Forget Me Not (17 page)

‘I grow lettuces,’ a man at the back shouted, ‘but the birds still get at them, despite the strings of tin foil I always put up.’

‘Then lay pieces of hosepipe about a yard long among them – the birds will think they’re snakes.’

Then Citronella put up her hand. ‘We’re fortunate enough to have a house in the country …’ I braced myself for her brag-fest. ‘It has a tennis court …’ I tried to imagine Citronella lumbering around it and couldn’t. ‘But we’d like to disguise it. What would you recommend?’

‘Something which doesn’t drop its leaves,’ I replied, forcing myself to sound polite. ‘You could have a rambling rose at one end – I’d recommend ‘Veilchenblau’ or ‘Rambling Rector’ – and, at the other end, an evergreen clematis. Armandii is a particularly lovely one, with very fragrant white flowers and large glossy trefoil leaves which look almost tropical – or
Clematis montana
always gives excellent coverage.’

‘We have lots of moles in our cottage in Devon,’ someone else asked. ‘What can we do?’

‘Wherever you see a hole, stuff a rhubarb stem down it – moles loathe the stuff. You could also put a child’s windmill into each molehill as they hate the vibrations from it as it whirls round.’ I glanced at my watch. It was eight thirty-five. ‘Well …’ I said. And I was about to bring the session to an end when a male voice from the very back said, ‘How can we make our gardens more attractive to bees?’

I looked up. The man looked familiar. Early forties. Attractive. My stomach did a flick-flack. It was the guy who’d found Milly’s shoe.

‘Erm … bees are wonderfully helpful insects to have around the garden,’ I began, feeling my face heat up. ‘They’re great pollinators, they aren’t aggressive and of course they make honey. Anyway, to answer your question, I’d recommend planting buddleia – which also attracts butterflies of course – as well as
Ceanothus
, foxgloves,
Penstemons
and anything particularly scented such as
Nicotiana
, summer jasmine, wallflowers and honeysuckle. If you have space for an elderflower they’ll also love that.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled.

Then Joanna stepped forward. ‘Sadly we have to stop there, but that was fascinating,’ she said, ‘so I’d like to offer our thanks to Anna for sharing such a wealth of information with us this evening.’

There was a polite round of applause. Then I stepped off the stage, where one or two people were waiting to ask me further questions. As I answered them I became aware that the man who’d asked me about bees was standing in the background. He gave me a diffident smile.

‘Hi,’ I said, smiling. ‘It’s you …’ He had a lovely open face, prematurely grey hair, which made him look distinguished, and large hazel eyes, which seemed almost the colour of ginger. His lips were fine and were framed by two curving lines, like brackets, which gave him an amused expression. There was a tiny, crescent-shaped scar on the bridge of his nose.

‘It’s nice to see you again,’ he said. ‘You were obviously in a tearing hurry when we met the other day.’

‘I was on my way to see potential clients. I was feeling rather nervous. But … do you live around here?’

He shook his head. ‘I used to – but I’m in St Peter’s Square in Hammersmith now.’

‘I know it …’ He must be successful, I realised. It was one of the loveliest squares in west London. ‘So what brings you here?’

‘Well … I saw the piece about you in the paper yesterday and I recognised you from last Saturday and so I thought’ – he shrugged – ‘that I’d come along.’

‘Oh. Well … you asked a nice question.’

‘I’m afraid it was a bit staged.’

‘In what way?’

‘If you come and have dinner with me some time you’ll see.’

‘But … I don’t know you,’ I said, laughing. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Patrick,’ he said. ‘There. Now you do.’

‘Attention, please, everyone!’ we heard Joanna shout. ‘It’s now time to announce the result of the raffle and my daughter, Bella, is going to draw the winning tickets. So let’s start with the third prize, which is a signed copy of David Attenborough’s latest book,
The Planet Earth
– and that goes to …’

Bella, who looked about twelve, smiled self-consciously, revealing a mouthful of metal. Then she dipped her hand into the top hat, rummaged around for a moment and pulled out a pink cloakroom ticket. ‘Number two five thixth,’ she announced.

‘Number 256!’ Joanna repeated loudly. ‘Anyone have that ticket? 256?’ No one came forward. ‘We’ll check it afterwards,’ she said, ‘we have names and addresses. On to the second prize then, which is lunch for two at the River Café …’

Bella dipped her hand into the hat again and pulled out a blue ticket. ‘It’th number one three theven,’ she said, waving it about.

‘Number 137,’ said Joanna, her eyes scanning the crowd. ‘Who’s the lucky person with ticket 137?’ There was silence. ‘How odd,’ she said after a few moments. ‘Never mind – we can track them down. But now we come to our first prize, which is a free garden design consultation with Anna Temple – worth a hundred pounds. Could you draw the winning ticket, Bella, please?’

She dipped her hand into the hat for the last time and pulled out a green ticket. ‘It’th number thixth!’

Patrick fumbled in his pocket and produced a strip of tickets. ‘That’s me!’ he shouted. He grinned at me and went up to collect his prize.

‘Congratulations,’ I said wryly when he returned with the gold envelope.

‘I’m delighted,’ he replied. ‘Now you’ll
have
to see me again.’ I smiled. ‘Here.’ He handed me his card. It said that his name was Patrick Gilchrist and that he was the Non-Executive Chairman of Total Technology. He opened the envelope. ‘And all your details are here. So I hope you won’t mind if I call you – now that I’ve got a valid reason to do so.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t mind at all.’

SIX

I assumed that Patrick would call me within a few days but I didn’t hear from him. I was taken aback at how disappointed I felt, but at the same time, oddly, I was cheered since it at least proved that I could be interested in a man again.

The following week I bumped into Joanna Silver in the local delicatessen.

‘Thanks so much for your talk,’ she said as we hovered by the cheese counter. ‘The evening was a huge success – oh, that large goat, please – we raised four thousand pounds. But you know that man who won first prize in the raffle?’ she went on. ‘Patrick Gilchrist?’

‘Yes,’ I said, my pulse racing slightly.

‘Well, the funny thing is that when we checked the other winning tickets, those were both his numbers too.’

I stared at her. ‘What an amazing coincidence.’

‘No it wasn’t,’ she corrected me. ‘Because it turned out that he’d bought nearly all of them: 460! At fifty pence each! But when I phoned him the next day he said he hadn’t wanted to claim the other prizes because he didn’t want to appear greedy. Wasn’t that nice?’

‘Very nice,’ I concurred. So the only prize he’d wanted was the consultation with me – which made it even odder that he hadn’t called.

Another two weeks went by and still Patrick hadn’t been in touch, and I’d just made up my mind to forget him, deciding that he must be eccentric, when I got an e-mail from him, explaining that he’d been away, but was now back and would love me to come and see his garden. As much of my working week was being spent on the Boltons project I suggested that we made it on a Friday afternoon.

Let’s make it this Friday then, he e-mailed back. At 4.30.
And I hope you’ll stay for a drink
.

I clicked on Reply:
If I can square it with my au pair that
would be nice
.

‘I’m going out now,’ I explained slowly to Luisa at 3.30 on the following Friday. ‘I have that meeting I told you about. Remember? But I should be back by 7.30 as I’ll put Milly to bed myself.
I’ll
put her to
bed
,’ I repeated. I clasped my hands by my ear to indicate sleeping.

Luisa looked nonplussed. ‘You go bed now?’

‘No, Luisa.’ I sighed. ‘I
not
go bed now. I go
work
now. I back 7.30.’ I wrote it down in numerals. ‘Me back’ – I ‘walked’ two fingers along the table – ‘7.30.’
Jesus!

‘
Ah, sí
,’ she said, beaming. ‘
Comprendo. Las siete y treinta.
Bueno
.’

‘
Bueno!
’ Milly echoed, looking up from her book.

‘Luisa,’ I said in exasperation. ‘You really must work harder at your English. You’ve been here two months now and it’s little better than it was when you arrived.’

‘
Sí – iss
little better,’ Luisa agreed happily.

I groaned inwardly, then bent to kiss Milly. As I did so, my eyes strayed to the picture book that she was reading. ‘Where did you get this, darling? It’s lovely.’

‘Luisa gib to me,’ she replied.

‘Did you, Luisa?’ I asked. ‘Did you give Milly this book?’ I held it up to aid comprehension, then pointed at her, then Milly.

‘
Sí
.’ She shrugged. ‘
No, es nada
– iss nothing.’

‘Well, that’s … very kind.’ I looked at the back – it had cost twelve pounds. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful.’ Bye, my little darling.’ I kissed Milly again.

‘
Adiós, Mamá!
’ she said.

As I drove over to Hammersmith I wondered what Luisa
did
all morning at her English classes. This couldn’t go on. What if there were some emergency and she couldn’t make herself understood?

I found a parking space in Black Lion Lane, which leads into St Peter’s Square. I dabbed on some scent and checked my reflection in the driving mirror. My heart sank. My hair was a mess. Because it’s so fair I don’t have to have it highlighted, but it’s very fine, so it needs to be well cut. As I ran a comb through it I thought enviously of Cassie’s long, luxurious dark tresses. I was lucky if my hair made it down to my nape. Locking the car, I made a mental note to make an appointment with Sandra, my hairdresser of twelve years, then I walked round the corner and found number 36.

The house was an early-Victorian villa – smaller than the other houses, but with elegant arched windows. I went up the front steps and rang the bell.

‘Anna!’ Patrick was beaming at me. He looked tanned.

‘Hi. You’ve caught the sun. Have you been somewhere hot?’

‘Hotter than here. New Zealand.’

‘Was it a business trip?’

‘No …’

‘Do you have family there?’

He hesitated for a moment. ‘My son lives in Christchurch.’

Patrick must have been a very young father, I thought – or the boy might be on his gap year. ‘What does he do?’

‘He’s in pre-school. He’s four and a half.’

‘Oh …’ I murmured. I felt a wave of compassion for Patrick.

‘Anyway …’ he said, ‘it’s great that you’re here. Will you have a cup of tea before we start?’

‘No thanks – I’d prefer to crack on as there’s only an hour of daylight left.’

He took his jacket off a peg, then nodded at the Nikon round my neck. ‘You’ve brought your camera?’

‘I photograph every garden I survey so that I have that early visual reference; not that you have to commission me,’ I added quickly. ‘It’s only a consultation. You can ask me anything you like about your garden, or I could suggest ways to revamp it with a few new plants maybe, or an additional border.’

We walked through the tiled hallway into the kitchen and he opened the back door. I stepped on to the terrace and stopped in my tracks.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘And it’s big.’

‘Big for London – about thirty metres.’

As we walked through it I saw that it had clearly been professionally designed, using classic design principles in which the plot is divided into three parts.

The part nearest the house was terraced with brick, on which there were a number of planters filled with yellow and white hyacinths; there was a large arbour and underneath it an elegant wrought-iron table and chairs: then there was a diagonal path leading to a formal lawn, which was circular and semi-enclosed by a slightly raised border that glowed with daffodils and primulas: beyond that another diagonal path led off to the right towards the very end of the garden which looked as though it had been left artistically wild.

‘You’ve got me here under false pretences,’ I said. ‘It’s beautifully done.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I do. There’s a lot of interest – the diagonal paths confound the eye so that you don’t see the whole garden at once, but are led through it, gradually; the borders are well planted and attractively shaped. You have plenty of mature shrubs – these camellias are lovely – and that
Magnolia grandiflora
’s going to be fantastic. There are plants for dark places, like these lovely hellebores, there are grasses to give texture, and scented things …’ I could smell the seductive, lily-like fragrance of the
Mahonia
. ‘It must look wonderful in the summer if it’s as good as this now.’

‘It’s not bad.’

‘Did you have it done?’

‘No. It was more or less like this when I bought the house.’

‘It looks perfect – do you have a gardener?’

‘Not at the moment. I prefer to do it myself as I have the time, and I find it therapeutic.’

‘I don’t know what to suggest,’ I said as we neared the end. The shrubs had recently had their first prune: the grass had been mown and the edges trimmed; creamy
Narcissi
mingled with china-blue
Chianodoxa
in the crescent-shaped borders. ‘We could talk about planting if you like – I could suggest a few unusual annuals that would look wonderful in the summer: I don’t know whether you like zinnias – there’s a beautiful lime-green one – or giant
Alliums
and there’s a crimson sunflower which looks quite spectacular – oh.’ I’d stopped in my tracks. There was a small pond and beyond that three gnarled old apple trees, which were just about to blossom, and underneath each one a gabled beehive. ‘You keep bees?’ I murmured.