Forget Me Not (16 page)

‘It’s very contemporary,’ Gill said, ‘but also classical. I like it.’

‘Well …’ her husband said. ‘I don’t like it …’ Damn you, I thought. ‘I
love
it!’ I exhaled with relief. ‘It has a – I don’t know – a … a …’

‘Timeless elegance?’ Jamie suggested.

‘Yes. Exactly. A timeless elegance.’ I flashed Jamie a warning look.

‘But would you want to remove all the existing plants?’ his wife asked.

I shook my head. ‘I’d keep all the ones that are going to work well with the new scheme – in this case the Moroccan broom, though I’d like to move it so that it gets more light; I’d also like to keep the
Fremontodendron
– that’s the California Glory there – although we’d have to cut it back and train it properly; and the fig tree of course.’

‘Do feel free to dig up the hydrangeas,’ Martin said indolently.

‘Absolutely not!’ his wife protested. ‘You know perfectly well that I love them.’

‘And you know perfectly well that I loathe them, darling. Always have done.’ He suddenly blasted them with an imaginary shotgun.

‘Well,’ I said, taken aback, ‘these ones are old and rather diseased, so I was going to replace them with new ones.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Martin insisted. ‘I can’t stand them – they’re yucksville.’ He was making gagging gestures.

‘Well, I adore them,’ Gill said. ‘And would you cut out the histrionics, darling?’

‘Hydrangeas are so …’ He pulled an appalled face. ‘
Suburban
.’

‘They’re not,’ she flung back. ‘My parents had them in Poole.’

‘Exactly,’ he murmured.

‘And let’s face it, darling, you like gladioli which are completely naff.’

‘That’s tosh.’

‘And as we have a whole border full of your ghastly orange gladioli in Oxfordshire, I really don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to have a few harmless hydrangeas in town. Don’t you agree, Anna?’

‘Erm … well, I like them, I must say, and the dried flower heads provide winter interest – but you’re the clients so it’s your call.’

Now Martin was pointing at the hydrangeas and making slashing gestures across his throat.

‘Anyway,’ his wife went on, rolling her eyes, ‘let’s discuss something less contentious – money.’ She looked at me expectantly.

I took a deep breath. ‘Well, this is a big project,’ I said. ‘With a corresponding budget.’ I handed her the costings and her eyes skimmed over them to the bottom line.

‘A hundred thousand?’ she said, her brow pleating. That’s for everything presumably.’

‘Yes.’

‘And your fees will be what?’

‘About six per cent of that.’

‘Would you do it for eighty?’ she asked.

I’d been prepared for this. ‘I can’t,’ I replied. ‘Because of the stone. For eighty you’d have to have something much cheaper, like Indian sandstone. It’s very attractive,’ I assured them, ‘but I feel that Portuguese limestone is essential, because that’s what you have in your hall, and you said you wanted the garden to be an extension of the house, to flow from it, almost.’

‘We do want that.’

‘I could get the costs down to ninety-five thousand, although I’d have to cut a few corners.’

Martin shrugged. ‘Seems a shame to spoil the ship for a hap’orth of tar.’ Especially as they must be pulling in at least three million a year between them, I thought. ‘And how long would it take to build? We’re hoping to have a big housewarming in late June.’

‘It would take about four months from beginning to end.’

Gill stood up. ‘Then I guess you’d better get started.’ My heart leapt. ‘Is that OK, Martin?’

‘That’s fine – as long as there’s a “no-hydrangea” clause in the contract.’

‘So what happens next?’ she asked me, ignoring him.

‘I’ll send you the paperwork,’ I replied.

‘And I’ll draw up a quote for the materials,’ said Jamie. ‘If you accept it I’ll need a deposit of thirty per cent so that I can start ordering everything, but you’ll get itemised receipts.’

‘That all sounds very satisfactory.’ Mrs Edwards held out a perfectly manicured hand. ‘So I guess it’s a deal. Isn’t it, Martin?’

He nodded. ‘Looks like a deal to me.’

‘That’s … great,’ I said, doing my best not to look too thrilled.

Jamie and I stayed for another hour or so, so that he could survey the site with me in more detail, taking further measurements and calculating the amount of earth that would have to be removed, as well as the elevations and the best drainage points.

When I got home I drew up the contract and as I was putting it in an envelope the phone rang. It was Joanna Silver, the vicar’s wife. ‘I just wanted to remind you about next Friday,’ she said. My mind went blank. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten.’ I had. ‘It’s the fund-raising party for the church’s new Community Outreach centre.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ I’d offered to do a Gardener’s Question Time session.

‘The evening kicks off at seven,’ I heard her say, ‘and you’ll be on at eight for half an hour. I’ve been telling everyone about you and, I don’t know whether you saw it, but I also put a photo of you in the local paper, with a few lines about the event.’

‘I didn’t see it, no,’ I replied, feeling irritated that she hadn’t asked me, but at the same time pleased to have had the publicity.

‘I used the photo on your website,’ she went on. ‘There’s already quite a bit of interest. But I’ve also done something else which I just wanted to run by you …’

‘Yes?’

‘Which is to make the first prize in the raffle a free garden design consultation with you. I hope you don’t mind.’

In fact, I did mind because I was about to be very busy and it was extremely unlikely to lead to a commission.

‘That’s absolutely fine,’ I said.

On the Friday evening I got to the church hall early and had a glass of white wine to steady my nerves. Citronella and her husband arrived shortly after me, and were soon smiling and nodding graciously at everyone as though they were hosting the event. I wished she’d sent Erasmus to a different nursery school but fortunately his Italian nanny, Claudia, usually brought him, as Citronella was presumably too busy writing her weekly bilge.

At least the other mothers seemed nice, I thought, as I circulated, listening to the string trio hired for the evening. I didn’t know any of them that well yet, as Milly had only been there a month. But I could see Annabel Goodchild by the tombola, and Nina Taszkanowski selling plants, and Michal Navon was manning the bookstall – she and her family had recently moved here from Israel – and there was that little girl Lucy’s mum – she was always friendly; what was her name? Oh yes, Claire.

I chatted to the few people I knew, then I bought some toys for Milly, including an erasable Mega Sketch Magic Writer and an almost new DVD of
Beauty and the Beast
. I bought two white
Hellebores
for Jenny’s garden – then I paused at the produce stand.

‘How about some honey?’ the woman behind the stall asked me, tapping the lid of a jar. ‘It’s produced locally.’ I glanced at the label, which was illustrated with a large, stripey bee with a halo over its head. Bee Good, it said.

‘No thanks,’ I replied. ‘I’m afraid I don’t really like honey.’

‘Don’t you?’ She looked slightly horrified, as though I’d said ‘I don’t like giving to charity’.

‘I find it too sweet,’ I explained. ‘But I’d love some truffles.’ I then tried to buy a few raffle tickets but, to my surprise, they’d already sold out. I had another glass of wine to give me Dutch courage and glanced at my watch. It was two minutes to eight. I saw Joanna Silver waving at me from the stage, so I stepped forward and she tapped on the mike.

‘And now, the highlight of the evening,’ she began as the hubbub subsided. ‘To those of you who don’t already know her, may I introduce our local celebrity garden designer – Anna Temple …’ She indicated me with a sweep of her hand. ‘Anna – whom you may have seen on GMTV recently – has kindly agreed to answer all your horticultural queries this evening.’

There was a polite round of applause as I went up the worn wooden steps at the side on to the stage. I sat at the table and looked at the sea of faces staring up at me, and felt suddenly embarrassed and exposed. An uncomfortable silence descended, so I blew into the mike, then straightened it.

‘Thanks for that, Joanna …’ I began nervously. ‘Hi, everyone. Erm – I’m not a celebrity – and I’ve only been designing gardens professionally for a couple of years. But all my adult life I’ve been a keen amateur gardener – as was my mother, from whom I learned lots of useful gardening tips, which I’d be more than happy to share with you. So all you have to do is ask me a question about your plants or trees, or your rockery, or whatever it is, and if I can answer helpfully, I will.’

There was another silence, then Joanna coughed. ‘Let me get the ball rolling,’ she said. ‘This is the time of year for planting baskets. Any advice as to how to make them look good?’

‘Well …’ I cleared my throat. ‘When planting a hanging basket, the trick is to work from the inside out, then finally push the plants through the outside, using a potato peeler to make a space for the roots. I also recommend lining the baskets with used tea bags before adding the compost as they make a great fertiliser and also retain water.’

‘How can you stop the baskets dripping so much when you water them?’ Joanna added.

‘By putting a few ice cubes on them instead – it also uses a lot less water in these drought-stricken days.’

‘I’m not very tall,’ a tiny woman in a yellow coat said. ‘How can I make it easier to water my baskets?’

‘You could attach a length of bamboo to the last few feet of the hose to keep it rigid.’

‘Ah …’ She nodded in an enlightened way.

A silver-haired woman to my right put up her hand. ‘I do about ten pots every year,’ she said. ‘But I find them very heavy.’

‘Then you could reduce their weight by filling the lower half with polystyrene chips, then adding the compost on top.’

A man in the front row put up his hand. ‘How can I keep slugs out of my planters?’

‘By smearing them with Vaseline every couple of weeks – the planters, that is, not the slugs.’

‘Glad you clarified that!’ someone tittered.

‘You could also stand them in a large tray of water or, better still, lager. But please don’t use slug pellets as hedgehogs tend to eat them. Another deterrent is to sprinkle the base of the plants with salt or broken eggshells. Alternatively you could keep a few toads.’

‘We seem to have a lot of snails in our garden,’ a man said. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘Do you have any ivy?’

‘Yes. Along the back fence.’

‘That’s the reason, then – snails love it; so unless you’re very fond of it, I’d get rid of it – in any case there are so many nicer things that you could plant in its place.’

‘How can I make my house plants greener?’ a man at the back asked.

‘By adding a drop of castor oil to the soil every six weeks. House plants also love tea – preferably warm – and their leaves enjoy a wipe down with beer.’

‘How can I revive cut flowers?’ a woman in a pink jacket asked.

‘Just drop an aspirin into the vase – the salicylic acid comes close to the natural growth hormones found in plants. A two-pence piece will do the same thing because the copper perks them up. Add a teaspoon of bleach to stop the water going cloudy.’

‘I love tulips,’ her neighbour said. ‘But they always flop so quickly.’

‘I know – it’s so disappointing,’ I replied. ‘But if you prick their stems, just below the head, they won’t flop, because it breaks the vacuum allowing water to be drawn up.’

We then came on to the subject of weeds.

‘How can you kill the weeds on a path without using chemicals?’ a man asked.

‘With a concoction of boiling water and salt – add about a cupful to half a bucket of water – but use a metal bucket and be careful carrying it.’

‘I’ve got some very nice, lightweight plastic garden furniture,’ a woman in the middle of the room said. ‘But it’s become very stained and no amount of scrubbing seems to make a difference.’

‘Then make a paste of baking soda and water and rub it on – wipe it off after half an hour and the furniture will have a new lease of life.’

‘Where’s the best place to put a pond?’ Michal Navon asked.

‘In a semi-shady area,’ I replied, ‘because direct sunlight encourages the growth of algae.’

‘We get herons coming down to ours,’ a man said, ‘taking our fish and frogs. We love herons, but wish they wouldn’t do this.’

‘Then make life tricky for them by making access to your pond more difficult. Plant shrubs right up to the edge. This will also prevent innocent passers-by such as hedgehogs from falling in.’

‘Do you think bizzie lizzies are non-U?’ I heard someone say. There was a ripple of laughter.

‘Do I think bizzie lizzies are non-U?’ I repeated. ‘No. I don’t – not at all. And I find the idea of being snobbish about certain flowers or plants ridiculous – but you’d be amazed at how worked up some people get. I have clients at the moment – the husband loathes hydrangeas and his wife loves them – we’re still trying to resolve the issue without involving lawyers; I have other clients who argue quite viciously over whether or not to include dahlias in the planting scheme, or marigolds, or petunias.’

‘Crazy …’ someone murmured.

‘I agree. There are certainly fashions in planting – and at the moment black flowers are, well, the new black. New varieties of black
Alliums
, black scabious and even black delphiniums have been cultivated, and they can add a certain dark excitement to a border. But to me, it’s a question of the right plant for the right place. I’ve just been commissioned to do an Italian-style garden in Hampstead, so obviously I’m not going to be filling it with forget-me-nots and foxgloves, but with lavender, oleander, plumbago and with aromatic plants such as rosemary and thyme. But to go back to bizzie lizzies – I often use white ones in window boxes, or to brighten up a dark corner – so no, I don’t find them socially unacceptable in any way.’

We then discussed the best way to mark plants – I suggested using white plastic knives, and a black chinagraph, which is what my mother did; I talked about how hollyhocks will grow taller if you give them beer; I was asked how to make a new lawn grow faster – by refrigerating the seeds for a couple of days before sowing them. I glanced at my watch. It was eight twenty-five.