Anne Douglas (15 page)

‘That’s right. But there used to be two villages at one time. One called the Village of Dean, near where the cemetery is now, and the other the Water of Leith village below the bridge. Now there’s just the one – under the bridge – and that’s called the Dean Village.’

‘Complicated! But you say you’re in lodgings. Don’t live with your parents, then?’

Shona was staring fixedly at the road ahead. ‘My folks are dead. My dad died in the Great War and my mother died of the Spanish flu. I was brought up in Edina Lodge – the orphanage.’

For some moments Mr Kyle was silent, and when she stole a look at his face she saw it had darkened, as though a shadow had covered his smiles.

‘You’re an orphan?’ he murmured at last. ‘I didn’t know, I’m sorry. Must have been difficult for you. But, here we are. MacVicar’s Nurseries. Haven’t decided yet whether to change the name or not. In we go, then.’

Long white gates were open, letting them through into an open space before a one-storey stone building. On their right was a place to park cars. On their left was a bank of trees, from which two large black cats came out to inspect them, while beyond the building came the glint of the sun on glass houses. Though she couldn’t yet plainly see them, Shona guessed that past the glass houses would be the plantings. Yes, acres and acres of plants, shrubs, trees, flowers and, as she stepped out of the car, Shona knew that whatever her misgivings, she was indeed going to enjoy this day.

‘Come and meet my chaps,’ Mr Kyle said to Shona when he’d parked his car. ‘My guess is that they’ll have got the kettle on!’

He pushed open the door of the one-storey building and ushered her into a small room where four men in working clothes were seated round a table drinking tea. A tin of biscuits was open to hand and all four of the men, two middle-aged, two young, were smoking.

‘Morning all!’ Mr Kyle called, at which they looked up and grinned. ‘Got any tea in that pot?’

‘Morning, Mr Kyle,’ said one of the older men, rising to his feet. ‘Come on in. Terry, put the kettle on again. Dickie, fetch the chairs.’

As the two young men rose to obey orders, Mr Kyle brought Shona forward. ‘This is Miss Murray from Maybel’s; it’s her first visit to the garden. Shona, this is my right-hand man, Arthur Weir – we call him Art. Next to him is his main assistant, George Wilson. Young Terry MacPhail is making the tea and Dickie Logan is bringing us chairs.’

Feeling the full battery of curious eyes on her, Shona managed a smile and a word of thanks as Dickie placed a chair for her, and said how much she was looking forward to seeing the source of the shop’s flowers.

‘No Mrs May now, of course,’ said Art Weir, thin and weather-beaten, with greying hair and long-sighted grey eyes. ‘My word, it’ll be strange no’ seeing her again, eh?’

‘Always knew what she wanted,’ commented George, taller and plumper than Art, but equally weather-beaten. ‘Never took second best.’

‘Sounds exactly like me!’ Fraser Kyle exclaimed, at which the men exchanged looks and grins.

‘Aye, Mr Kyle, you’re right enough there,’ Art agreed. ‘Terry, where’s that tea?’

‘Coming, Mr Weir – just getting the cups.’

It was an awkward tea break, Shona thought, aware that she was still a focus of interest, mainly for the younger men who made no conversation but watched closely as she took a biscuit and sipped her tea. Meanwhile, of course, Mr Kyle was quite at ease, sitting back, lighting a cigarette, chatting to Art and George but eventually, to Shona’s relief, rising and saying they must get on.

‘I just want to give Miss Murray a quick guided tour, then we’ll maybe have a bit of lunch in Peebles and get back to the shop. All right, Art?’

‘All right, Mr Kyle. We’re getting back to work now, anyway. Come on, lads, clear away, then. There’s a load o’ weeds out there just waiting for your attention!’

‘Keeps everyone on their toes,’ Fraser Kyle commented, putting his hand for a moment on the older man’s shoulder. ‘But couldn’t manage without him, and that’s the truth.’

‘Well, sounds like you’re giving yourself plenty to do over at Maybel’s,’ Art remarked. ‘Knocking doors out o’ windows is what I hear.’

‘No, no, it’ll all work out for the best, Art. I’ve got a very good fellow to draw up plans for the alterations and I’ve got very good staff to look after the shop. Miss Murray, for instance.

‘But no Mrs May.’

‘No Mrs May. But let’s face it, if Mrs May was there I wouldn’t be, so can’t have everything, eh?’ As Art shrugged, Fraser grinned, then moved to the door. ‘Thanks for the tea, lads. Shona, do you want to come with me?’

Outside in the fresh autumn air she took some grateful breaths, adjusting her hat over her bright hair while Fraser watched.

‘Too much cigarette smoke for you, was there? But, look, I’ve put mine out.’ He laughed a little. ‘I hope you didn’t mind being a centre of interest? The lads don’t see many stunning young ladies over from Edinburgh, remember.’

‘They see Mrs May,’ she answered, flushing.

‘Very attractive, too, but – well – not exactly young. Not like you.’

‘Mr Kyle—’

‘I know, I know, I shouldn’t be making personal remarks. I apologize. Let’s go and look at the glass houses.’

Seeing flowers again, this time ranked in beautiful masses under their glass protection quickly soothed Shona’s faint worry that Mr Kyle was going to turn out as Brigid had prophesied, for here she was on home ground and at ease again. Mr Kyle himself was being very polite and, for him, subdued as she went around exclaiming over the amazing choice of flowers, sometimes turning back to smile at him over what she was finding.

‘So lovely to see so many blooms like this, Mr Kyle!’

‘Even chrysanthemums?’ he asked wryly. ‘Some gardeners are a wee bit snobby about them.’

‘And dahlias, I know. But I think that’s wrong, I think there’s a place somewhere for every flower. In gardens and in flower arranging, too. And when it’s winter, the mums can be a godsend.’

‘You’re a real enthusiast, aren’t you, Shona? When did you begin to like flowers?’

‘I think I’d always liked plants, but maybe it was when I first went to the orphanage and I saw the Handkerchief Tree that I really got interested.’

‘The Handkerchief Tree?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘A bit exotic for an orphanage, isn’t it?’

‘We were lucky, I was at Edina Lodge – it used to belong to a wealthy man and we still had his garden. That’s where I saw the tree.’

‘And somebody told you about it?’

‘Yes, he’s now the orphanage doctor. His father, the doctor there at the time, had one, so he explained about its flowers that were sort of leaves.’

‘Strange story,’ commented Fraser, his eyes very attentive on her face. ‘And do you still see this doctor?’

‘Oh, no. I’ve been back to the orphanage but he’s never been there.’

‘Pity. Well, shall we move on?’

Shona felt she had never spent a happier morning, moving round the few acres of the garden, studying the amazingly neat planting of the vegetables that made up a good part of the income, admiring the varieties of plants, from hardy flowers to those grown for foliage, finally returning to peep into a smaller glass house where late tomatoes were ripening.

‘It’s amazing,’ she told Fraser. ‘So well taken care of and thought out. It’s no wonder Mrs May used it for the shop.’

‘I believe she had one or two other sources, didn’t she? Told me she also tried the local market.’

‘Sometimes, but mainly she relied on MacVicar’s. Or Kyle’s, as it might be.’

‘I’ll have to make up my mind on that, won’t I? Look, if you’ve seen enough, shall we make our way to Peebles? I’m feeling peckish.’

‘Would you mind if I just had something light? My landlady always likes to make a hot meal in the evening.’

‘Sure, you can have anything you like. Maybe we’ll both have something light. I could do with losing weight. I’ll just have a quick word with Art and then we can be on our way.’

So far, so good, thought Shona, as they made their farewells to Art and his workers and took to the road again. After the tricky tea break, she’d really enjoyed her visit to the garden. Now all she had to get through was the lunch. Maybe it wouldn’t take long; she really didn’t want to spend too much time alone with Mr Kyle.

Seemed he knew just the place to go for a light lunch in Peebles, an ancient royal burgh that was the county town of the area, and was soon parking near a small main street café that specialized in soups, salads and anything with eggs.

‘Nice,’ commented Shona when they were seated at a window table. ‘Just the sort of place I like.’

‘Been to Peebles before?’

‘Once or twice. A long time ago with my mother.’

Again, a shadow seemed to cross Mr Kyle’s brow. Or had Shona imagined it?

‘Here comes the waitress,’ he said, putting on his cheerful voice. ‘What would you like? Soup of the day and a cheese omelette?’

‘That’d be grand. Thank you very much, Mr Kyle.’

‘I wish you’d call me Fraser,’ he murmured when he’d given the waitress their order, at which Shona caught her breath sharply.

‘Why, I couldn’t! It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Not at work. But we’re not at work now.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m still no’ sure I can.’

‘Well, give it a try, eh?’ He sat back, taking out his cigarettes, then shook his head and put the packet back in his pocket. ‘Better not. Don’t want to spoil your lunch.’

After a moment, he leaned forward, his look quite serious. ‘You know, Shona, I was very sorry to hear about your parents. I mean, first your dad being killed in the war, and then your mother dying with the flu. A real tragedy. For me, too.’

‘For you?’

‘Well, I mean, something similar happened to me. I went right through the war without a scratch. Seemed to lead a charmed life, folk said, but when I came home I lost my girl. To the Spanish flu, just like your mother.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ Shona cried. ‘Oh, that must have been terrible for you!’

‘Aye, it was. And ironic. There I was, perfectly all right after a war that had killed millions, and there was my Meggie, safe at home, dead after two days.’ Fraser put a hand to his brow. ‘I thought I’d never get over it. But you do eventually, of course. The pain lessens bit by bit. You were only a child, though, when your mother died. Must have been bad for you.’

‘It was, but I suppose, like you, the pain went after a time. Most of us at the orphanage were in the same boat. We’d all been through it.’

‘Two soups,’ said the young waitress, setting down bowls of celery soup. ‘All right?’

‘Fine,’ said Fraser, taking up his spoon. ‘This looks good, eh?’ But his look was still serious.

They said no more until the omelettes came, when they discussed what Shona had seen at the garden for a time, and Fraser said again what a grand fellow Art was, a real rock, and how he couldn’t do without him. It was only when the coffee came that Fraser leaned forward again to look into Shona’s eyes.

‘The thing is, Shona,’ he said softly, ‘you remind me of her, of Meggie. You’ve the same colouring exactly. Not quite the same features, but so much like her, I couldn’t believe it when I first saw you. You must have noticed how I keep looking at you, haven’t you?’

His eyes follow you, wherever you go
. Brigid’s words. Seemingly true. Shona, coffee cup in hand, sat, stricken. To look like a dead girl – Mr Kyle’s dead girl – oh, God, no. No, she didn’t want that. How could she? How could she want to look like someone dead, who’d been loved by this man sitting so close, now gazing at herself so very intently?

‘I’m – I’m sure I don’t really look like her,’ she said, stumbling over the words. ‘I mean, you said my face wasn’t the same, eh? It’s just my hair, then, and lots of girls have my colour hair.’

His look now was calm. Understanding. ‘I’ve upset you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. Of course you don’t want to look like someone dead. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘It’s all right.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I understand.’

‘No, I was wrong to mention it. Particularly because I’ve something I want to say to you and I don’t want you to think—’ Fraser ran his hand over his sandy hair. ‘Well, I don’t want you to think I’m saying it because I’ve a special interest, or anything of that sort.’

‘What is it, then? That you want to say?’

‘Well, as you know, I have to divide my time between the garden and the shop, so what I need is someone to stand in for me at the shop when I’m not there.’ He smiled quickly. ‘In other words, a manageress. I’d like you to take that on.’

‘Me?’ Shona’s eyes, now raised, were wide with shock; colour was flooding her face. ‘Mr Kyle, you can’t mean what you’re saying. I’m too young, I haven’t the experience. Brigid is the person you should be talking to, no’ me!’

‘I knew you’d say that. You’re always worrying about Brigid, but I have my answer ready. I’m used to sizing people up; I can recognize potential, and I know that you’d make an excellent manageress. You’ve got the knowledge, you’ve got flair, you’ve had a tough beginning but you’ve done well. That tells me a lot.’ He waved his hands. ‘All I need.’

‘Brigid’s older, she’s been at the shop longer, she’s the obvious choice. You can’t pass her over!’

‘I don’t agree, and I’ll tell you why. Brigid is a good worker but she thinks mainly of herself, whereas you think of the shop, the business, and that’s what I want to see. And look at your interest in flowers! Look how you made the case for the chrysanthemum and the dahlia! Why, I bet you’d agree with me and say we ought to be thinking about using wild flowers for particular occasions – isn’t that right?’

‘That is right. I’ve often thought we should think about wild flowers. They’re so beautiful and when you don’t need an arrangement to last a long time they’d be perfect. Bluebells, cowslips – oh, I could think of all sorts to use, if we could only get them accepted . . .’

Shona was relaxing, her eyes growing dreamy, when suddenly she caught a certain look on Fraser’s face that brought her up short. ‘Oh, Mr Kyle, you’re clever!’ she whispered. ‘Talking about wild flowers – getting me sidetracked – making me forget Brigid!’