The Garden House Page 9

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be so busy,’ she said. ‘Thanks. I thought for one terrible moment that I might have to go without my coffee.’

  He laughed, shaking his head in mock horror at such a prospect, and she sat down opposite, liking his friendliness. A young woman came to take their order, assuming they were together, and looked slightly surprised when neither knew what the other was having. Julia shrugged herself out of her coat, feeling rather pleased to have such agreeable company, but it was he who moved it a stage further.

  ‘It’s difficult to enjoy a cup of coffee with a complete stranger,’ he said. ‘Shall we introduce ourselves? My name’s Martin Haynes,’ and he offered his hand across the table.

  She hesitated for a moment and then decided to use her married name rather than her professional one. It was possible that he’d read some of her articles and she wanted to keep this on a private basis.

  ‘Mine’s Julia Grant.’

  She took his warm hand in hers and he gripped it for a moment and then sat back in his chair.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling ridiculously light-hearted. I was on my way to see a client at Yelverton and halfway there I had a text from the office saying that the appointment had to be cancelled, so I have a whole morning to myself. It’s like having an unexpected half-holiday from school.’

  She laughed at his enthusiasm. ‘So why did you choose The Garden House? Are you a keen gardener?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not so’s you’d notice, but I love visiting gardens, especially this one. The atmosphere here is wonderful and, anyway, it was just down the road from where my client lives.’

  She guessed that, although he was ready to give his name, he wanted in every other respect to remain anonymous; to keep this moment as something odd and special between two strangers. She understood this and decided to play along with it.

  ‘My mother was a volunteer here,’ she said. ‘After she died I was given permission to dedicate a bench to her. Do you have a favourite place?’

  He sat back to allow their coffee to be put on the table before he answered her.

  ‘Oh, it’s got to be the seat by the Nancy Fortescue,’ he said. ‘Down by the lake.’

  She smiled. ‘Clearly you’re a Swallows and Amazons man,’ she said.

  ‘Definitely,’ he said, putting sugar in his coffee, ‘except that I get seasick in the bath. But I love Arthur Ransome.’

  She fell silent, looking around her, suddenly shy. She was oddly attracted to this stranger, so quickly at ease with him. Yet she didn’t want to exchange the intimacies of their lives. She didn’t want to hear about his wife and children, or to tell him how Bob died, and see his inevitable awkward embarrassment and listen to his expressions of sympathy. She just wanted to go on sitting with him, happy in his company. It was extraordinary, and the odd thing was that she knew he felt the same way: totally at ease, discussing the Charlotte Marlow paintings on the wall beside them, a film they’d both seen recently; she at the Barn Cinema at Dartington, Martin at the Wharf in Tavistock.

  ‘So which is your favourite part of the garden?’ he asked, watching her across his coffee cup, his brown eyes bright, interested.

  ‘I like all of it at different times,’ she answered. ‘I’m fickle. I don’t have favourites.’

  He finished his coffee, still watching her. ‘Good,’ he said, as if approving of her answer. ‘In that case, let’s go and look at that amazing view across to Buckland Monachorum church, shall we? It gets me every time.’

  * * *

  Julia leans forward to place another log on the fire and kneels upright. She’s stiff and as she stands up she flexes the hand on which she’s been resting her weight. Bertie is stretched out just behind her and she steps across him, kicks off her shoes, and sits down in the corner of the sofa, curling her legs under her.

  How strange that day was: strange and life-changing. They walked away from the tearoom after a slight wrangle about allowing him to pay for her coffee.

  ‘But why should you?’ she asked. ‘After all, I interrupted your solitude. I should be paying.’

  ‘It was so nice to have the company,’ he said as they headed into the gardens. ‘It’s such a waste to feel happy all on one’s own.’

  She laughed, shaking her head. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘This morning I am crazy. I’m not sure if it’s the sunshine or that ephemeral rainbow over there. But spring does that, doesn’t it? New life, new hope.’

  He glanced at her, almost anxiously, as if suddenly visited by a doubt that she might not be as much in tune with him as he believed. It was a strange look: confident but tinged with doubt.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I have this mantra: “I can do anything as long as the sun is shining.” Add into that primroses, bluebells and daffodils, and what can go wrong?’

  His smile was full of relief. ‘It’s nearly bluebell time. Where’s your favourite place for those? Mine’s all around Burrator Reservoir.’

  She shook her head. ‘Holwell Lawn. Above Widecombe-in-the-Moor. Spectacular.’

  ‘Never been there,’ he said.

  She decided to test him a little. ‘You must check it out. And afterwards you’ll need coffee or a drink at the Moorland Hotel.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’

  She nodded. They walked in silence for a short while until they reached the Summer Garden and then he stopped and gestured across the Wildflower Meadow valley towards the old church tower set amongst the trees. As they stood together, she knew that she must go. She guessed that he hadn’t picked up on her very gentle hint about meeting for coffee at the Moorland Hotel because he was married and instinct warned her that it was best to leave before he started to explain why the morning couldn’t continue along these delightful lines or why there shouldn’t be other meetings. She felt strangely desolate but she was smiling as she turned from the contemplation of the view.

  ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a three-year-old golden retriever waiting patiently in the car and I’ve promised him a walk on the way home. I mustn’t push my luck. Great to meet you, Martin.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thanks for my coffee.’

  She hated the look of disappointment on his face; the surprise. He held her hand longer than he should have done and she wanted to say: ‘Come with us. Follow us in your car.’ But she knew that there was an impediment to the continuation of this strange meeting. Turning away from him, she hurried back the way they’d come, towards the car park, huddling herself into her coat as a sudden heavy shower of icy rain crashed all about her.

  In the car park she stripped off her wet coat and jumped into the car. Bertie was on his feet in the back, tail wagging, and she was glad of his large welcoming presence.

  ‘Good boy,’ she said, putting up the windows. ‘Good fellow. Away we go then. Lucky we had a walk coming over because you might not get one on the way back if this carries on.’

  Hail battered against the windscreen, stopped suddenly, and the sun shone out as she drove away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The logs collapse inward with a little explosion of flames and sparks. Bertie stirs, raises his head and then drops back into slumber. Julia uncurls her legs and gets to her feet. Taking up the poker, she pushes the embers together, piles more logs on top and goes back to the sofa.

  How strange that next meeting was; how hoped for and yet how unexpected. During the next few weeks she thought about Martin often, analysing that odd moment of time, recalling their conversation and her reaction to him. Several times she went back to The Garden House but she didn’t see him. Spring was blossoming all around her, and as she walked Bertie at Cross Furzes and watched the lambs in the field, she heard the cuckoo down in the valley and was caught up in the beauty and the melancholy of the cold, sweet April morning.

  Now, as she pulls cushions around her, tucking her legs beneath her again, Julia is remembering the late April morning when she drove again to The Garde
n House, pulling in through the gateway, parking the car. She paused to gaze in amazement at the yellow magnolia in full, glorious flower at the entrance and then headed towards the Walled Garden. She strolled along, noticing the precision of the mown pathways, enjoying the beautiful stone buildings, and passed under the archway into the Jubilee Arboretum. Martin was sitting on the bench beside the lake. Kingcups were in glorious golden flower and the Nancy Fortescue was moored near by. The old wooden rowing boat rested quietly on the still water whilst Martin sat gazing at nothing in particular, at ease, as if he were waiting for her. She walked calmly round the lake, across the stone bridge, until she was standing beside him. She was planning some light-hearted remark, a jokey comment, but when he raised his head and looked at her, the words remained unspoken.

  ‘I was so afraid that I would never see you again,’ he said.

  His words, his look, totally disarmed her. She sat beside him, half turned towards him.

  ‘I’ve been here several times,’ she said, ‘wondering if I might see you.’

  She paused, not knowing how to continue, and he spoke again as if continuing his train of thought.

  ‘Even though I had no right to hope for it.’

  In the following silence Julia wondered how to voice the things that needed to be said, but Martin was there first.

  ‘I’m separated from my wife, you see, while our divorce goes through.’ He continued to look at her. ‘When we met last time it was like a gift from the gods. One of those magical moments that happen rarely and are never forgotten. And that was the problem. I couldn’t forget it. It was as if a curtain had been pulled aside showing me a whole new landscape.’ He shook his head as if unable to find words to describe it. ‘And I wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.’

  He looked away from her, watching the Nancy Fortescue, his face bleak. Julia reached out and lightly touched his hand.

  ‘I felt like that. It was very odd. As if I’d known you forever.’

  He turned quickly to look at her. ‘Did you really feel that?’

  Julia nodded. ‘Truly. I wanted it to go on and on but I guessed you were married. I’m a widow. My husband was a navy pilot. He died in an air crash five years ago. I have two sons.’

  She saw the quick flash of relief in his eyes quickly replaced by an expression of confusion. Julia waited. She knew that she should get up and walk away, just as she had on that first occasion, but this time her willpower failed her. By waiting she was being complicit in his decision, but still she could not move.

  Martin sighed, a long deep breath, and when he spoke his words filled her with a mix of elation and fear.

  ‘Shall we go and have some coffee?’ he asked.

  * * *

  Abruptly, as if this recollection is too much to bear, Julia sits up and feels about for her shoes with her toes. Bertie struggles into a sitting position and looks at her.

  ‘Supper-time,’ she says. ‘Please remember that you’ve had yours.’

  He gazes at her with a wounded expression, as if she has misjudged him, and she relents.

  ‘Maybe,’ she says, ‘just maybe, one small treat.’

  He follows her down the hall and along the passage to the kitchen, his tail wagging expectantly. The kitchen, thanks to the Aga, is always warm, unlike the passages and bedrooms, and Julia opens the fridge and stares into it, hoping for inspiration. The lunch at the pub was good and she isn’t particularly hungry. Perhaps a mug of soup and a sliver of Sharpham brie will be enough. She sets the soup to warm, slices the cheese and cuts a hunk of bread.

  Bertie drinks from his bowl and then goes to the door and Julia takes him out, along the passage, switches on the outside light and opens the door into the garden. Leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed against the chilly evening air, she watches him disappear across the grass into the dark shadows of the rhododendrons. Her mind slips back to those early days with Martin, the impromptu meetings: walking in the watercolour magic of the Wildflower Meadow in spring, the scarlet and orange and yellow glory of the Acer Glade in autumn. His first text was enigmatic:

  Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Woodstock.

  Julia stared at it, baffled, trying to remember any conversation they might have had that related to it. Amused, curious, she was determined to crack this code. She googled the names and then listened to several of the tracks on YouTube. Joni Mitchell. ‘Woodstock’. She was getting it now and began to feel excited. She read the lyrics on the screen as she listened, oddly moved, and suddenly there it was: ‘We are stardust, we are golden … And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden’. She replayed it, laughed aloud, punched the air triumphantly as though she’d passed a test. And then she texted back:

  Yes we do. When?

  His reply was swift.

  Monday afternoon? The Magic Circle?

  So it began, this silly, wonderful time of texts and codes, swift meetings: how precious they were.

  Bertie comes padding out from the shadows, trots across the grass towards her. Julia is surprised to feel tears on her cheeks. She scrubs them away, lets him pass her, then shuts the door behind them, locks it and switches off the light.

  * * *

  She sits at the old farmhouse table, with its odd assortment of wooden chairs, caught up now in this act of remembrance. Ever since Martin’s funeral she’s been in denial – getting through the holidays with the boys, working on some assignments, writing a few articles – but now the door has swung open to the past and she can’t slam it shut. Martin is with her, sitting at the end of the table, talking, gesticulating, getting up to reach for a book, searching for a reference. He is here with her now, in her kitchen, as he never was in real life, and she is woefully aware of how much she has missed and gloriously alive to what they shared.

  ‘Have you heard … read … seen?’

  Their absences from each other are filled with things to be shared once they are together again. Those snatched moments at The Garden House, in quiet moorland pubs and on deserted coastal paths and beaches, were like sips of champagne.

  ‘Not champagne,’ he said. ‘Champagne goes flat and loses its savour. No, we shall be like Kubla Khan, “For he on honeydew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise”.’

  She laughed at him when he ‘declaimed’, as she called it.

  ‘Do I hear a declamation coming on?’ she’d ask, and they’d laugh with the sheer craziness of it.

  Julia sips her soup, breaks off a crust of bread. From the beginning they both could see how impossible it would be to live together. How would they do it? There was no room in the Pig Pen for Julia and her boys, nor could Martin move in with them. He talked about the difficulties and resentments El and Freddie were experiencing when their mother remarried, and Julia couldn’t begin to imagine explaining the situation to Laurence and Ollie. She couldn’t risk losing her widow’s pension, and the house was to be the boys’ inheritance.

  ‘Perhaps the right moment will come,’ Martin said tentatively.

  There were so many complications and it was too early to take risks. Other people managed it, clearly, but neither of them wanted to rock the boat. And somehow it was working. Martin was in his office all through the week and she had the boys to look after, to ferry to clubs and entertain their friends. At Easter and Christmas, and during the summer holidays, El would be staying with Martin. Time together was rationed.

  Crumbling her bread, Julia remembers those shared lunches and walks; a few days snatched when the boys were on school trips or staying with their grandparents. Each kept clear of the other’s territory.

  ‘It’s crazy,’ Martin said, recently, as they sat together in the Stables café at Killerton House near Exeter. ‘I’m divorced and you’re a widow. Why don’t we just throw caution to the wind and get together?’

  Even now she can remember the feeling of panic. How would she tell the boys or explain to Bob’s elderly parents? She couldn’t imagine how the two families could be merg
ed without the same kind of resentment and awkwardness that he’d told her that El and Freddie had experienced.

  ‘Soon,’ she answered. ‘Now that Laurence is already on his way and El is in her last year at university. Ollie goes next year. That’s the time to make changes, once they’re all moving on.’

  Part of her knew that it was irrational but at the same time she simply couldn’t face the upheaval. She’d done it all before when Bob died and she simply couldn’t face it again. And it was working. She and Martin’s relationship was so special, perhaps because it didn’t have to stand the warp and weft of family life. There was something exciting about the secrecy, impromptu meetings, and those magical days at the flat.

  Julia gives a little gasp as she thinks about those special moments in Bristol. Martin had a cousin who lived in a remote cottage in North Wales: a man of his own age, a bachelor, a writer. He owned the flat, enjoying regular fixes of city life, but when he wasn’t staying there he was very happy for friends or relatives to use it. Central to the city’s cafés, galleries, docklands, it had all the anonymity that Julia and Martin needed. Perhaps without the flat they might have been more inclined to change the status quo, but the flat gave them that extra dimension for privacy and intimacy.

  The flat was their home, the place where they could be a couple, and it was within easy reach for both of them. Julia caught the train from Totnes, Martin drove, meeting her from Temple Meads Station and driving them to the flat. It was clearly a bolt hole: small but functional. Martin’s cousin was a minimalist but there was everything at the flat that enabled him to lift and shift between Wales and Bristol with very little luggage. He always left the bed stripped and visitors brought their own sheets and towels.

  Julia finishes her soup, thinking of that first day, driving through the traffic with Martin, parking in the reserved place in the small car park, climbing the stairs to the flat. Once inside she was fascinated by its compactness, the glimpse of the cathedral from the window. Her excitement was suddenly swamped by shyness, by the close proximity of Martin moving around, putting overnight bags in the bedroom and unpacking clean sheets. She was relieved by his pragmatism – he’d remembered to bring milk and bread – and by his suggestion that they should go out to explore and find some lunch.