Page 16 of The Garden of Forgotten Wishes
While these memories galloped through my head, Ned’s oddly wary look didn’t lift, but he said, finally, ‘Yes, of course I remember you. You were a friend of Sammie Nelson, weren’t you?’
This was obviously not a recommendation and I recalled that he’d briefly gone out with Sammie, before she’d suddenly dumped him in favour of a fling with the documentary presenter, a well-known gardening personality about twice her age.
‘We weren’t really friends, she was just in my year,’ I said. ‘We all tended to hang out in the pub together anyway, didn’t we, because itwas the only one for miles? I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left without doing her degree year.’
In fact, she’d left very suddenly, the minute she’d finished her exams at the end of the second year and rumour had it that she’d shacked up with that presenter.
Ned made a non-committal grunt and said, ‘You look … different.’
‘Well, I’m older, thinner and my hair is short,’ I said, slightly tartly, though I didn’t think I’d changed that much. And neither had he physically, except that his broad-shouldered frame had filled out with a lot more muscle. No, the difference lay in his expression.
Everyone at college had liked tall, gangling, good-natured, easy-going Ned Mars … and so had the TV viewers, right from the first airing of his series,This Small Plot. When I left for France it had still been running and was as popular as ever, though I hadn’t watched it for ages, since Mike had been jealous when he found out I’d known Ned.
But that was an entirely different Ned, for this one very evidently wasn’t pleased to see me. And now I began to wish hehadbeen the middle-aged, balding and rather stolid stranger I’d expected. I’dsowanted a whole fresh new start, leaving the past behind me, and now I suspected I wasn’t going to get it.
Myfy appeared to have missed the uneasy undercurrents, for she exclaimed delightedly, ‘You were students together? What a coincidence! And now you’ll be working together on the Grace Garden, too!’
‘Well, as to that—’ he began and then broke off, bushy fair eyebrows twitched together in a frown as he stared at me.
Something in his voice and the lack of enthusiasm finally got through to Myfy and she gave him a sharp look.
‘I heard on the gardening grapevine that you’d been doing well with the Heritage Homes Trust … until you left suddenly, a few years back,’ Ned said to me, meaningfully.
My heart sank. Just what, exactly, had he heard?
‘I resigned from the Heritage Homes Trust over five years ago and went abroad,’ I said shortly.
‘Marnie’s been living in France for the last few years, Ned,’ Myfy told him, puzzled.
‘Yes, my adoptive family bought an old château. I’ve been based with them, but helping other ex-pat château owners restore their gardens. I moved around a lot … but then I found I wanted to come home again. This job presented the perfect chance to move back to England.’
‘Right … And you had no idea I was here?’ He was eyeing me narrowly now.
‘No, why on earth should I know you had any connection with the place? The last I heard of you, you were living near London and doing endless series ofThis Small Plot.’
I frowned, thinking about that. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you could still do that, if you’re based all the way up here, now, but—’
I broke off abruptly, because I’d obviously said something very wrong. His face darkened like a threatening thunderstorm and for a moment I wished I had those butter paddles handy.
‘That’s not a problem any longer,’ he snapped, and then, turning to Myfy, said ominously, ‘Could I have a private word?’
‘Well … of course,’ she said, looking taken aback. ‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right …’ she said, then smiled at me, reassuringly. ‘You will excuse us for a moment, Marnie, won’t you? Perhaps you’d like to wait for me in the old rose garden.’
‘Of course,’ I replied, feeling a sick hollowness inside. Ned must know – orthinkhe knew – how I came to leave my last HHT job. Word of that unhinged email of resignation sent by Mike, pretending to be me, with its many and varied accusations against my former boss and colleagues, must have leaked out. And once Ned had told Myfy about it, I supposed that would be the end of this job, too, before it had even begun.
There was a curved marble bench next to the pool and I sat on it, heedless of moss and damp. Under the waterlilies and shifting reflections of scudding white clouds, the gold and red koi circled like strange dreams in the darkness.
Myfy, looking troubled, walked slowly through the gate from the Grace Garden, closing it behind her, before coming to sit next to me.
I looked at her numbly, waiting for the axe to fall, but instead she gave me one of her tilted smiles and said, ‘Ned had to go back to his office in the courtyard – he moved his garden design business, Little Edens, here last year.’
‘But he didn’t want to talk to me anyway, did he? He wasn’t pleased to see me, let alone employ me.’
‘The trouble is, he’d heard some odd rumours about how you came to leave your last job,’ she said. ‘But you can’t depend on gossip, as he should know very well by now. Anyway, Elf is the fey one in the family and never misjudges a character, and she told me you were a good person who has had a difficult past and needs the healing powers of the valley as much as poor Ned does, but in a different way.’
