A Secret Garden Affair, page 6
‘Unless, of course, you’ve eloped with one of the nincompoops,’ I said, keeping my face as serious as I could, at the same time hoping I hadn’t overstepped the mark.
My comment made her laugh out loud. ‘Imagine Prudence’s face if I did that!’
Tilbrook Hall was a much grander place than Larkspur House and below stairs in the servants’ hall there was the usual pecking order with the butler and housekeeper presiding over everybody else around the supper table. Because it was a house-party weekend there were plenty of other visiting servants just like me. Some of them I’d met before during previous visits and I knew them to be natural gossips. There was a degree of one-upmanship amongst a few of them, a game I had no intention of playing.
As soon as I’d finished eating, I escaped to my room, which was up a narrow flight of steep stairs at the top of the house and where it was as hot as a bread oven with the August sun on it all day. With the last of the evening light now gone, I lit the candle I’d brought up with me and sat down to write a letter to my sister.
As regular as clockwork, every week Joan and I exchanged letters. She loved hearing about Elfrida and those I worked with. She said that I wrote about them so well, she felt as though she knew them personally. However, I was also discreet, not just because I knew it would be wrong to gossip about my employer and her friends, but because I would never dream of being disloyal.
My sister said that in comparison to her life, mine was so much more interesting than hers. I didn’t know if that was actually true, but what I did know was that I wouldn’t swap places with her. I had no intention of being tied to a husband for a long time yet as I knew that if I did marry, I wouldn’t be able to continue working for Elfrida. And I certainly wouldn’t be able to go to the South of France.
Those first few days at Villa Bellevue were the most remarkable of my life.
I had seen the sea before with my sister, we’d gone to Margate for the day one summer, but the sea in France was so different. It was actually blue. A brilliant turquoise blue that dazzled my eyes. The sand in the curving bay on the beach below the villa was so clean and pale it was as if somebody spent all night cleaning it. In a way I suppose that was true; that when the tide crept in with its crystal-clear water, the beach really was washed clean.
The sun shone every day, and the air was filled with the scent of sun-warmed lavender, pine, lemon, and eucalyptus trees. No wonder people behaved differently here, as though every single day was laid on solely for their benefit and had to be made the most of, no matter the consequences.
There were things that went on at the villa that shocked me, but I knew it was none of my business what people got up to in the privacy of their bedrooms, or even outside in the shrubbery. I just hoped Elfrida wouldn’t do anything too scandalous. I’d have hated for her to come to harm.
Naïvely I had originally thought that she and Mr Vaughan were romantically involved, they seemed so happy and at ease together, but I soon realised my mistake. Elfrida was effectively his chaperone, a decoy to cover up where his real affections lay. I knew, of course, such men existed, I wasn’t that green, but I had never actually come across one before. Whatever preconceived ideas I’d had, they were abandoned because I knew what a dear friend Mr Vaughan was to Elfrida; there was a deep bond between them. I often wondered, especially during those first weeks we were in France, if he reminded her of her adored brother in some way.
It was during the third week of our stay at Villa Bellevue that everything changed. I had noticed that Elfrida was showing signs of restlessness, which I took as an indication that she was ready to return home.
But then Count Nikolai Demidov showed up.
Chapter Five
July 1981
Larkspur House, Suffolk
Last night banks of clouds had rolled in from the east while they’d been eating supper in the garden. The air had been sultry, thick as treacle and teeming with gnats. The first languid roll of thunder had rumbled overhead several hours later when Libby had been getting ready for bed. But if a thunderstorm had raged throughout the night, she had been oblivious to it as she’d slept like the proverbial baby, until awoken early by the sound of rain pattering against the window, which she’d had the foresight to close before turning out the light.
It was the first decent night’s sleep she’d had since her world had imploded. It was too soon to say she was feeling less shocked, let alone coming to terms with the loss of the life she and Marcus were going to share together, but since coming here to Larkspur House and being with Bess and Elfrida, there were definitely moments when he didn’t dominate her thoughts. But then, from nowhere, there he would be in her head, a reminder of something they’d shared; a joke, or a kiss, or maybe nothing more than a fleeting glance, or a look of love. But had it been love? How could it have been, on his part? She was even beginning to doubt that what she had felt for Marcus had been real.
If it had been true love, why was it possible for her to feel the opposite of that emotion: hate? A few days ago, she had been so happy to be marrying the man who she had believed was the love of her life: now she was repulsed by him. She hated everything about him! She especially hated how humiliated and powerless he had made her feel with his betrayal.
Yet even as she felt the now familiar tremor of anger building within her, the memory of when she’d first met Marcus played like a film inside her head. She had been serving a buffet lunch at the investment bank in the City where he worked, and on her arrival he’d been kind enough to hold the door open for her when she’d been carrying trays of food into the meeting room where a retirement lunch was to be held. Selina was supposed to have been with her, but she’d gone down with a cold the day before, so Libby had to do the function alone. Several times during the lunch the attractive man who had helped her, and who was about her age, commented on how good the food was, particularly the filo pastry parcels which she’d filled with a mix of prawns and creamy smoked haddock.
She was used to people enjoying her cooking, but there was something about this handsome man’s appreciation, and the charming way he smiled at her, that made butterflies spring to life in her stomach. All the time she was moving inconspicuously around the room serving people, she’d been conscious of his eyes following her and at the end, when she was preparing to leave, he approached and asked if she had a business card as he’d like to arrange a small private party. But when he telephoned her later that evening, it wasn’t to request her services as a caterer, but to ask her to have dinner with him.
After several months of dating, he joked that the old adage was true, that the way to a man’s heart was most assuredly through his stomach. ‘I was yours from the moment I first tasted your filo pastry parcels,’ he said. ‘It was love at first bite!’ It became their joke and one that she never tired of hearing.
Looking back on it, with his effortless charm and good looks, Marcus made it so easy for her to fall in love with him. He showered her with compliments, was never jealous or possessive and was always appreciative of anything she did for him. Her friends, including Selina, all thought he was great, especially the way he fitted in so well with her life, and they regularly told her how lucky she was to have hit the jackpot with him. No one was saying that now.
As early as it was, being just after six-thirty, it wasn’t early enough to make it downstairs before Elfrida and Bess. There they both were, fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, finishing off their breakfast of porridge.
‘Don’t you two ever sleep?’ she asked them.
‘The early bird always catches the worm,’ said Elfrida, up on her feet and going over to the back door to put on her wellington boots.
‘You’re surely not going out to the garden in this weather?’ The rain was now coming down in stair rods.
‘Those tomato plants in the glasshouse won’t water themselves.’
‘Why don’t I do it for you?’
Elfrida gave her a baleful look. ‘Are you implying what I think you are, that I’m too much of an old duffer to cope with a few drops of rain?’
Libby laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘There’s never any point in trying to make life easier for her,’ said Bess when Elfrida had gone.
‘What about you?’ said Libby, going over to fill the kettle to make herself some tea before Bess rose from her chair to do it. ‘Will you accept my help?’
‘What kind of help would that be?’
‘Why not let me cook while I’m here? And perhaps I could do some of the cleaning? I’d sooner be busy than idle.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting I’ve let things slide?’
Libby pulled out a chair and sat opposite her great-aunt. ‘Of course not. But it’s a big house and you can’t be expected to do it all on your own. It’s simply too much.’
‘I do have some help.’ There was a hint of indignation in Bess’s voice.
Libby warned herself to proceed with care. ‘But an extra pair of hands wouldn’t go amiss, would it?’ she said. ‘And I don’t just mean while I’m here, but when I’ve left.’
Bess sighed. ‘Finding help these days isn’t so easy. We’re lucky to have the woman who comes in as it is, and she isn’t keen to do any more hours. There’s no one else in the village who is prepared to work here. Why would they when they can earn more working behind the bar in the local pub, or in any of the shops? And don’t forget, Elfrida isn’t always the most straightforward of people to be around.’
Libby smiled. ‘You’ve managed well enough all these years.’
‘That’s different. I’m not scared of her.’
‘What about Andrew who helps in the garden? Is he scared of her?’
‘Oh, Elfrida’s as sweet as pie to him; after all, she knows which side her bread is buttered.’
‘Personally, I’ve always found her bark to be a lot worse than her bite,’ said Libby.
‘But then you’ve never done anything to annoy her.’
‘I wish that were true when it comes to my mother; I seem to annoy her constantly. Do you suppose we ought to plug the phone back in now? Lord knows we don’t want her descending on us because she couldn’t get through on the telephone.’
‘But if you speak to her, she’ll only make you feel worse. The same goes for Marcus if you answer the phone to him.’
‘Dear sweet Bess, you’ve always tried to protect me, haven’t you?’ She smiled and added, ‘Even unplugging the telephone so Mum and Marcus couldn’t pester me.’
‘And why wouldn’t I? Somebody has to look out for you. If your grandmother was still alive, she’d be doing her best to defend you, wouldn’t she?’
Libby wasn’t so sure that was altogether true. Grandma Joan had always taken Mum’s side in any argument or difference of opinion. Dad used to say that letting Mum have her own way was the best course of action to keep the peace.
‘I’m going to have to speak to Mum and Marcus sometime, so better to get it over and done with. I’m not having anyone accuse me of cowardice. That’s one thing I won’t ever let happen.’
‘You sound full of fighting talk this morning.’
Libby laughed. ‘That’s because I’m not suffering a monumental hangover.’
With the kettle now boiling, she went over to make a pot of tea. Noticing there wasn’t much tea left in the caddy, she made a mental note to check what else Bess was running low on and maybe suggest they go shopping together. That was surely something her great-aunt would let her do? Suggesting that she could redecorate parts of the house to spruce things up might be more of a challenge.
And what of the idea that had come to her last night when she was getting ready for bed, how would that be greeted? Personally, she thought it was a flash of inspiration on her part and was amazed that it hadn’t been done before now.
‘Tea?’ she asked.
‘Go on then,’ said Bess. ‘Pour me a mug and then I’ll make you some breakfast.’
‘No, you won’t. I’m quite capable of making myself some toast.’
She found some milk in the vibrating fridge that sounded like it was about to take off like a jet plane, gave the tea a stir in the pot, poured it, and then joined Bess at the table again.
‘So,’ she said, ‘given how bad the weather is, what shall we do today?’
Bess eyed her warily. ‘That sounds awfully like you already have something in mind.’
‘As I said before, I want to be useful while I’m here. And so as well as giving you a hand, I wondered if I could do something which I think Elfrida might appreciate. It was actually Elfrida who sowed the seed of an idea last night when we were having supper.’
‘What was that?’
‘It was when she was referring to some of the gardens she’s created and that in the attic there are box-loads of photographs and old letters referring to those gardens, including Larkspur House. So, I thought I could go through everything and put it into some sort of order. I bet those boxes contain a fascinating story, and who knows, if we could find a publisher, it could be a great source of information for future generations of garden designers.’
Bess frowned and shook her head. ‘I can guarantee Elfrida won’t see it that way. She’s been approached in the past to have her work documented, but she flatly refused to agree to it. She believes that garden designers should look forwards, not backwards for inspiration.’
‘But wouldn’t she enjoy seeing her life’s work carefully pieced together so she could relive it?’
‘Elfrida might forget which day of the week it is, but I think you’ll find she can remember every detail of every garden she’s ever created without the aid of a photograph to jog her memory.’
It was on the tip of Libby’s tongue to say that might not always be the case, but instead she said, ‘But you could persuade her to let me do it, perhaps?’
Bess slowly put down her mug of tea and gave Libby a long hard look. ‘Why are you so keen to do this?’
‘I … I need a diversion, something that will distract me from thinking about Marcus. Exploring someone else’s life strikes me as the ideal way to stop dwelling on what a failure my own is.’
Until Libby had actually said the words out loud, she hadn’t realised just how true this was. It was excruciatingly painful to acknowledge just how spectacularly she felt she had failed.
An hour later, when Elfrida hadn’t returned from watering the tomato plants, and at Bess’s request, Libby went to look for her.
With the hood pulled up on the old gardening coat she’d grabbed from the hook in the scullery and a pair of spare boots on her feet, she made a dash in the direction of the glasshouse. Pushing open the door, she went inside but there was no sign of Elfrida, just the rich earthy smell of damp compost and the more pungent, heady smell of ripening tomatoes.
Back out in the rain, she pondered where Elfrida might have gone. But where to start, when there were three acres of garden to search? And what would she be doing out here in this downpour anyway? What would any gardener be doing in such heavy rain? Libby asked herself. She recalled Elfrida hammering in stakes to support the dahlias yesterday. Was she doing that again to stop her precious plants from being battered by the deluge?
She set off for the Long Border, but there was no sign of Elfrida. From there, Libby went to the Lime Walk where there was a wrought-iron gazebo at its furthest point; maybe Elfrida was sheltering in there.
That also drew a blank. Next, she hurried on through the archway in the yew hedge to the Topiary Garden and entered the circular Hydrangea Haven. But all she found there were large blousy flowers drooping under the weight of so much rainwater.
Libby knew that this area of the garden meant the world to Elfrida; it was a poignant connection to her parents. Many of the planting expeditions her parents had undertaken to China and Japan were to discover rare Hortensia species to bring back to England, and it was while returning from one of these trips that they’d met with their deaths.
The loss of their parents had a devastating effect on Elfrida and her sister, but while Elfrida threw herself into maintaining the garden here to cope with her grief, Prudence’s sorrow turned to anger at what she regarded as their parents’ selfishness and their apparent desire to put their plant obsession before their children. So distraught with rage was she that she took a pair of shears to every hydrangea in the garden and then doused the roots with whatever chemicals she could lay hands on from the head gardener’s shed.
It had taken Elfrida years to undo the harm her sister had caused, and she’d vowed that there would always be hydrangeas at Larkspur House. In fact, they became one of her trademark feature plants in every garden she ever designed. Each one, so Bess told Libby, was a memorial to her parents, whom she had dearly loved.
Libby tried the Rose Garden next, followed by the barn where the mower and all the gardening tools were kept, but still there was no sign of Elfrida. Deciding that she must have done the sensible thing and gone back up to the house, Libby did the same. But it was when she was approaching the herringbone brickwork path that she saw what looked like an abandoned heap of sodden clothes lying on the ground up ahead.
It was Elfrida.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, what a lot of fuss and bother everyone is making!’
‘And rightly so,’ said Libby.
‘And we’re not taking any argument from you,’ said Bess. ‘You’re to do as you’re told.’
Elfrida looked to the young man standing at the side of the bed and offered up one of her most appealing smiles. ‘Tell them,’ she said in her sweetest and meekest voice, ‘that I’m absolutely fine. I’m built to last. A little tumble isn’t going to finish me off.’
The doctor returned her gaze with a steady one of his own and put away the device he’d just used to test her blood pressure. He had lovely eyes, she thought, an unusual shade of amber with flecks of hazel which were surrounded by thick eyelashes. They were just the sort of eyes to turn a girl’s heart over.
