Chapter 13
APRIL
There are always flowers for those who want to see them.
— HENRI MATISSE
Sweet peas, clarkia, love-in-a-mist, cornflowers, poppies, cosmea, scabious and lilies…
Gemma looked up from her list and smiled. ‘Oh, and roses,’ she murmured to herself. ‘How could I forget roses?’
She made another note, the book she had been writing them in now almost full, overflowing with ideas and (very badly) hand-drawn maps and sketches.
How many of these ideas would come to fruition was yet to be seen, but it was more a point of capturing them so that Gemma didn’t forget them.
They came to her at all times of the day, quite often at four in the morning during the gentle dreaming time in which she so often found herself.
Of course there was another reason for writing them all down – it was the only thing which made Gemma feel as if she was marginally in control.
There was so much to be done and, now that the initial excitement had died down a little, she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by all that was ahead of her.
She was getting better at managing her impatience though, turning to Rowan’s words whenever she felt panicked by the lack of speed at which things were progressing.
What is this thing we all have with time?
It was true. She needed to stop trying to rush it and instead stand still in the moment and notice what it brought.
Gardens were never really finished. They evolved and grew, changed and changed again.
Mother Nature decided much of it, but almost as much was trial and error.
And that was the beauty of it. She must remember that.
Her garden would not be finished this year.
It might not be finished the next and, in all likelihood, in six months’ time she would be gone.
So in the meantime, she would live alongside the garden, through the months that followed, a constant companion to her daily life.
It was, categorically, not a chore to be finished, but a lifelong work, and one which she would hand over to Willow in due course.
She closed the book she had been reading and stowed it away in her bag.
The queue at the desk had gone now, and with any luck the librarian would have been able to print off copies of the documents she had asked for.
There was also a much bigger prospect waiting for her behind the desk.
A copy of Cornwall’s Secret Gardens – the book which Gemma had found listed on an obscure website when she had last been in the tearoom.
After virtually a whole day of searching, she had managed to locate a copy of it online, at a second-hand and antiquarian dealer, but the cover price of a hundred and sixty pounds was beyond them.
So the search had been resumed, through the library this time, and although it had taken almost two weeks, this morning’s email announcing its arrival had brought that same flush of excitement which Gemma had felt in the early days of their discovery.
Hannah was on duty as Gemma reached the desk, and the librarian smiled, picking up a sheaf of papers which lay on the counter.
‘All done,’ she said, handing them to Gemma to look through. ‘Is that everything?’
Gemma nodded. Hannah had been incredibly helpful, directing her to the library’s ancient but useful microfiche reader, as well as a whole host of other resources she could use to help her find what she was looking for.
And she seemed genuinely interested in her research, eagerly asking for updates whenever she saw Gemma.
Now, she pulled out the book which Gemma had been waiting for from under the counter and pushed it towards her as if it was the holy grail.
‘Well, here it is… finally,’ she said. ‘I really hope it’s going to be useful.’
Gemma grinned. ‘So do I. There are going to be some very disappointed people back home if it isn’t, me included.’ She tapped the book’s cover. ‘I almost daren’t look inside, in case it’s not what we hoped for.’
‘You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you,’ said Hannah. ‘How do you even begin something like that?’
‘With a very sturdy pair of gardening gloves,’ replied Gemma, smiling.
‘We’ve spent the last few days trying to clear a patch of stubborn and rather prolific bramble.
And if it’s not bramble, it’s thistles, nettles, couch grass…
We know there’s a garden under there somewhere, and we’re pretty sure we’re looking in the right place – ish – but as yet, it’s keeping itself well hidden. ’
‘But this is the book which should tell you exactly what’s been hidden and where, is that right?’
‘It’s the only history of the garden we’ve found,’ replied Gemma. ‘So fingers crossed. It isn’t the only garden detailed in the book though, so it could only feature on half a page. With any luck it will be several chapters, rich in scope and full of photographs…’
Hannah eyed the book with a new reverence. ‘I hope so too. You will let me know, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will.’ She smiled before giving her watch a quick glance. ‘Sorry, I’d better get going. I said I’d pick Ashley up at ten.’
Hannah quickly issued the book to Gemma’s account. ‘No problem.’ She handed it back. ‘You mentioned she’s been helping you before. Is that Ashley Cousins?’
Gemma nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right – Merryn’s granddaughter.’
‘I thought it was.’ She paused. ‘Right,’ she said, glancing back at the computer screen. ‘There you go then, all done.’
‘How much do I owe you?’ asked Gemma, taking out her purse. The cost of requesting the book from the intercounty library archives had been almost fifteen pounds, but it was a small price to pay.
Hannah waved her hand. ‘I’ve taken care of it,’ she said, lowering her voice slightly. ‘I’ve allocated it to the local history club. They don’t pay for requests.’
Gemma beamed her a smile. ‘You’re a star,’ she said, making a mental note to bring her some of Willow’s brownies next time she visited. ‘I’ll let you know how I get on.’
With her precious cargo safely stowed, Gemma started her car and pulled slowly out of the space reserved for library customers.
Now that her ankle had started to heal, she’d been able to resume driving, and she still couldn’t get over the wonderful feeling of being able to go anywhere she wanted, at any time she wanted.
Willow, Rowan and to some extent Leo had all been very good about giving her lifts when she’d needed them, but there was much she had missed about being under her own steam – the ability to take her time, for one.
There was so much to see at this time of year.
The road into town sat high above the valley floor and the views were spectacular.
Spring was upon them and signs of green were everywhere, along with the blossom which dotted the trees as they marched majestically up the hillside.
Summer and autumn would have their own distinct clothing, too, but Gemma would welcome those seasons when they arrived, and not before.
Neither would she yearn for their coming.
Each thing, in its own time… She smiled at the thoughts in her head.
Who’d have thought they’d belong to her?
And all the while she drove, there was the thought of the book tucked in her bag and with it the promise of what might yet come into being.
It was tempting to open it as soon as she got home, but aside from the fact that she had Ashley helping her today, she knew she would wait until this evening to do so.
Partly so that she could share her findings with the others, but also because her research belonged to the quiet evening of a day well spent, with a cup of tea or a hot chocolate, a piece of cake or a muffin and the comfortable companionship of the hours until bedtime.
They had all discussed at length the best way to tackle clearing the area where they believed the garden to be, or rather the merits of speed over care, but in the end they had all agreed that there was a danger in using any kind of machinery to clear the land which they simply couldn’t risk.
There was also a cost involved, the money for which would have to be found and would potentially mean that expenditure elsewhere would have to be reduced.
But standing on that first morning to survey the task ahead of them, Gemma had felt almost faint with the enormity of it all.
A week later, and that feeling hadn’t really changed, except that they had finally made a start and that was better than no start at all.
Plus, the photographs they had already uncovered had at least shown where the boundaries ought to be, and so they were working the left-hand edge of the garden, bit by bit, bramble by bramble, and today would be no different.
After substituting her shoes for the pair of boots she was hardly ever out of, Gemma followed Ashley into the garden, handing her a pair of thick gauntlet-style gloves which were a necessity for tackling the prickly thorns.
And the first job of the day would be to clear away what had been cut the day before, ferrying it to an already huge pile in the centre of the garden.
‘I’ll go and get the tools,’ said Ashley, doubling back towards the old farmhouse where they were kept.
Gemma nodded and began to carefully pull the thick stems of bramble away from where they had been working.
It was a good way to warm up if nothing else.
But there was another reason why they were taking their time over this process: somewhere, underneath all the wild unrestraint, were the remains of the garden, that had once been carefully cultivated and nurtured.
And they had no idea what they might find, or when.
A tendril of something beautiful which had been struggling its way towards the light, its dormant heart lain buried for years, covered, subdued and hidden, but still very much alive.