Eden's Garden (20 page)

‘Treverick,’ said David, slowly. He sounded as if he had been punched right in the stomach.

‘It can’t be.’ Huw’s voice sharp. ‘You must have read it wrong.’

David held out to him. ‘See? It has to be.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Huw.

‘What is it?’ demanded Angela, watching her husband’s face.

‘Treverick,’ said David, peering down at the postcard once more. ‘It’s a village in Cornwall.’

‘Surely not?’ Rhiannon had risen, and was looking over David’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t know there was a Hall there.’ She gave a slight shudder. ‘What a forbidding-looking place.’

Gwynfor, who had also risen to peer over David’s shoulder, looked up. ‘This was in amongst your Dad’s photographs, Carys?’

‘Yes,’ said Carys, watching them uneasily. Huw, she saw, had turned away, as if to block out the conversation.

‘How very strange,’ said Rhiannon.

‘You know it, then?’ asked Carys.

‘Not exactly,’ said Rhiannon. She glanced at David, who was still gazing down at the picture, a deep frown on his face.

‘It’s where they were going,’ he said, at last.

‘They?’

‘Mum and Dad.’

Carys blinked. ‘I thought they were on their way to London?’

‘They were,’ said Rhiannon. ‘They’d told Nainie they were going to stay a few days with me. I think they didn’t want her to know. Or maybe they thought she might stop them. We were going to the opera that night, and then they were going on to Cornwall the next morning.’

‘Did they say why?’ asked Carys.

Rhiannon shook her head. ‘They didn’t even tell me where they were going. They were both very mysterious about it.’

‘But then how do you know –’ Carys came to an abrupt halt. The answer was so horribly and blindingly obvious. She felt, rather than saw, Angela place a protective hand on Huw’s arm.

‘They were amongst Dad’s things, when they gave them to us,’ replied David quietly. ‘A train ticket to Cornwall. And the confirmation of a booking for them to stay overnight.’

‘In a hotel?’ said Carys, eying the postcard dubiously. Anywhere less like a hotel she couldn’t possibly imagine.

David shook his head. ‘No. B&B. Sounded more like a pub. The Treverick Arms. In a village called Treverick. There was nothing about a Hall.’ He looked down at the postcard once more. ‘But that must have been where they were going.’

 I made my way quickly between the flickering street lamps, passing unnoticed as I had done that night years before.

The rain had begun in earnest as I left the hospital, pounding on my coat and soaking through the leather of my boots. But the gusts that threw drops harshly against my face, hard as hailstones, had stirred my blood. There was no turning back now.

When I was a girl, I had too much decorum to escape to the beach outside the village where the pebbles were tossed to and fro in the surf and great waves broke over the black rocks of the headland. I would sometimes watch from my window, when the turquoise sea was turned to grey and the fishing boats rattled in Treverick harbour, as if straining to break free and join the dance of the storm. But I always turned away, back to the fire and the piano I was supposed to be practising, or watching Aunt Beatrice as she taught me the finest embroidery.

I knew even then that the wild dance was calling to me far more than the Mendelssohn Etude I was perfecting (for even at that age I was determined to outdo the other girls in our social circle). Let alone the tedious embroidering of Aunt Beatrice’s firescreen, with its endless shrubbery and more than its fair share of fully clothed and simpering cherubs.

It was only later, much later, that I understood where my cowardice, and my self-satisfaction had led me, satisfaction in the small triumphs I had over half-a-dozen equally ill-informed girls who, like me, knew nothing beyond our small circle and a brief parading of ourselves in London Society.

And by then it was too late. Far, far too late. My shallow pride and my vanity had already sealed my fate.

I paused for a moment in front of Mr Meredith’s lodgings. I knew well enough where to find them, of course. I had not been quite able to resist passing them more than once as I made my way to the park nearby on my afternoon off. Although I never told anyone – and I made sure I hurried by, my face hidden – I could not always fight my curiosity to see where his life beyond the hospital took place.

I raised my hand to the knocker, and again my courage failed me. But only for a moment. I could see movement behind the door, in the lights of the hall. It was too late to go back now. I knocked.

I had expected a housekeeper. I’d braced myself. Spun a story about some urgent question concerning the hospital. But instead, I stepped back a little, as Mr Meredith opened the door himself.

For a moment, he stood there. Boxes and a large trunk stood ready behind him. The house, I knew immediately was silent. The staff had already gone. I half expected him to close the door, or at least shoo me back to the hospital to keep my reputation intact. And, for once, words failed me. I did not know where to begin.

He smiled that old, familiar smile.

‘You had better come inside,’ he said.

 ‘Ready?’ said David, as Carys emerged from settling Mam safely in Nainie’s old room, with Angela in full attendance and the photographs spread out on a table.

Carys glanced at the terseness of his face. ‘Are you sure about this? We can leave it to another time, if you prefer.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly. ‘Rhiannon’s found you this.’ Carys found herself presented with a purple mohair cardigan that reached down to her knees and was most definitely Rhiannon. ‘The air can be cold out there on the lake.’

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, taking possession of the fluffy softness.

The boat tied up at the jetty was not exactly inspiring.

‘I hope that isn’t the same one we used to use as kids,’ said Carys.

‘It’s okay,’ he replied, with a grin. ‘Rhiannon made me get rid of that one years ago. In you go, Hodge.’

The rowing boat was larger and more substantial than it had first appeared. Carys stepped in, followed by David, as Hodge settled himself into what appeared to be a practised routine of curling up under the nearest bench.

David detached the oars hidden in a shelf beneath the jetty. ‘Just in time,’ he remarked, as Carys unwound the rope keeping the boat in place, allowing him to pull away into deeper waters. ‘Here comes trouble.’ He motioned towards a perfectly white swan which, used to the appearance of humans heralding food, was sailing majestically in their direction, snackering with his beak at any moorhen who got in his way.

‘Why, is it dangerous?’ asked Carys, trying not to sound wimpish. Swans could break your leg with their wings. She’d read it once. And a broken leg was the last thing she needed in her life just now.

‘Hallelujah? No, he’s not dangerous. Rhiannon’s been feeding him along with the rest of them.’ His voice was wry. ‘He just needs a girlfriend. Swans mate for life, and no one seems to fancy him. I don’t blame them: he’s a bad tempered old bird.’

‘Poor thing.’ Carys smiled sympathetically at the swan, which was watching them expectantly, but with a faint air of knowing disappointment was around the corner.

David manoeuvred around to the right direction and began pulling away, setting them slipping gently through the waters. Soon they were in the middle of the lake and heading for the small island at the very centre.

Near-to, it could scarcely be called an island at all. Not even a duck island. Just a scrub-covered mound really, filled with nest boxes. A sign carved in slate, with an intricate surround of mistletoe and oak leaves proclaimed ‘Ynys Afalon’.

‘“The Island of Apples”,’ translated Carys. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Avalon. That’s where King Arthur was supposed to be buried, wasn’t it? I thought that was on Snowdon? Unless you’re from Glastonbury, of course.’

David paused, allowing the boat to glide silently forwards under its own steam. ‘That was Dad’s joke. Calling the island Avalon. He roped in Huw and me to put that sign there, when we were little. Dad always had this thing about King Arthur.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s where we scattered the ashes. It seemed kind of appropriate.’

Sod.

Cary could have kicked herself. She should have remembered. ‘Oh,’ she said.

David began rowing again, slowly, one oar, then the other. ‘I think Dad would have just loved to have lived in a time when there were knights and heroes. That’s probably why he loved cowboy films so much, when Huw and I were kids. They always had great social causes, did the Merediths. Not just in Eden, either. They set up charity schools and hospitals all over Wales in Victorian times. Even a couple in London, Dad used to say. Nainie’s father, my great-grandfather, was one of those really passionate philanthropists.’ He smiled. ‘Dad always hero-worshipped him. I suppose that’s why I was called after him. I think Dad would have liked to have been just like him. But Dad wasn’t really a brilliant businessman himself, so he never did earn the vast amounts it took to keep all the Meredith charities up as well as the estate. And besides, I think the welfare state rather took the wind out of his sails.’

‘Oh,’ said Carys, this being the only tactful thing she could think of to say. Now, she felt, was not the time to point out that the Merediths could hardly be classed amongst the poor, and there was always someone, somewhere in the world, in need of help.

David rowed on in silence, apparently lost in thought. Carys turned her face away, as if absorbed herself in the bound of startled rabbits in the fields alongside the water’s edge, and the distant rise of mountains behind.

Freed from the need to keep up a cheerful face in front of Mam, she could feel the hollowness opening up inside. Her mind, after its first rage and grief at the split with Joe, seemed to have gone numb. She had been through it over and over again so many times, her body wide-awake and crackling with betrayal at four o’clock each morning, however early or late she went to bed. She hadn’t even the energy to be angry any more.

Tylers had returned an attachment of the job description and application form within minutes of her sending her email. She had made a start, even though her heart wasn’t in it. With the flat already on the market and Mam showing signs of getting stronger, she had no choice. With so many people out there who’d die for such a chance, she could hardly complain. But it still felt like a step backwards. As if she had wasted so many years and left it too late even to aspire to the life she really wanted.

‘Won’t you miss this?’ she said, abruptly. ‘If it’s sold, I mean. I can see why Huw might want you to get rid of it, but Eden’s always been your life.’ David’s oar missed a stroke. He swore softly under his breath. ‘I’m sorry.’ Immediately she was contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to pry, and it’s none of my business. I just can’t imagine you without Plas Eden, that’s all.’

‘I might surprise you.’

Now she had offended him. Bloody men. Fragile egos, the lot of them. Why on earth did she bother? Carys took a deep breath. Her head had begun to ache with lack of sleep and if he was under the illusion she was nice, sweet, understanding Carys of years ago, he had another think coming. ‘I didn’t say it was some kind of failure,’ she returned, trying not to sound irritable. ‘Just that it seems a pity. Not many people have a chance to make a place like this their life’s work.’ She gave what she hoped was a suitably placating smile. ‘And be their very own lord of the manor.’

‘You make me sound like some medieval robber baron.’

‘Well, that’s probably how your family got the land in the first place, isn’t it?’ she retorted.

He turned to her. ‘Still with that chip on your shoulder?’

‘I do not have a chip on my shoulder. That’s the way the world works, hadn’t you noticed?’ Even in her own ears she sounded bitter. ‘At least the Merediths ended up with a sense of responsibility,’ she added, deliberately softening her tone. She didn’t want to fight with David. They had parted all those years ago with so much left unsaid: there was no point in arguing now. ‘I just meant that at least here you are in charge of your own destiny. It’s not like that when you’re working for an organisation. However high you climb, you are still working for somebody else. Here you can choose what you do. Within reason,’ she added, as he appeared about to dispute this fact. ‘Anyhow, as I said, it’s none of my business.’

David rowed on in silence, his face hidden so that she couldn’t make out his expression. Which was fine by her. This was beginning to feel like one big mistake. She should have insisted on the estate agent and avoided having anything to do with the Merediths at all. They’d only brought her heartache, last time around. Why have anything more to do with them now?

Carys returned to watching the fields and the mountains once more, blinking unexpected tears from her eyes. She was being unfair, she knew it. It wasn’t David’s fault she had messed up her life. He wasn’t responsible for her current problems. Her anger was with Joe, and with herself. At least she still had her health and her strength. Heaven knew what the prognosis was for a full recovery for David’s damaged leg. The last thing he needed was her sniping at him.

‘Wow, that looks pretty,’ she said in the friendliest tones she could muster as David expertly brought the boat alongside a rickety wooden jetty, definitely in need of repair. ‘I didn’t realise Eden Farm was so big.’

‘Not a mud hut for the servants, then,’ replied David, dryly.

She shot him an apologetic look. ‘Of course not.’

They set off along a well-worn path, Hodge racing in front of them. Eden Farm consisted of a traditional cottage of huge grey and brown stones under a dark slate roof. Yellow roses climbed up over the stones and around the small, square windows. On the reasonably flat ground between the cottage and the lake, before the ground swept up towards the mountains behind, neatly kept barns and greenhouses appeared, along with orderly beds containing the faded remains of vegetables and herbs, and a row of three large polytunnels.

‘That looks amazing,’ exclaimed Carys, who had finally worked out how to use Angela’s digital camera, and was busily photographing the outside of the cottage before the light went. ‘Your tenants must have done a lot of work.’

‘They did.’ David was watching Hodge, who was racing round in a state of mad-half-hour enthusiasm, with the odd hopeless dash towards instantly vanishing rabbit tails. ‘The Sullivans did miracles. It’s surprisingly sheltered, which I suppose is why the Estate’s kitchen gardens were put here in the first place.’

It was a strange feeling, thought Carys, to realise that this was, in some way, part of her. She could almost see the gardeners working their endless routine of ensuring there would be fruit and vegetables all year round for the family at Plas Eden and their guests. The polytunnels apart, it must have looked very like this when her grandfather had held the responsibility for feeding the big house, and even for his father before him. She could almost smell the autumn burning of leaves and the spring richness of freshly dug earth. It gave her a slight shiver in her spine to think of their eyes looking out on very much the same scene as she was seeing now.

‘Can we get into the kitchen garden?’ she asked, tentatively.

‘Yes, of course. Not that there’s much to see. We tend to keep it locked now there’s no one living in the cottage. Kids from the village don’t usually make it this far, but after that incident with the apple trees last month I’d rather not take any chances.’ David pulled a large, old-fashioned iron key from his pocket, and they made their way along a path of slate chippings to a painted wooden door.

‘Wow,’ breathed Carys, as they stepped through. A wilderness greeted them. An untamed wilderness of dock and grasses, surrounded by high stone walls, with a tantalising hint of distant apple trees and broken-down greenhouses between the jungle greenery. ‘The Sullivans didn’t start on this, then?’

He shook his head. ‘I know they pruned the fruit trees and a vine in one of the greenhouses, but I don’t think they did anything else. This was the next project.’

‘You could grow so much in here.’ Carys bent and parted the thick covering of couch grass. ‘I bet the soil is incredibly rich from all the care it must have had over the years.’ Nettles and docks stretched out on either side, leading to a rampant bank of raspberry canes. ‘It would need a hell of a lot of clearing, though.’

‘You’re telling me,’ said David, gloomily. The walled garden had drifted so far down the seemingly endless to-do list of the Eden estate, it had practically fallen off the bottom decades ago.

‘I bet it’s rabbit-proof, though.’ Carys was rapidly taking in every detail of the garden. ‘That wall looks pretty intact.’

‘There’s supposed to be a pineapple pit on the far side,’ David volunteered. ‘Where all those brambles are.’

‘Oh, so that’s where it is! Dad used to tell me about that.’ Carys sighed, wistfully. ‘He always said that was where they used to put in loads of manure to get the temperature right to grow pineapples, way before they had any other kind of heating. It was like a status symbol if you were posh,’ she added with a smile.

‘I’ll never dine without one again,’ he replied. His eyes met hers. Apology for her previous bad temper had been given, and accepted. Carys felt a sense of relief flooding through her. She didn’t want bad feelings between them. If this really was the last occasion they would spend any time in each other’s company, it would be better for both their sakes to end on some kind of peace.

David bent down to pat Hodge, who had completed a quick investigation of every possible corner of the garden and in the absence of rabbits had returned to lean gently on his good leg, gently nudging a dog-biscuit pocket. ‘I’ve been thinking it would be only fair to keep the cottage for Rhiannon, whatever happens with the rest of the estate. She wouldn’t be able to cope with all the land, of course, but a couple of people from the village have been asking about allotments. Which might be a possibility.’

‘That sounds a brilliant idea,’ said Carys enthusiastically. ‘Allotments are amazingly popular. The ones in Chester have something like a five-year waiting list. And apparently that’s nothing, nowadays. I’m sure once a few started, plenty of others would join in.’ She hesitated. She wanted to say something nice, but it seemed whatever she said came out the wrong way. ‘I’m sure Rhiannon will appreciate not having to move completely away,’ she said, slightly awkwardly. ‘And having somewhere to come back to.’