird. I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve ever heard of Rosemary Grey before.’
‘Shh!’ I hiss. ‘Not so loud!’
Eyes darting around the small pub, I shush her, though I needn’t bother. The Pheasant’s Nest is rather busy, especially for a Monday night, but everyone is too occupied with their own conversations to pay much attention to ours, and I’m inclined to keep it that way. Although I’m eager to learn more about Rosemary and her garden, I don’t want to go round spilling the beans about it to everyone, at least for now. The lost garden is my little secret, one I share with Shaun and no one else. Eventually, it would be nice to open it up to the villagers, when it’s safe and back to rights, of course, but for now, I like that we’re the only two people who know how to find it.
‘Okay, okay!’ Lucy clucks her tongue. ‘Still, it is strange, isn’t it? How Rosemary and her garden have been all but forgotten.’
‘I know, and I don’t know where to look for clues to find out more,’ I tell her. ‘I think Shaun has a lead, it’s one of his clients, but I won’t know until he’s spoken to her this week.’
Giggling, Lucy claps her hands. ‘Ooh, this is all so exciting! I’ve never had to solve a real mystery before, I feel like we need to put a team of detectives together. Oh, speaking of teams, I hope you don’t mind, but I invited my friend Lottie to join us. She’s a new girl too, been here less than a year. She used to live in Paris and design for the runways, now she owns her own boutique here in Lily Vale.’
‘That’s great, I’d like to hear what she thinks of this village, I could do with another outsider’s perspective.’
‘Hey, I was once an outsider too!’ Lucy nudges me. ‘But now I’d never leave.’
I roll my eyes fondly. ‘You sound like Victor.’
I’m still not sure if I’ll be leaving or staying put. I definitely want to see our garden project through, but once it’s complete, I can’t say if I’ll be sticking around. My job means I can pretty much set my hat anywhere, but Lily Vale isn’t the sort of place I’d imagined settling down. I wanted the suburbs - near a city, but rural enough that any children I had could play safely anywhere. Lily Vale is rural , alright, I think there’s more cows on the roads than cars!
A slim and stunning woman swans into the pub, drawing many admiring glances as she does. She certainly wouldn’t look out of place munching a croissant in Paris, and when Lucy waves her over, my assumptions are confirmed.
‘Hi, you must be Lottie,’ I beam, offering my hand.
‘That’s me!’ she replies in a melodic French accent. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you finally, Lucy’s told me all about you.’
‘Oh God.’ I cover my face with my hands. ‘I dread to think what she’s said!’
‘Only good things,’ Lottie titters and takes the empty seat between us. ‘Promise.’
‘Ruth has just been telling me about this mysterious garden up in the Heather Hills,’ Lucy says.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes - so much for keeping all this a secret! Still, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have another person on the case, so we fill Lottie in on the story so far, and she listens intently, eyes bright with intrigue.
‘Gosh, it seems I learn something new about Lily Vale every day!’ Lottie chuckles.
As we continue our discussion, a group of rowdy men crowd in through the front door, and I glance in their direction absentmindedly. I set my sight on the tallest one … and my blood runs cold.
Nathan?
He has the same golden blonde hair, the same cocky stance, the same rafter-skimming height …
But when the stranger turns his head and I can see his face properly, I realise that of course, it’s not Nathan at all. Why on earth would it be? It’s not like he would ever come looking for me, he doesn’t even know where I am. He doesn’t care to know, and he never will care.
Maybe he never did.
‘Ruth?’ Lucy peers anxiously at me, her voice sounding far away. ‘Are you alright? You’re white as a sheet!’
‘Shall I get you some water?’ Lottie offers.
‘Erm, no, I - I -’ I gulp down the sickly combination of fear and hope rising in my throat. ‘I have to go.’
Uttering some lame excuse about needing to do laundry, I make a swift exit, leaving poor Lucy and Lottie baffled. Tears stream down my cheeks as I determinedly hurry along the narrow streets and I wipe them away with a furious fist.
No, don’t cry , I scold myself. Not for him, not anymore.
I hope Lottie doesn’t think I left on her account, it must have seemed terribly rude of me, rushing off with barely an explanation. Still, I can’t worry about that right now, I need to find my sanctuary.
The sun has disappeared and the sky is melting into inky blue as I clamber over the wooden sty and start the short trail that leads to the Heather Hills. This is not my wisest idea, it’s probably dangerous to take this route at almost nine o’clock at night, but I press on regardless.
Just get to the garden, I chant in my mind, over and over again as a distraction to keep me from weeping. Once I get to the garden, everything will be okay.
And miraculously, it is. Suddenly, the world is calm and peaceful, sprinkled with magic in the white glow of the moon, and it stills my racing heartbeat. The damaged swing sways gently in the breeze, beckoning me toward it. I do as it commands, longing to climb onto it and lose myself in the caress of warm wind and bright starlight. But it’s still broken, so instead I stroke the weathered stone seat, picturing Rosemary swinging in her secret garden without a care in the world.
I’m slightly startled when a whirlwind of black feathers lands gracefully beside my hand on the seat, until I notice it’s just Colin.
‘Hello, little guy,’ I grin at my birdy friend. ‘You needed a bit of alone time too, huh?’
He doesn’t chirp back as usual, because there’s something clutched between his beak, something silvery and ever so tiny. He drops it with a gentle clink and eyes me expectantly. When I realise just what I’m looking at, a gasp escapes me.
‘Is this ..?’
My God, I think it is! Holding my breath in reverence, I gingerly pick up the silver key, turning it this way and that in the dappled moonlight.
‘Wherever did you find this?’
Of course, Colin can’t answer me, but I swear, there’s a cunning gleam flashing in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what he’s just presented me with. Squealing with exhilaration, I fight the urge to scoop Colin up into a huge hug and instead give him a soft stroke along his spine. He quivers at my touch, clicking his contentment.
‘Thank you.’ I whisper. ‘Thank you so much!’
It’s even darker now as I bolt through the woods and stagger down the steep Heather Hills, stumbling and slipping several times, but I’m too excited to slow down. By the time I get back to the cottage, I’m out of breath, and yet, I still sprint from the front door to the bedroom, and instantly begin rifling through my bedside drawer.
Triumphantly, I lift Rosemary’s journal out and try the key in the lock. My fingers are shaky, and I have to wiggle it around a bit, but the key clicks into place and the padlock snaps open. Heart pounding, I flick through the entries, which are carefully written in crimson ink. Every page is full, and I shiver with anticipation as I read the first entry:
Dear Diary,
I saw him in the village today, outside the town hall. R.C.
Of course, he was surrounded by his lackeys and the usual hangers-on. They were engaged in a loud conversation about their latest development project, or something equally as uninteresting.
My easel tucked under my arm, I swept past them, in a manner I hoped was nonchalant. It wasn’t until I was nearing the corner that I dared to glance back. He was watching me, no, not just watching, truly seeing me. Those blue eyes bored into mine, and suddenly, I was mesmerised. Try as I might, I could not look away.
Then the spell was broken. He turned away and resumed the discussion with his colleagues, forgetting me in an instant. But it didn’t matter, we had that moment, brief though it was. Still, I wonder when our next meeting will be, it has been so long …
I know I should stay away, I shouldn’t even consider it, but I just can’t help myself.
In regards to my art, I’m still working on the cherry tree piece, and I do believe it might shape up to be my finest yet. I can’t wait to showcase it at the art fair.
Rosemary
Engrossed, I pore over one entry after another, empathising with Rosemary’s draughts of inspiration and sharing her joy when she finally rediscovers her creativity again. As someone who has only recently recovered her own, I can relate.
But what has really intrigued me is the mention of this mysterious man. I’ve only read a couple of entries, and yet, I’m starting to put the pieces together myself. The man she’s describing - R.C. - must be the subject of her charcoal sketches and the huge portrait she was working on and never finished. The question is - who is he?
Feeling a yawn come over me, I slip an old receipt between the pages like a bookmark and tuck the journal away in the bedside drawer. I guess I’ll leave the rest of the story for another night.