Eden's Garden (22 page)

David watched the water drip from Carys’ raised oar, splashing into the dark water, sending countless ripples out towards the shore.

He still couldn’t imagine his life without Plas Eden. But then once he could not have imagined his life without Carys. Maybe it was just simply time to let Plas Eden go. Start his life again, freed from the estate’s all-consuming responsibilities. Lead a normal existence, whatever that might be. There was one person, at least, who would be seriously disappointed.

David grimaced. So far, he’d managed to keep the emails and phone calls away from Rhiannon and Huw, but that couldn’t last. They’d all been so certain the periodic stream of vague threats and innuendo had finally been left behind several years ago when notice had come of cousin Edmund’s death in a nursing home in Patagonia.

But now there was Edmund Meredith’s son, Edmund Jnr, who had, it appeared, taken up his father’s sense of past injustice. David had hoped meeting Edmund Jnr during his latest business trip to London would allow them to settle the matter, once and for all. One look this morning at Edmund’s sharp, well-oiled face, along with his boasts of numerous high-placed contacts in Russia and the Arab Emirates, had put that particular hope to rest.

David sighed, wearily. Whatever Edmund Meredith was up to, it was bound to involve a battle, one that could last for years. He wasn’t certain he had the stomach for a fight, not any longer. Maybe the price of keeping Eden had just become too much.

This could be the sign that the time had come to concentrate on other things. He’d done his best, but there came a point when it was just time to let go. He raised his eyes to watch Carys, still absorbed in directing the rowing boat towards the jetty. He rather liked this new Carys. She was intriguing. Getting to know her, even a little bit more, would definitely be a challenge, if nothing else.

David smiled wryly to himself. With the rest of his life falling about his ears, he could do with such a challenge.

They were now approaching the shore, following a trail of ducks and geese heading for an evening share of seed and the odd stale crust or so, trailed by Hallelujah, sailing slowly and deliberately behind them.

As they reached the bank where Rhiannon was waiting, a shadow in the encroaching dusk, Hallelujah directed a swift peck at an inattentive mallard daring to cross his path. The mallard shot off in a flurry of spray and shrieks of indignation, sending the rest of his kind into a panic. Raucous cries and the flapping of wings filled the air, echoing into the silence and the vast spaces of the mountains, and then dying away.

Above the nearest peak, a point of light flashed across the sky, flaring up into blues and greens as it swept above their heads, and then was gone.

‘Wow,’ breathed Carys.

‘Spectacular,’ said David. ‘I haven’t seen a meteor like that in ages. We’ve still got Dad’s telescope, you know. There’s so little light pollution here, you get amazing views of the skies. Rhiannon and me have turned into proper stargazing geeks, when we get a chance.’ He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. ‘You’d be really welcome to join us one night.’

He could feel the hesitation. He could positively hear her mind working, searching around for some credible reason why she couldn’t possibly. Then the resistance went out of her.

‘I’d love to,’ she murmured, as she guided the little boat to the shore.

 Carys paused at the bottom of the steep flight of stairs, blinking in the darkness, not quite sure where to go next.

As her eyes adjusted, the basement of Wyn’s Electricals opened out into a vast cavernous space. Thick sheets of grey sound insulation hung from the walls and the ceiling, like the insides of giant egg cartons. Not exactly pretty, but no doubt it did its job in preventing half of Pont-ar-Eden high street writing to the council and marching down here to protest at the noise.

‘Hello?’ called Carys tentatively. Her voice echoed around her. In the centre of the dimly lit space, she could make out a drum set and microphone stands, surrounded by several abandoned electric guitars and a full-sized harp, like a land-locked Marie Celeste, its performers spirited away halfway through a verse.

A door opened, letting light flood out. A woman in her early thirties, her short curly hair revealing a pair of intricate dangling earrings, emerged from a room crammed with computers and sound desks, and which was full to bursting with boys of all shapes and sizes.

‘Hi Carys,’ said Mari Lewis, making out the visitor. Since almost everyone in Pont-ar-Eden knew everyone else, any introductions were unnecessary.

Mari was one of those who had stayed in Pont-ar-Eden, leaving only to gain her teaching qualification and a couple of years’ experience teaching music in a tough inner Manchester comprehensive, before bringing her energy and enthusiasm back to Talarn Secondary. She was the first to volunteer when Merlin Gwyn got himself police-checked for working with youngsters.

‘Hi, Mari.’

‘Looking for Merlin, are you?’

Carys nodded. ‘They said in the shop he was down here.’

‘He was.’ Mari Lewis peered around in the gloom. ‘The band are just on a break at the minute, but he’ll be around here somewhere.’

‘He isn’t really expecting me,’ said Carys, hastily. ‘I should have phoned first. I can come another day.’

‘No, no that’s fine.’ Mari gestured towards a small room in the depths of the basement, whose partially open door revealed a desk containing a computer and printer and an ‘in’ tray overflowing with papers. ‘He must be on the phone. He’ll be out in a sec.’

As if in reply to this, the door to the office was pulled wide open and Merlin himself, cordless handset clamped to one ear, waved a biro in her direction in a gesture of welcome.

‘Organised chaos,’ said Mari, with a grin. ‘Sorry, got to go. It’s my job to see this lot don’t find their way round the internet controls and start accessing porn. Or smoke in the loos,’ she added. ‘Nice to see you, Carys. Good to see your mam looking so much better.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Merlin was saying as Mari vanished and Carys slowly made her way towards him. ‘Tuesday? Yeah, no problem. I’ll be here all day.’ He began scribbling furiously on a pad of paper. ‘No problem. I’ll email directions to you. The SatNav can take you round some pretty windy roads, if you don’t keep an eye out. Pont-ar-Eden,’ he said, in answer to some question, annunciating each word of the name carefully. ‘Yeah, it is a long name. Means “Bridge over the River Eden”.’ He waved for Carys to follow him back inside the little office. ‘Yes, there are apples. No, no snakes.’ The biro was put down. ‘Look, sorry mate, got to go. Visitors.’ His eyes went skywards. ‘Yeah, they had clothes the last time I looked. Might get arrested, otherwise. Thanks, mate.’ He put down the phone. ‘Wise guys, eh? Why is it they never can resist the old jokes about paradise and the Tree of Life? Wait ’till he finds there’s a “Nazareth” and a “Bethlehem” just down the road and half the chapels have Old Testament names.’

In the office, the phone rang again.

‘Look, if you’re busy …’ Carys began.

‘It can wait.’ He was watching her closely, an unmistakeable question in his eyes.

She looked around the basement, playing for time and to steady the wobble in her stomach. ‘Amazing place you’ve got down here. I didn’t realise it was so big.’

A pleased look crossed his face, replacing the question. ‘This is the sort of place I dreamed of when I was a kid. Pont-ar-Eden can’t keep on living in the past, or there’ll be no one left in twenty years or so. I’d like to think I was helping towards taking it into the future.’

‘I’m sure the kids love it.’

‘Yes, they do. And they give so much back, too. All that energy and creativity. It’s good to be reminded, sometimes.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘The music business is not always a nice one. It’s easy to get jaded at times and forget what it was that got you there in the first place. Come on, I’ll show you around.’

By the time Carys had peered into miniature studios stuffed to the gunnels with recording equipment and admired the room flanked with computers, the musicians’ refuelling break was over.

As Carys followed her guide back into the central space, figures could be seen moving in the semi-darkness. A cymbal chimed on the little stage, followed by a drum roll. There was a high-pitched squeal of microphone feedback, instantly cut.

‘I know what you mean about this being the kind of place you’d have dreamed of as a kid. Even though I can’t play a note, I’d have loved this when I was their age,’ said Carys, wistfully, watching the group of teenagers getting themselves together.

‘It’s always been a dream of mine, making a place for the kids in Pont-ar-Eden,’ replied Merlin, quietly. ‘I never quite thought it would come true. It was slow at first, but looks like we’re going to need a waiting list at this rate.’

She watched him. ‘Plas Eden would make an amazing recording space.’

‘I’m sure it would.’ He met her eyes. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, though. This is small, and manageable. My days of wild ambition are over. I don’t want to be responsible for loads of hormonally challenged teenagers, and I don’t want any media attention and the whole thing turned into
The X Factor
, thank you very much. This way, I can keep small. Do things on my terms.’

‘Oh.’ More figures were appearing. A spotlight was switched on, sending a flood of colour into the gloom. A girl appeared in the spotlight. She was wearing a loose cotton dress with bits of emerald velvet let into the skirt, the kind you get from ethnic-type shops that smell of incense and faraway places. Her skin was pale, with just a faint scattering of freckles, set off by a long sweep of dark chestnut and copper hair, most of which had been brushed away from her face and twisted behind her head, to be held in place by a blunt pencil with a rubber at one end.

‘That’s Buddug’s daughter, isn’t it?’ said Carys, as the girl sang quietly, half under her breath, picking out chords on an acoustic guitar in an experimental fashion to go with her tune.

‘Yes.’ Merlin’s voice was thoughtful.

‘Buddug said she had a good voice.’

‘She does. A real haunting quality. Very distinctive. And she’s a good little songwriter, too.’

Carys frowned, suddenly uneasy. Merlin seemed to have mellowed into a nice guy with time, but that predatory figure of twenty years ago could still be there somewhere. Did people really change that much?

She discovered Merlin watching her, as if reading her mind. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘Hannah would be a publicist’s dream. And maybe one day, when she’s older and has more experience, and knows who she really is and what she wants and can understand what she’s getting into if she goes into the music business …’ He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s not just the girls who are exploited, you know. I learnt that the hard way, when I left Pont-ar-Eden for the bright lights of fame and fortune.’

‘You seem to have done okay.’

‘Not half as okay as a couple of our managers,’ he retorted. ‘At least in the financial sense. Me and the band were properly screwed at least twice before we learned the ropes. In those circumstances, you learn fast or you sink.’ His voice softened. ‘I wouldn’t willingly put anyone else through that. And especially not someone that vulnerable. I can’t imagine the guts it took for Buddug to get those kids free from their dad, and I know she worries about the damage done just by the violence they must have witnessed. To be honest with you, she isn’t entirely a hundred per cent about Hannah being here at all.’

‘I see,’ said Carys. She met his eyes. In the instant, her mind was made up. She smiled.

‘Did I pass the test?’

‘Test?’

‘The ‘not-a-complete-bastard-after-all’ test.’

Carys felt herself blushing furiously. ‘I didn’t – I wasn’t…’ She flustered herself to a halt, and grinned. ‘Possibly,’ she retorted. She used to be good at this. It was one of the things she missed about being in an office, part of the week, at least; the quick-thinking, edged-with-flirtation banter, covering only thinly the serious negotiations going on beneath. Her brain needed a pencil-sharpener taking to it, most definitely. She could feel the old adrenalin begin to stir.

‘Possibly?’ It was Merlin’s turn to be uncertain.

‘Okay; almost certainly.’

‘Almost certainly. That’ll do me. So? What was it you came to see me about?’

Carys took a deep breath. ‘I came to sound you out on something.’

‘Brilliant.’ He rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘I knew you’d be the one to come up with ideas for me to invest in. Ask away.’

‘How do you feel about allotments?’

His eyebrows shot up at that one. ‘Allotments.’

‘Yes. On Eden Farm. For people of the village to grown their own fruit and veg.’

He scratched his head. ‘Well, sure; it might not be quite what I was expecting, but it sounds a good community project. If you think anyone in Pont-ar-Eden would bite.’

‘It only takes a few to start with then others will follow. Allotments are such a big thing, and there aren’t any available near Pont-ar-Eden. I asked. And everyone is saying they miss the Sullivans’ veg boxes.’

‘True.’ He was still sounding less than convinced. ‘But won’t that take custom from the existing shops in the village, if people are growing their own?’

‘Well, that would only be part of it.’

‘Aha.’ There was a gleam in his eyes. ‘I had a feeling there might be more. Besides, you don’t strike me as a woman whose ambitions stop at a single allotment.’

‘Thank you,’ said Carys, not quite able to hide her pleasure in the compliment. She took a second deep breath. Any more of this, and she’d be turning dizzy. ‘I was thinking of part of it being run as a business. My business. I’d take over the polytunnels and the old kitchen garden, and try to carry on where the Sullivans left off, providing local veg to local businesses for people who don’t grow their own. If Plas Eden is turned into some kind of hotel or tourist centre, I could try and supply them, too. I’m not asking you to invest in me,’ she added, hastily. ‘I wouldn’t have the cheek. I don’t have much experience behind me, and I’d have to drop my college course, so I wouldn’t have any qualifications. I’ll have some money to invest in the business, and to support me for a year, maybe eighteen months. By that time I should know if I can make some kind of an income, or if I need to apply for my old job back again.’

‘That sounds like a risk.’

Carys swallowed, hard. She had spent all night wide-awake, her mind rushing feverishly through every possible permutation of disaster, edged with the tempting safety of a full-time job back at Tylers. She had spent the morning trying not to think about either, on the principle that safety might win.

‘This could be my one chance,’ she said, at last. ‘I don’t want to spend the rest of my life regretting that I never even tried. Okay, if I fail, at least I’ll know I’ve tried, and I just have to grow up and get on with my life. I’ve done a business plan,’ she added, fishing a folder out of her shoulder bag. ‘Financial projections, cash flow. Marketing strategy.’

‘You don’t hang around,’ he remarked, smiling. ‘So, if you don’t want me to invest in your business, what do you want me to invest in?’

‘The land. Oh, not for me. But for the people of Pont-ar-Eden. That way, a bit of Plas Eden would always be a part of the village. A place where people can grow food, keep chickens. Where the kids could learn, too. Besides, I can’t afford to buy the land around the farm, and any allotment holders would need some kind of stability.’

He was watching her thoughtfully. ‘You don’t want to buy the whole farm, then. Be a part of Eden?’

She shook her head. ‘No. And, in any case, David was talking about not selling the cottage, so Rhiannon can have a home.’

He nodded. ‘That makes sense. And if Rhiannon is going to be living so close, you don’t think she would object to your plans?’

‘No. At least, I don’t think so. Obviously she’d need to be consulted first, if David offers her the cottage. The allotments would need to be at a distance, and the kitchen garden and the polytunnels don’t overlook Eden Cottage, in any case. If David doesn’t want to sell the land, he might agree to some kind of lease.’ Her nerves were beginning to jump again. ‘Even a ten-year lease would give me a chance to establish something and see if it might work.’

‘So you’d be a tenant, along with the rest.’

‘Yes.’ She frowned at him. ‘I know it couldn’t be mine. I don’t really want it to be mine. I’d pay rent, of course. That’s only fair. And if I can make a go of it, I could save up and buy somewhere of my own, when I’m ready.’