A Winter’s Tale (20 page)

‘You sound as if you’ve done this before?’ he asked curiously. ‘I thought you were just some kind of New-Age traveller.’

‘I haven’t
lived
on the road for years,’ I said patiently. ‘My mother and I settled in a commune and ever since I left school I’ve worked in stately homes, doing everything from cleaning the floors to running guided tours. So I know that to entice more visitors, we need to enhance the attractions, and one obvious thing we could do is promote the possible Shakespeare connection more vigorously, both in the house and out. After all, that would fit in with the date of the knot gardens, wouldn’t it?’

He nodded, looking cautious. ‘I’ve read the theories that he spent the Lost Years in Lancashire—but he would have been just a teenager for most of them.’

‘Well, we don’t have to
prove
he was here, just suggest it. I saw a garden once that was entirely planted with things Shakespeare had mentioned in his plays,’ I mused. ‘Is there any reason why we couldn’t do that on the lower terrace?’

‘There
are
Shakespeare gardens,’ Seth conceded, obviously turning the idea over in his head. ‘It probably wouldn’t be much different to my original suggestion of keeping the planting on this level purely late sixteenth century.’

‘No, as long as the shrubs and plants were mentioned in one of the plays, you could have what you liked.’

‘Easy then,’ he said drily.

‘Well, Hebe did tell me you did your degree dissertation on garden history, so it shouldn’t be too hard. You probably know it all already.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, but the embers of that glow were sparking up again in his eyes.

‘Is Jack interested in the garden?’ I asked suddenly.

‘Not particularly. Jack’s only interested in Jack and money.’

‘That’s a bit harsh. Don’t you get on?’

He shrugged. ‘We don’t have a lot in common these days, and I’m not too keen on some of his business methods either, but we used to get on OK in the holidays when he was home from his posh school—I went to the local grammar. But we didn’t see much of each other once we left university, until I came back after my father died, to finish what he started. Jack was against the whole restoration scheme and he wanted me to stop once Sir William died, even though we are so close to finishing.’

‘Well, you can hardly blame him, when it has been draining the estate for years,’ I said, and, seeing his face set into obstinate thundercloud mode added quickly, ‘Mr Yatton told me about your working arrangement with my grandfather.’

‘It suits me at the moment. I can still run my own business, while keeping an eye on Winter’s End.’

‘You design knot gardens, don’t you?’

‘Yes—“Greenwood’s Knots. Topiary, Parterres and Knot Gardens a Speciality”.’

‘That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it? You could have called yourself something more exciting, like “Get Knotted”,’ I suggested.

His brow knitted, so he looked quite Neanderthal. ‘No, I couldn’t. No one would have taken me seriously.’

I don’t think anyone had ever teased him before, but if he was going to be so serious then he had better get used to it, because I was finding the temptation to wind him up irresistible.

He looked at me for a minute in a slightly baffled way, then said challengingly, ‘So, are
you
going to let me finish what my father and Sir William started?’

‘Oh, yes. I think my grandfather would come back and haunt me if didn’t! But you may as well resign yourself to it taking longer than you anticipated, because getting the
house and its finances back in good order again has to be the priority now.’

‘No, it’s the gardens that attract the visitors, so they need to be completed first,’ he insisted stubbornly.

I glared at him. ‘Haven’t you been listening to
anything
I’ve been saying? The house is
equally
important—or will be when it is restored. And I intend to see that it is.’ I turned and started up the steps, while he followed behind me in brooding silence.

‘That box hedge looks pretty ratty,’ I said critically as we reached the top again, just to wind him up.

‘It’s foxes,’ he said shortly.

‘
Foxes?
’

‘A fox, anyway. It seemed to like the scent. Sir William saw it from the windows rubbing itself against the hedges until they wore away. But it’s not a problem any longer.’

I turned and stared at him. ‘You
killed
it?’

‘No, we found it dead on the tennis court. Natural causes, nothing to do with us—unless it overdosed on box, of course.’ Before I could decide if that was a joke, he added abruptly, ‘I’ve got things to do.’ And off he strode as though he was wearing seven-league boots.

I stared after him, thinking some extremely random thoughts about the way that his silky black hair was just a bit too long at the back and how the width of his shoulders made him seem incredibly slim-hipped…And I was pretty sure the bottom layer of his holey, ratty jumpers was a pink T-shirt with some kind of slogan on it.

Then I came to with a start and went in through the unlocked cross-passage door.

Security seemed just a little lax at Winter’s End.

Chapter Thirteen: Grave Affairs

Joan says that in her last hours my mother foretold that I would remain a Blezzard and my child after mee; but my children’s children would be Wynters. I do not see how this can be, but it is true that I continue to think myself Alys Blezzard and not Alys Wynter.

From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1581

There was something I couldn’t put off any longer, even though, with the light fading and the temperature dropping, it wasn’t the best time for what I had in mind.

I collected Charlie from the kitchen as company, first inserting him into his garish tartan coat, then drove off in the VW down the back drive, which would lead me, I knew, into the village by the churchyard. I parked in the lane and went in through the unlocked mossy lych-gate, though I felt doubtful about taking Charlie into a churchyard. But there was no one about, so I decided to risk it.

‘Don’t do anything you shouldn’t,’ I warned him, and he wagged his tail amiably.

The family plot was easy to find—or perhaps that should be
plots
, since centuries of Winters had filled the original enclosure with weathered stone figures of knights reclining comfortably on top of their tombs amid plainer, lichen-encrusted stones, and spawned whole new enclaves
around it. Space had been made for William in one of these, his name and dates added to the splendid, polished slate obelisk at the back. It was topped with the same family emblem that I’d already noticed on the arch over the drive, which really
couldn’t
be a whippet with a black pudding in its mouth…could it?

My mother’s grave was nearby—a simple rectangle edged with clipped rosemary for remembrance, with a small marble angel at its head that reminded me very much of my mother: it was standing on tiptoe in a whirl of curls and draperies, seemingly about to take wing, while casually dropping a half-furled inscribed scroll.

‘Well, Mum,’ I said, ‘here we are, back at Winter’s End.’ The angel regarded me with blank eyes and a slightly spaced-out smile. Either the sculptor knew my mother or had been shown photographs. ‘Did you
believe
all those stories you told me when we ran away?’

She’d certainly been the Scheherazade of the family, though of course no one had been trying to kill her, apart from Fate. And diamonds had literally been a girl’s best friend, since she must have been selling them one by one to be permanently stoned for so many years.

‘
And
you wrenched me out of my setting too, did you know that?’ I told her, slightly bitterly, though maybe I had not been so much a diamond as a rather dark, uncut garnet. ‘Winter’s End is where I belong—where I should have stayed.’

But then, in her casually affectionate way she
had
loved me, even if she had been happy to let Aunt Hebe and Mrs Lark take over most of the childcare. Perhaps she simply couldn’t bear to leave me behind, just as I could never have even contemplated a separation from Lucy? Or maybe she feared that if she left me behind Grandfather would have had me taken into care?

From what I have learned of him since my return, I am very sure he would not—just as I am also sure that Grandfather loved Mum, in his own way. It was just that with typical male obtuseness he had expected more of her than she was capable of giving.

If she
had
left me behind at Winter’s End, I wondered what it would have been like, once Jack had arrived. The new fledgeling would certainly have pushed me out of being the main focus of Hebe’s affections, even if not entirely out of the nest…

I remained lost in thought for ages, until I slowly became aware of voices somewhere nearby, coming from behind the little church, I thought. Charlie heard them too: he got up from the slab he’d been irreverently sitting on and trotted purposefully off, like a small round tartan bagpipe on legs.

‘Charlie!’ I hissed, chasing after him. ‘Come here!’

I managed to snatch him up just as he was about to round the corner of the church, then cautiously stuck my head around, to see who else had chosen this god-forsaken hour to visit the dearly departed.

It was lucky I was partially hidden by a rose bush, for there, not fifteen feet away, were Seth Greenwood and Sticklepond’s answer to Helen of Troy, Melinda Christopher.

Seth was staring down at the ground as if he found it really, really interesting and she was gazing at him with those strange, caramel-coloured eyes as if she’d like to eat him, boots and all.

Considering he was looking like a cross between Mr Rochester and Heathcliff in their gloomier moments, I suppose this was hardly surprising.

‘Yes, you
have
been avoiding me lately, Seth, and I’d like to know why!’ she snapped.

‘Actually, I haven’t. I didn’t even know you were looking for me.’

‘I keep coming up to Winter’s End, doesn’t anyone ever tell you?’

He shrugged. ‘I thought you were looking for Jack. I don’t know why you two fell out just before Sir William died, but don’t expect me to fill in the gap until it’s kiss-and-make-up time.’

‘Don’t be silly, there’s nothing going on between Jack and me—and you weren’t so unwelcoming when I first moved back here, darling, were you?’ she said silkily. ‘In fact, I got the distinct impression you were pleased to see me.’

‘That was before Jack turned up again and I realised where your real interests lay,’ he said coolly. ‘
Lay
being the operative word.’

‘Come on, Seth, you know very well Jack and I are just in partnership to knock down that hideous house Clive left me and redevelop the land, though getting planning permission is taking
for ever
.’ She lowered her voice to a seductive purr, so that I had to strain my ears to hear what she said, and added, ‘But you and I are old friends too—and much
more
than old friends—aren’t we?’

‘I don’t think we were ever friends, Mel. And, as I told you when you got me down to Surrey on the pretext of designing a garden while you were still married to Seldon, my price is way out of your league.’

She flicked his ragamuffin clothes a disdainful glance. ‘You can’t be that expensive—and anyway, I’ve got money. I’m a
very
rich widow.’

‘Congratulations, then you’ve got everything you ever wanted. I hope you and your money are very happy together.’

She moved towards him and laid a hand on his arm, a wistful smile on her lovely face. ‘Yes, I’ve got everything—except
you
. When I married Clive I was just so tired of scrimping and saving, trying to keep up with the crowd and look well dressed on a pittance—it seemed so important
then. But I missed you so much and you wouldn’t even
look
at me after I got married, just like you’re not looking at me
now
,’ she snapped pettishly.

He cast her a brooding look and said flatly, ‘Look, Mel, twenty years ago you played me and Jack off against each other, then you suddenly chose to marry a man nearly old enough to be your grandfather. Perhaps you thought you could have your cake and eat it, but I never fancied playing Mellors to your Lady Chatterley then—or,’ he added bluntly, ‘
now
, if you marry Jack.’

‘Oh—Jack!’ she said, with a little laugh. ‘Forget Jack. Perhaps I did flirt with him a bit when I first came back, but he’s not the marrying kind, though you were—once.’ She laid a hand on his sleeve and looked up at him appealingly. ‘Do you remember proposing to me?’

‘I remember a lot of things I’d much rather not—like begging you to marry me instead of Seldon, before it finally dawned on me that you would never marry a gardener’s son with no position or money. I was fine for a bit of a fling, wasn’t I? But you wanted more.’