Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When I’m not losing myself in Ash over the following days, I’m losing myself in gardening. We’ve been weeding and deadheading, clearing areas of spent low-growing perennials such as leafy Symphytum and white-green Brunnera , turning the compost and pulling cow parsley. The lawn has also gone wild with the warmer weather and it’s a full-time job just to stay on top of mowing and trimming.
But Ash is never far from my mind. It’s hard to escape to the cabin without drawing attention, but Sian and Bethan went to the cinema on Sunday night, and on my day off on Monday, he took me to Portmeirion, a beautiful Italianate village on a private peninsula overlooking the coast.
We wandered between the colourful buildings, stopping for lunch at the café before returning to his car and parking in a remote location to make the most of his fold-down seats.
We’re burning brightly, but that’s no surprise – everything is all still so new.
I’m so caught up in thinking about Ash as I water the pots in the greenhouses on Friday that I don’t notice Philippa Berkeley until she’s right at the door.
‘Ah!’ she says. ‘Eleanor!’
I almost jump out of my skin.
‘Good afternoon.’
‘Those should be going in about now, shouldn’t they?’ She nods at the pots.
‘We’re putting them in next week,’ I reply, noticing again that I’ve adopted my ‘proper’-sounding voice.
‘I just came past the lilac circle. It’s looking a bit worse for wear.’
‘I’m afraid we’ve been short on volunteers this week. Deadheading is on the list of things to do.’
‘I see.’
She seems to be waiting for something, and then I realise it’s quite possibly me.
‘I’ll do some deadheading now,’ I tell her, retrieving my secateurs from my trug.
‘Wonderful,’ she replies.
I follow her out of the greenhouse and almost jump out of my skin for the second time that day when I see Ash making his way through the walled garden.
‘Ashton!’ his mother calls.
Ash glances our way and does a double take. His eyes flare slightly, but the way his mouth tilts at the edges tells me that he’s pleased to see me.
‘What are you doing out here?’ Lady Berkeley asks her son.
‘Just taking a shortcut to the workshop.’
He’s got his Honourable Ashton Berkeley voice on, but it doesn’t freak me out the way it used to. In fact, I find it kind of hot how curt he sounds, how … commanding .
I have a vision of him tying me to his bedposts and doing naughty things to me and then Lady Berkeley brings me back down to earth with a bump.
‘Have you met our new gardener, Eleanor Knapley? She’s here from RHS Garden Wisley in Surrey.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Of course – I’ve introduced you already.’
‘No, Mother,’ Ash says, and his eyes land on mine for the briefest of pauses before returning to his mother. ‘This is Ellie.’
It takes me a second to realise what he’s doing.
Philippa Berkeley looks at me.
‘Ellie …’ Her brow furrows as though she’s trying to place me.
‘Ellie,’ Ash repeats, with even more meaning.
Suddenly she does a double take that makes her look just like her son.
‘Oh!’ she says with shock. And then she says it again with significance: ‘Oh.’
No. No. NO!
It’s overcast today, but it may as well be forty degrees Celsius and climbing. My blood is on fire.
She looks at me directly, her gaze shrewd and penetrating as my heart races, and then her eyes move up to the bun perched on top of my head.
‘Is this why you went so heavy on the red in the Georgian garden?’ she asks, turning to address her son.
He nods slowly, his lips pressed into a straight line.
She glances at me. ‘The lupins in the King George Garden,’ she says brusquely. ‘Planted a few years ago. It’s the only time Ashton has ever shown an interest in perennials.’
Ash is responsible for Nan’s rainbow of lupins? I’m too shocked by what he’s done to let the fact land.
She looks at her son, her expression growing contemplative. ‘I presume this is why Rebecca left for London.’
His eyes are gleaming with some sentiment as he gives his mother a single nod.
‘I see.’ She flashes me another quick, disconcerted look and then addresses her son. ‘I think we’d better have a talk.’
‘I’ll come and see you later,’ he promises sombrely.
She doesn’t make a move to leave, but neither does he. He just stands there, one metre away from me, as my heart pounds so violently I feel as though it’s going to leap out of my chest.
It finally occurs to Philippa Berkeley that her son is going nowhere, so she decides to make her own exit, stalking away with a weary sigh.
Ash meets my gaze calmly.
‘Oh, Ash, what have you done?’ I whisper with horror.
‘I didn’t think our secret had to extend to my own family,’ he says reasonably.
‘Of course it does!’ I screech-whisper, looking around wildly to ensure no one’s in earshot. It’s the middle of June – the place is swarming with visitors.
‘I understand how you might be embarrassed to be with me when it comes to your colleagues, but how can you be embarrassed about me around my own mother?’
He hasn’t switched back to his Welsh accent, but I can still hear gentle Ash beneath his clipped tone, trying to make light of the situation.
‘I’m not embarrassed of you around her. I’m embarrassed of me !’ I wave my hands over my gardener’s shorts and polo shirt. How is he not taking this seriously?
He gives me a sympathetic look and reaches out for me.
I lurch backwards and quickly check to make sure no one has seen us.
‘Ellie,’ he says.
I shake my head at him, anguished.
He grabs my hand and pulls me under the cover of the nearby laburnum arch. It happens too fast for me to think about resisting, but as soon as we’re out of view, I spin on my heel to face him.
‘What if she fires me?’
‘She’s not going to fire you.’ He sounds dismissive.
‘I can’t believe you would risk ruining this for me.’
‘She’s not a monster .’ He sounds taken aback.
‘What if she tells someone else?’
‘I’ll ask her not to.’
‘But now she thinks that I’m the other woman! Ash! ’ I’m distraught.
‘She does want me to be happy, Ellie,’ he says equitably. ‘I know she liked Beca, but she’ll like you too when she gets to know you.’
‘What’s the point in her getting to know me? This is not going to last!’
He looks shocked, standing there on a carpet of yellow as the last of the laburnum blooms float down around him.
He shakes his head at me. ‘I can’t believe you’re talking about us ending when we’ve barely begun.’
‘Please stop making me say it: we have no future.’
My eyes prick with tears as I turn and walk away.
‘Ellie!’ he calls after me in dismay.
‘No!’ I reply angrily. ‘I have to sweep up those dead flowers.’
Another job that’s suffering from a lack of volunteers.
At the sound of my raised voice, a couple of old-age pensioners look towards me. My face burns as I head to the Mess Room.
I’m so upset with Ash that I don’t even reply to his text messages that night, telling me that he’s been to see his mother and sworn her to secrecy.
I’m sure she was happy to oblige , I think to myself darkly. She’d be too mortified to tell a single soul that her son is having a sordid affair with a gardener. She probably thinks we’ll fizzle out anyway. I bet she hopes for it with all her heart.
I’ve been neglecting Sian – she’s still emotional about Celyn – and I feel guilty for having turned down the invitation to join her and Bethan at the cinema, so on Saturday morning I suggest that she and I go into Wrexham for a long-overdue shopping trip.
Bethan, Harri and Evan get wind of our plan and join us that evening for a pub session.
Evan hasn’t invited me on another day trip since I told him I’d already visited the aqueduct with my ‘friend, Chloe’. He seems to have got the message that I want things to stay platonic, but he’s still being friendly and it’s good to be able to kick back with him.
When I’m drunk and a little emotional, I go to the bathrooms and reply to another text from Ash, asking me to go over that night. I say that I can’t and tell him that I’ll be busy the next day too.
He doesn’t reply, and I spend the whole of Sunday stressing.
But on Sunday night, I get a message from him: Can you meet me at the house? Not the cabin.
I’m so relieved to hear from him after twenty-four hours of silence that I reply straight away.
Why?
My parents are out for the evening. I’d like to show you around.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that he still hasn’t apologised.
What if someone sees us?
The only staff who live here have retired to their private quarters. There’s no better time.
I wish I could resist, but my willpower is shot.
OK.
Come to the gatehouse. Can you be here in 10?
I send a thumbs-up emoji that directly contradicts how pissed off I still am at him. I make my feelings clear by taking a good fifteen minutes to get ready.
We’re approaching the summer solstice so it’s still light and balmy when I leave the cottage at 8 p.m., telling Sian that I’m off to get some fresh air.
I walk down the track that runs adjacent to the walled garden and then cut across the field to reach the neat stretch of gravel in front of the hall.
I’m rarely around this side of the house – all the garden rooms that we’re responsible for are at the back of the property – and now the sight of the mansion looming in the dusk takes my breath away. I look up at it as I approach, noticing how the windows differ in design from arched to rectangular, and how the walls of the eighteenth-century bays on either side of the gatehouse are rendered while the gatehouse is built from cream-coloured stone.
I’m so caught up in the detail that I miss that the Honourable Ashton Berkeley is leaning against the frame of the giant arched gatehouse door, watching me.
He’s wearing a black shirt tucked into light-grey trousers, and his hair is falling into his eyes.
A shiver races down my spine. I’m beginning to realise how much I like Ash’s many looks.
‘Been waiting long?’ I ask him drily as I approach.
‘A while,’ he replies, just as aridly.
His arms are folded across his chest, but he steps back to make room for me to enter, closing the heavy door behind me with a low whoosh and a thud.
I stand and stare at the inside of the gatehouse. It looks exactly the same as last time, but now everything feels different. What is the significance of the old tapestry hanging on the wall? Did one of his ancestors wear that shining armour into battle?
I ask Ash the questions and discover that the tapestry was commissioned by a family member in the mid-1600s and the armour was brought back from France in the early eighteenth century during one of the Berkeleys’ first Grand Tours of Europe. Many of the artefacts in the rest of the house arrived the same way.
‘Evan said that in olden days people in carriages used to drive straight through to the courtyard.’
‘They did.’
‘He also said that Henry VIII gifted your family this gatehouse.’
‘Not Henry VIII. Henry VII,’ he replies. ‘He was born in Wales – the first Tudor king. Has our resident Aussie been trying to give you history lessons? He could do with getting his facts straight.’
‘Stop being so touchy, Ash.’
He sighs and looks away, peeved.
I walk over to the window.
‘Are you going to forgive me?’
At the downhearted sound of his voice, I turn around. We stare at each other until his expression softens and then I mumble, ‘Yes.’
He gives me a relieved smile.
‘But I’m still annoyed at you,’ I point out, putting up my hand in protest as he reaches for me.
He ignores my attempt to stop him and tugs me into his arms, burying his face against my neck.
I stand there stiffly but can’t resist melting into him after only about three seconds. The warmth of his skin has seeped straight into me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers after a while.
I draw back to meet his eyes. He’s genuinely apologetic.
‘I really didn’t think anything bad would come of it. I had to tell someone. It’s been killing me keeping it to myself and I couldn’t bear to see you standing there while she boasted about your credentials. I wanted to tell her that you’re not her Eleanor, you’re my Ellie. And she’d better not take you for granted.’
Heat stings the backs of my eyes. ‘I’ve been so upset,’ I admit.
‘I know.’ He reaches out to caress my cheek. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘This job is so important to me.’
‘I know.’
‘You don’t. Not really. My parents made such a success of their business. I was lucky enough not to have to worry about money when I was younger, but I don’t have that luxury now. My dad can’t believe I left Knap to be a gardener. I bet my mum is laughing her head off at the thought of it. She’ll be desperate for me to fail. Her idea of heaven would be me running back to her, begging for help. I will never ask for help. Not ever. My mum would probably turn me down if I did. I cannot lose this job. I have to make this work.’
‘You will not lose this job,’ he says seriously. ‘But I’m so fucking sorry for everything,’ he adds, his eyes gleaming. ‘I wish you’d talk to me more about what you’ve been through.’
‘I’d rather forget about it.’
He looks a little hurt and I sigh.
‘What did your mother say when you spoke to her?’ I ask.
He swallows. ‘Not much. But she accepts it. She does care about my happiness, Ellie.’
He seems convinced of this.
Me, I’m not so sure. It’s not that I think his mother would want him to be miserable, but I’d put money on her hoping he’d settle with being a little less happy if it meant being more socially acceptable.
‘Shall we continue with the tour?’ he asks. ‘There are a hundred and seventy-four rooms in this house and we’ve only seen one.’
‘We’ll be here all night!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll just show you the best rooms. There are other things I want to do with you later.’
‘I hope the very best room is your bedroom,’ I say with a smirk.
‘Oh, it definitely is,’ he replies, making me laugh.
I only realise as we walk down a long corridor, between double doors that have been pinned back, that Ash is still talking like Ashton Berkeley. I hadn’t even noticed.
It warms my heart to realise that I do know Ash – not just both sides of him but the whole person – and he’s the same underneath, no matter how he sounds.
I’m in this deep.
He takes me through the former bedrooms, halls, state rooms and the old kitchen with its giant stone hearth. Occasionally he’ll tell me about antiquities that his ancestors brought back from one of their Grand Tours, an ancient Egyptian statue of a cat or a Ming vase from China.
He knows so much about the oil paintings hanging on the walls and the various ornaments within locked glass cabinets that it amazes me how he retains all the information. But I guess it’s part of his job to know these things. He needs to understand his family’s history so he can pass it on to his own heir one day.
The realisation is sobering.
We near the end of the tour through the Tudor wing in Ash’s childhood bedroom, which looks onto the courtyard, just as he described.
We stand shoulder to shoulder and stare at the fountain and, like me, I imagine he’s thinking of the ordinary children who played down there and thought he was a ghost. A heaviness has come over us that I abruptly feel determined to lift.
‘Okay, so now I’ve seen little Ashton’s room, can I see grown-up Ash’s big one?’
He casts me a sideways smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
We came up to the top floor of the Tudor wing via an intricately carved dark wooden staircase, but instead of going back down the same way, Ash takes me to a door that I hadn’t even noticed because it’s seamlessly disguised with the same William Morris wallpaper that’s on the walls.
I remember Bethan talking about secret doors and experience a thrill at getting to go behind one.
We come out onto a landing where there’s a narrow, less embellished staircase and a door marked PRIVATE . Ash uses his key to unlock it.
These are the rooms his family relocated to a couple of decades ago, after vacating the Tudor wing for the benefit of visitors, but their current living quarters don’t look all that different from the rest of the house. They’re a little more cluttered maybe, but just as grand, with antique furniture, rugs, oil paintings and collections of ornaments contained in glass cabinets.
‘This is my mother’s favourite room,’ he says as we walk into a large living room with a chintz-covered four-piece sofa. Three sets of butter-yellow curtains hang at intervals on the wall. ‘She does most of her socialising in here – too many afternoon teas to count. During the day, it’s very bright with all the windows.’
‘I can’t get my bearings. Does it face the fields at the front?’
We’ve taken so many twists and turns – it’s like a rabbit warren.
‘No, the hills to the west and the church.’
‘Ah, okay. We were down at the church today, having a tidy-up. Apparently, there’s a wedding blessing here on Saturday.’
He shrugs. ‘We have them occasionally. Not official ceremonies. The church is only open for tours these days, but it’s worth the effort to host the odd blessing and wedding reception, even if it does mean closing early to visitors.’
I feel a wave of respect for him at everything he’s had to learn in order to be able to run this place one day. As I step up on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his. His arms come around my waist and he deepens our kiss until I feel breathless and wobbly, but then he abruptly slides his mouth away, staring with consternation past my right shoulder. He takes my hand and firmly tugs me just behind him, tucking our joined fingers close to our bodies so they’re hidden. He’s gone rigid.
An attractive middle-aged brunette walks into the room.
‘Good evening, Master Berkeley,’ she says in a demure voice.
‘Meredith,’ Ash replies curtly, glaring at her.
Her eyes do a quick sweep over me and her lips curve up slightly as she walks straight past us and goes out the door.
‘Who was that?’ I ask when she’s gone. ‘You sounded so surly!’
‘Housekeeper. She’s the only member of staff I wish my parents would get rid of.’
‘Why?’
He stalks out of the room, taking me with him. His grip on my hand has tightened.
‘Ash?’ I press.
‘I don’t like her,’ he replies shortly. ‘And she knows it. She calls me Master Berkeley to annoy me. It’s how the staff always addressed Hugo, so it makes me think of him.’
‘That’s awful. Why would she wind you up like that?’ I ask with concern as we walk along a corridor.
He shrugs and comes to a stop at a door. ‘This is my room.’ He leads me inside and switches on his overhead lights, pushing the door closed behind us.
It’s a large, square room with antique dark wooden furniture, including a big four-poster bed in the middle.
How many people have slept in that bed? The thought leads me to wonder how many times Beca has slept in that bed and my stomach drops.
I’m sure you’ll console him …
Her words come back to me, along with a twinge of guilt. I’m guessing she feels worse than I do right now.
‘This faces onto the fields,’ I state, sure of where we are in the house now.
‘Yep.’ He backtracks to flick off the ceiling light and then goes to one of two sets of midnight-blue curtains, pulling them back to reveal an arched window with a white frame.
‘Wow. That’s a view and a half.’
The sky is awash with colour. The sun set only recently, and one star hangs near the horizon.
‘Is that Jupiter?’ I ask.
‘No, Jupiter will rise over the hill by the cabin in a few hours. Will you come and camp out with me on Saturday night?’ he asks out of the blue.
‘Uh, sure.’
‘There’s something I’d like you to see, if it’s not too cloudy.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a surprise. Enough talking.’
We’re both smiling as our lips come together, and then I’m tugging him in the direction of the bed and soaking up the feeling of his warm, hard body as it settles over me. Running my hands along his slim waist, I pull his shirt out of his trousers and press my fingers to his flat stomach. As his hands lift up my T-shirt and his mouth moves from my lips to my neck and finally to one of my nipples, I gasp and arch my back.
‘Okay, okay, enough foreplay.’ I sound delirious as I tackle his belt buckle and push his trousers part way down his legs before wriggling to lift up my skirt.
We’re still half-dressed, but I’m impatient.
‘I don’t have any condoms,’ he realises.
It’s like I’ve stepped into a cold shower.
‘Neither do I.’
The disappointment is so immense that there’s no way in hell we’re not finding a workable solution.
‘I’ve never slept with anyone without a condom before,’ I whisper.
‘Neither have I.’
I retreat to look at him. ‘Really?’
‘I swear.’
I was more surprised than doubting him.
His pupils are so dilated. It’s sexy as hell.
Our mouths come together again.
‘I’m not on birth control, though.’ My voice sounds garbled.
‘ Fuuuuuck ,’ he moans against my neck.
‘Pull out,’ I urge.
He hesitates. Then he lifts his head to look at me directly again. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod. ‘I’m sure.’
We break apart only far enough to slide down our underwear, and then he repositions himself between my legs.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he checks again, his voice strained.
‘Fuck, Ash, please, I want you so much right now.’
He sinks down and I lift my hips up simultaneously. The noise I make when we’re connected intimately, skin to skin, is feral. It’s so intense, so mind-blowing. He’s ruined sex for me with any other man forever. The thought of him stopping what he’s doing is beyond the realm of possibility, but, argh …
‘I really could get pregnant,’ I say against his mouth, warning him.
‘If I get you pregnant, I’d have to marry you,’ he replies roughly, still moving. ‘I can’t have an heir out of wedlock.’
I laugh against his shoulder. ‘Don’t joke about it.’
Fuck. He is joking, isn’t he?
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. We simultaneously freeze.
‘Ashton?’
It’s a man’s voice.
Ash pulls out abruptly. ‘Don’t come in!’ he yells, reaching for the hem of my skirt and tugging it down to cover me up before scrambling off the bed and yanking up his trousers.
‘Is that your father?’ I recognise his voice.
Ash nods, his expression wracked with tension and something else … Fear?
‘I’m coming in,’ Peter Berkeley warns.
‘Wait!’ Ash shouts.
Heart pounding, I leap from the bed, searching around wildly for somewhere to hide.
I’m just stepping towards the wardrobe when I hear Ash say: ‘Don’t you dare.’
I look over my shoulder at him, surprised at how sharp his tone is.
He shakes his head at me, graver than I’ve ever seen him. ‘I’m not hiding you like a dirty little secret.’
A second later, the door opens and his father strolls in. He flicks on the light, making me flinch for a second before I’m able to look at him properly. I’ve only seen him once since I started working here, and I thought he was fairly attractive, standing on the steps of the Regency wing, delivering his speech.
But now there’s a cruel glint in his eyes and a nasty twist to his mouth that a part of me recognises as he slowly looks me up and down, his gaze moving languidly to the rumpled bedcover.
There’s absolutely no doubt about what we’ve been doing.
My face burns fiercely.
Ash is still buttoning up his shirt, looking absolutely livid.
‘I told you not to come in,’ he says cuttingly.
‘I gave you more than enough time,’ his father replies evenly, his eyes returning to mine.
I feel a skipping sensation beneath my ribcage and I’m shocked to realise that I’m scared. He’s just a man , I try to tell myself. But the weight of his gaze feels like a dark echo and sends an icy finger of fear sliding down my spine.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ash asks, finally drawing his father’s attention away from me. ‘I thought you were out tonight.’
‘I had other plans.’
‘I bet you did,’ Ash mutters darkly.
His father smirks at him. ‘Are you going to introduce us?’
Ash gives me a tortured look.
‘I’m Ellie,’ I barely manage to get out, saving him the dilemma.
Lord Berkeley cocks his head to one side, eyeing me thoughtfully. His eyes widen suddenly and his mouth breaks out into a big smile.
‘You’re one of our gardeners ,’ he says with delight, his voice silken, making me shudder. He glances at Ash. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you, son.’
‘Get out,’ Ash commands through gritted teeth.
‘Oh, I will.’
‘Now!’
He takes his time walking to the door.
‘As you were.’
I can hear his low chuckle as he pushes the door shut behind him.
Ash stares at me, his face wracked with misery.
‘Get me out of here,’ I plead, my heart bolting, demanding escape.
Only once before have I felt this intimidated and frightened by another human being and I can’t leave that house fast enough. The quickest way to exit is via the narrow staircase and an understated side door, and as soon as I’m outside in the fresh air, I want to run.
That man holds too much power over me and I don’t doubt for a second that he’d wield it.
He evidently holds too much power over his son too.
Ash is mortified. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He sounds haunted as he hurries to keep up with me.
‘Just let me go,’ I warn. I need some space.
‘Ellie, please,’ he begs, pulling me to a stop by the walled garden.
I wrench my hand away and shake my head. ‘I didn’t like that.’
It’s the understatement of the century.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘I didn’t like it at all, Ash.’
‘I know,’ he whispers, pained. ‘I hate him.’ His face contorts with rage, then regret. ‘He was supposed to be out tonight. I would never have subjected you to that.’
‘Did he ever do that to you and Beca?’ I ask with bewilderment. ‘Just walk in on you?’
He looks anguished as he shakes his head. ‘He left us alone.’
‘How did he even know I was in there?’
A shadow passes over his face. ‘Meredith, I imagine.’
‘Please let me go now,’ I plead, backing up a few steps. ‘I just want to go to bed.’
I don’t hear his footsteps the whole time I’m walking away.