Eden's Garden (16 page)

‘There are poor and needy in the countryside, as well as in London,’ I offered.

‘Yes, that’s true.’ He gave a wry half-smile. ‘Since nearly all the families in the village next to Plas Eden have someone or other working on the estate, I could hardly concentrate my energies here and leave them to their fate.’

‘Oh,’ I said. I had, it seemed, not given comfort, after all. Quite the reverse. I determined to say nothing at all.

We worked for the rest of the morning in silence, ensuring everything was tidy for the new inhabitant of his office.

‘And what will you do?’ he asked, suddenly.

I looked up from wrestling with a particularly dusty file. ‘Do?’

‘You seemed unsettled the last days I was here. I wondered …’ The dust must have caught in his throat, as he coughed and bent over the letter in front of him. ‘I wondered if you had tired of city life?’

‘Me?’ I knew I should have spun my story of returning to the countryside and my family and asked for a reference, there and then. ‘Oh, not at all.’

‘Good,’ he muttered, still bending over his file. ‘Matron – we all – value your work here.’

I looked at him curiously. I had been acting as
under-housekeeper
for the past year. Was Mrs Reevers about to retire and they were considering offering me the post? I could not imagine Mrs Reevers leaving, certainly not at such a moment, any more than Matron.

‘I’m glad,’ I murmured, for want of anything else to say. ‘I don’t know what I would have done had I not found this place,’ I added.

He smiled. ‘It seems we both did each other good.’ His smile took my breath away, like a blow to the stomach.

‘Yes,’ I muttered, trying not to gasp for air like a drowning woman. I met his eyes briefly, and I knew I could not stay in that room another moment. Not while I still had enough sense to know that I would only add to his troubles.

And for me? I couldn’t tell him, and especially not at that moment, that the Meredith Charity Hospital had given me back my taste for life. A broken heart I can live with. I’ve survived worse. And, despite what they tell you in stories, the breaks mend. Uncle Jolyon had been so busy telling me that the female sex was delicate, and always in need of guidance and protection, that he forgot to mention that women are the great survivors. I had survived. And since I had been at the Meredith Hospital I had seen women of all ages survive more pain and anguish, both of the body and the mind, than I could ever, in my former life, have imagined.

And besides, from what I had heard, Aunt Beatrice was surviving her widowhood in positively spectacular fashion, travelling the world on the proceeds of his estate. I hoped there was a heaven for Uncle Jolyon to look out of and take note.

And, whatever it cost me, I was not about to take that long, lonely road towards the river once more.

 ‘I didn’t mean to intrude,’ said Carys, stepping hastily away from the statue of Blodeuwedd, mortified at being discovered lurking in Eden’s grounds this way. And by Rhiannon, of all people.

Carys could feel herself growing hot. Rhiannon probably saw her as some mad stalker, on route to peer through Eden’s windows, desperate to throw herself at David Meredith and end up as mistress of Plas Eden at last.

‘You’re not intruding.’ Rhiannon’s voice was cool, but not unfriendly. ‘You’re always welcome to Eden, Carys. Why don’t you come up to the house? Come and join me in a cup of tea. Or a glass of wine, maybe?’

She was just being polite, Carys told herself. It was the sort of thing people said but didn’t really mean. Especially not to potential stalkers.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t. I only left Mam for a few minutes, to get milk. I must get back before her film ends.’

‘Of course.’ Rhiannon’s voice was even, showing no sign of either relief or disappointment. ‘And how is Mair?’

This, Carys thought, was decidedly surreal, standing in the near-dark having a slightly stilted social exchange with Rhiannon, while the statues loomed up around them.

‘Oh, she’s okay. Getting better slowly.’

‘And driving you crazy?’ Rhiannon’s tone warmed. She had, Carys recalled, looked after an old lady for years and must know better than most just how exasperating it could be. And that didn’t mean you didn’t love your charge, or feel for her pain and frustration. But the accompanying sensation of your own life being irrevocably sucked away could, at times, be unbearable.

There was so much about her life with Mam that Carys couldn’t quite explain to anyone. Not to Gwenan, who took her periodic exasperation as a sign she wasn’t coping and instantly offered all kinds of long-distance advice. Not to Nia, who took Carys’ worries about Mam trying to get up the stairs when she wasn’t looking, completely to heart and burst instantly into tears.

At least with Rhiannon she didn’t have to pretend everything was just fine, and her halo was growing by the day, for fear of sounding like an undutiful daughter and an utter bitch.

‘Totally,’ she replied, with feeling.

Rhiannon gave a sympathetic chuckle. ‘Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Nainie to bits, but there were times she completely did my head in. It’s being locked together in a small space going over the same things again and again with someone who’s bored and frustrated, and often a little frightened. It’ll be better when your mam can get out more. I always used to find that Nainie was much better when there was something to occupy her, and take her out of herself.’

‘That’s true.’ Carys smiled. ‘I was thinking of taking Mam along to the history group in the Boadicea. She’s never been much into family history, but I thought she might enjoy it now.’ She cleared her throat. She liked Rhiannon, for all she had always been slightly unnerved by the older woman’s bold dress sense and her directness. She didn’t want to be thought some sad woman still obsessing about Plas Eden and the past. ‘That’s what made me come here, when she started talking about the statues.’

‘Oh?’ Rhiannon’s voice was tense in the encroaching darkness.

‘Just her memories of them,’ explained Carys hastily. ‘I suppose it just got me thinking that she might enjoy finding out more about them.’

‘There’s the new history group that meets in the Boadicea,’ said Rhiannon, the wariness easing just a little. ‘They’re concentrating on the history of the village for now, but Professor Humphries has been talking about doing more about the statues in a couple of months’ time.’

‘That’s good to know, it might help Mam to start going. I’m sure if they begin to find out more about the statues…’ From inside her bag, Carys’ mobile rang out its tinny little jingle. ‘Hell.’ She scrabbled for it amongst the depths. Her mobile number was the first in the speed dial on the house phone, and was stuck in large figures to the wall.

But it was not Mam. The little screen announced that was Joe’s mobile. Carys allowed it to go onto voicemail, and stashed the phone in her pocket. ‘I’m sorry, Rhiannon, I really have to go.’

‘Why don’t you come up one day, and bring Mair with you?’ said Rhiannon, as Carys turned to go. ‘It would be nice to catch up again while you’re in Pont-ar-Eden.’

‘That would be lovely, thanks,’ murmured Carys, awkwardly. Was this Rhiannon being polite again?

‘How about this weekend?’

Carys blinked. ‘I’m afraid it’s Mam’s birthday. Gwenan and Nia are coming down. We’re taking her out for a meal.’

‘Oh, right.’

They could leave it like that. A vague friendly overture of an invitation that in reality didn’t have to be taken up by either side.

The breeze was stirring again, setting the branches swaying with a gentle, almost melancholy sighing. Around them, the statues loomed in the darkness, silent and still.

‘But they’ll be gone by Sunday night,’ added Carys, without quite meaning to.

‘Okay.’ At least Rhiannon didn’t sound dismayed or instantly start finding her own excuses. ‘So why don’t you come to supper next Thursday? That’ll give Mair a couple of days rest in between. Why don’t you come around four, say, then you can have a good look around, and Mair can get herself settled. We can eat early, and you can get home before she gets too tired.’

‘That sounds great,’ said Carys. ‘Thank you. We’d like that.’ There had been no mention of David. Maybe he was away. Maybe she wouldn’t have to meet him. Carys found her heart doing a quick back-flip, followed by a sinking sensation, just like a stone. Neither of which, she told herself firmly, made any sense at all.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Rhiannon was saying, clipping the lead on Hodge, to prevent any following of the visitor.

‘See you on Thursday, then,’ replied Carys, making her way hastily back along the little track, towards the village.

 

‘I got it!’ cried Joe, picking up immediately she returned his call. He must be in a bar. The beat of music and the sound of laughter made its way in from the background.

‘What did you get?’ asked Carys, making her way as fast as she could through the half-deserted streets of Pont-ar-Eden.

‘The job,’ he returned, just slightly impatiently.

‘The job?’

‘The partnership. Constantine and Hutchinson.’ The triumph in his voice was unmistakeable.

Constantine and Hutchinson? They were huge. International. Global, even. She didn’t know they had an office in Chester. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, slowly. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Today. This afternoon, in fact. We’re going out to celebrate. They’re paying for me to stay over.’

‘Over?’ Her brain seemed to have stopped working.

‘Hotel.’ He was practically purring. ‘Big one. Posh one. Just off Oxford Street.’

‘Oh.’ A couple of drunks pushed past her, swaying in a
good-natured
manner as she turned off the High Street and towards Willow Cottage. Her heart was beginning to beat fast, and there was a strange taste in her mouth. ‘So it’s based in London then?’

‘Yes, of course. They’re like, massive, Cari. A real step up.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Pay’s not that bad, either. Housing’s expensive, of course. But, despite the downturn, we’ll still have made a bit on the flat. That’ll help.’

‘
What?
’

The disbelief in her voice seemed to have got through to him. ‘Yeah; right mate. Coming now,’ he said, loudly, in his manly ‘we’re-all-mates-together’ tone, that always irritated the hell out of her, to someone in the room behind him. Whether this was a fictional someone or not, Carys was too blindingly on a mission to throttle him to care. ‘Sorry, Cari, got to go. The restaurant’s booked for half an hour, and you know what the traffic’s like.’

‘You can’t just–’

‘Sorry. Got to go. Love you. Speak soon.’

And, with a click, he was gone.

Cari’s fingers itched towards the redial, and a
no-holds-barred
, just-what-do-you-think-you-are-playing-at text. Although apart from the word ‘bastard’ she couldn’t at this moment think of anything else to say. Besides which she had reached the door of Willow Cottage to the closing music of Mam’s film sneaking between the double-glazing.

‘I didn’t know you’d been out,’ said Mam, emerging from the loo, with much flushing, as Cari pulled the front door closed behind her.

‘Remember, I was going to get milk, Mam.’ Carys waved the carton, thanking heaven she had at least had the presence of mind to shoot into Low-Price before talking to Joe.

‘Oh. Right. That wasn’t a criticism,’ said Mam. ‘Nice walk?’

‘Lovely, thanks,’ said Cari, trying to sound cheerful. This was not self-sacrifice. She and Mam had never been particularly close, and definitely not close enough to share all her inner secrets with.

Besides, Mam was of the old school. A man is there to do his thing, and it’s a woman’s lot to compromise, was Mam’s idea of a long and successful union. She might not entirely approve of Joe, but that was probably only because he hadn’t placed a ring on her daughter’s finger and swept her off to Hawaii for two weeks’ honeymoon. She would certainly take Joe’s part now.

Mam’s idea of marriage was fine for someone born in the 1940s, but it had been enough to put Carys off the subject for life. Which was possibly why she had taken it as a reassuring trait in Joe that he had never particularly been into marriage either. At the time it had seemed like the meeting of minds. Now it unmistakably held the hollow sound of options being left open.

‘I’ve had a call from work,’ she said. Which was easier than the truth.

‘Oh?’ Mam looked nervous.

‘Nothing serious,’ Carys reassured her hastily. ‘I just need to go back to Chester for a couple of meetings this week. How about if we see if Gwenan can come a bit earlier for your birthday and stay with you, while I’m away?’

‘Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be fine on my own.’

Yeah. Right. Like leaving the gas on unlit and deciding now was a good time to try those stairs.

‘I think Gwenan would feel happier,’ replied Carys. ‘And Nia. And we don’t want them to think I’m not looking after you, do we?’

‘Oh, no. Of course not.’ Mam patted Carys’ hand in a comforting manner. ‘You’ve been wonderful and looked after me so well,
cariad
. And I know you have your own life, and you can’t keep on doing this forever.’

‘I’ll only be away for a day, Mam.’

‘Right.’ Mam looked relieved.

‘I’ll go and phone Gwenan then,’ said Carys, before Mam could change her mind.

 

The return to Chester was disorientating. Not least because over the past few weeks Carys had grown so used to organising her life around Mam that just being in the car on her own threw her completely. Even though her mind was filled with thoughts of Joe and what she was going to say to him, she found herself automatically glancing at her watch to see how much time she had left, or checking the passenger seat to see if Mam were comfortable and not feeling tired or sick and not saying anything.

And when it finally sank in that Mam wasn’t there, she began to make lists. Shopping. Which bits of cleaning to be fitted into Mam’s next nap. Which accounts for Tylers were the most urgent to be tackled when Mam went to bed, and really she should make the spare room into a proper office so she didn’t waste time trying to find things. What on earth was she going to cook that didn’t include cod and parsley, and was a mild curry just too exotic, and how did you make a curry anyhow, and could she find a good recipe on the internet as Mam’s cookbooks came from the dark ages (Marguerite Patten and Delia excluded, of course), and hadn’t she ever heard of Jamie Oliver?