Page 97 of Last Letter Home
It wasn’t the next day, but the one after that Briony was sitting at her laptop, deep in the queries on her proofs, when she was dragged out of her absorption by the sound of men’s voices. They sounded distant and came and went, blown, she supposed, by the breeze, but one, she became sure, was Greg’s. The other was quieter, more measured, with rhythms that were familiar, but it was impossible to hear what either was saying. Her curiosity got the better of her, so she saved her document, grabbed her parka from its hook in the hall and let herself out into the misty afternoon.
There was no one to be seen, but when she followed the voices, she found herself at the door of the walled garden. Warily, she pushed it open and glanced inside. There, on the far side of what still looked like a building site, were two men, standing together examining a computer and discussing whatever they saw on its screen. Greg was describing a shape in the air with his finger to make some point. The face of the other man, who wore a beanie hat and a thick jacket, wasn’t visible, but then he glanced up and, with a jolt of surprise, Briony realized that it was Luke.
Her first instinct was to retreat, but it was too late, she’d been spotted.
‘Briony?’ Greg strode in his wellingtons across the muddy ground, and though she tried to keep her eyes on him she was all too aware of Luke rooted to the ground behind him and staring with surprise. ‘How are you?’ Greg leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. His hand cupped her elbow and he drew her forwards. ‘Were you trying to avoid us?’
‘Not really, it’s just . . .’
‘Step round this bit, you’ll avoid the worst of the mud. Come and see. We’re discussing the layout of the beds.’
Up close, Luke looked at her as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. He tucked the tablet under his arm as he came forward to greet her. They slid naturally together into a hug, but quickly pulled back. ‘I didn’t know you were down this way,’ Luke mumbled.
‘I . . . forgot to say.’ Greg’s expression could only be described as sheepish. For a while they all swapped polite pleasantries.
‘How are your parents, Luke? I thought about ringing them while I was here, but . . .’ The rest of her sentence died on Briony’s lips. What would have been more natural and indeed polite in normal circumstances than to have offered to drop in on them? But circumstances were not normal and there was no point in pretending they were.
Luke nodded as though he understood. ‘They’re both fine, thank you.’ He drew the tablet out again and flicked the cover open and came closer in order to show her the plans for the garden. The daylight was grey and the screen bright, so she could see fairly easily where everything was to be planted.
‘Over here, flower beds, there, herbs, and these, yes, will be the vegetable beds.’
‘It’s like the diagram on Mrs Clare’s wall, then.’
‘That’s right, but with some extra bits from Sarah’s letters.’
‘Luke’s pricing up the plants for me,’ Greg explained, ‘and then we’ll put in an order.’
‘I won’t stop you, then. Come and have a cup of tea when you’ve finished.’ Briony felt her smile was pasted on as she looked from one to the other. She was holding them up, obviously, and left them to return to her own work. When she sat down at her desk again, she found it difficult to concentrate, half expecting the men to arrive any moment. In the end she gave up trying to work, went into the kitchen and filled the kettle and laid three mugs on a tray.
When the doorbell rang, she opened the door to find only Luke waiting on the path. He pulled off his hat, ran his hand through his mane of hair and grinned in that old Lukeish way that made her gulp.
‘What have you done with Greg?’ she asked lightly.
‘He got a call. I think he was in the middle of some deal. Anyway, said he had to go.’
She let out a long slow breath. ‘So you’d better come in.’
Inside, she couldn’t help but be aware of his presence filling the hallway, the scent of rain and earth and soap that came in with him. He hung up his coat, followed her through to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching, arms folded, as she made the tea and dithered about, returning the milk to the fridge before she’d even poured it.
‘I hadn’t known you were coming down,’ he said again. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed a bit stunned.’
‘I hadn’t known you’d be here.’ That was, on the face of it, true, but she felt her cheeks pink up because there had always been the likelihood. ‘How often have you needed to visit the garden?’
‘It’s seemed like every weekend lately, but actually it’s not. Greg said he would be about today and that it would be a good time to meet.’
She nodded, secretly thinking, Thank you, Greg, as she gave him his tea and they went through to the living room, where she moved some books from the sofa so he could sit down. He did so carefully, as though aware of all his movements.
‘I don’t think I’ve seen you since . . .’ He broke off.
‘Yeah,’ she said, remembering that awful night where she’d encountered him on the street outside Aruna’s flat, picking up his sodden washbag.
‘So how are you?’ He looked up, giving her a lopsided smile.
‘Yes, not bad.’ She felt like crying inside, their words were so stilted. ‘I came down to do some work. It’s funny, though, I feel sort of attached to here, like I belong. Does that sound crazy?’
‘Completely mad,’ he said and they both laughed and the atmosphere lightened.
‘There’s an awful lot to tell you, if you’ve got the time. About Paul and Sarah, I mean, and Harry Andrews.’
