Forget Me Not (21 page)

‘How many bees will there be then?’

‘About fifty thousand, up from ten thousand or so now. That’s when bee activity is at its height because the nectar flow has reached its peak.’

‘How many queens are there?’

‘Just one in each hive. This one’s Victoria – Beckham obviously – and the two others are Elizabeth –’

‘Hurley?’

‘Yes. And Cleopatra. They all have clipped wings so that they don’t leave the hive, which would make the bees swarm.’

‘What’s the appeal of beekeeping?’ I asked as we walked back to the house twenty minutes later. ‘Is it the thrill of harvesting your own honey?’

‘No – because you only do that once a year. I think it’s because it’s all about working with Nature – accepting that here’s something you can’t control …’

‘But … why would you want to?’

‘What I mean is, you just have to give yourself up to Nature and … tune in to it. When it rains, for example, you know that the bees will come rushing back to the hive, because they hate the wet. When there’s a storm approaching you hear a roar from the hives as the bees flap their wings because they’re annoyed.’

‘And when they’re happy?’

‘You just hear a nice hum. I love that gentle hum of contented bees,’ he went on, as he took off his hat and overalls. ‘Beekeeping’s better than any therapy – it’s a modern-day yoga. Whenever I’m working with them my stress just evaporates. I tell them everything,’ he added as he unzipped my veil.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, today, for example, I told them that you were coming over.’

‘What was the buzz?’

‘They were delighted – especially when I said that you’re a gardener. Anyway – enough hive talking – let’s get this off you.’ He lifted off my hat, the veil lightly brushing my skin. Then he unzipped my jacket. And as I was still standing there, close to him, he put out his hand and stroked my face. I felt a sudden charge of electricity. ‘Let’s have a glass of champagne …’

‘And what’s the appeal of designing gardens?’ Patrick asked me as we sat at his kitchen table an hour later in the candlelight. ‘The fact that gardening’s become sexy? The new rock ’n’ roll?’

‘No.’ I spooned up the last of my chocolate mousse. ‘It’s because it involves art, and architecture and horticulture and colour – and knowledge of light and soil. I love it because no two days are the same, and because I’m often outside, and because I’m designing something that will, I hope, give pleasure for years to come.’

‘That must be rewarding.’

‘It is. The idea that I’m able to turn some scruffy backyard into, say, a little piece of Italy, as I’ve been asked to do recently in Hampstead – that’s a great feeling: I love the
transformation
of garden design – and the fact that I’m making something that’s going to endure.’

‘The plants don’t,’ he pointed out as he filled the kettle.

‘That’s true – they’ve got a limited life. But the skeleton of a garden – the paths and walls and paving – will last for decades. And that’s what I didn’t have when I was in the City – the sense that I was doing anything that mattered, let alone that I was creating anything that would last. And with hedge funds – well, you know how it works: these people are trading in shares they don’t actually own – just hedging their bets as to whether the market will rise or fall, then taking their twenty per cent cut of the huge profits. I couldn’t believe they were being paid so much for working with something that doesn’t even exist. I knew I had to get out and do something … worthwhile.’

‘And now you are – with considerable success.’ I thought of the garden in The Boltons – it was shaping up well. ‘Now … would you like some mint tea?’

I shook my head. ‘I ought to get back.’

‘I hope I see you again,’ he said as he helped me on with my coat.

I picked up my bag. ‘I hope you see me again too,’ I said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ I smiled at him. ‘Really.’

He was staring at me. ‘In that case, do you mind if I kiss you?’

My heart did a swallow dive. ‘No. I mean – yes, I mean … I don’t … mind, actually … I …’

But Patrick’s lips were already on mine. As he held me, I enjoyed the solid, sexy feeling of his strong physique against my own slight one, and the feel of his arms encircling me like a hoop.

Driving home, my body humming with desire, I thought of Xan. He’d moved on from me a long time ago and now the moment had come, at last, for me to move on from him. Sandra was right: I
did
have a right to a life, and a right to try and find love – or at the very least a good partner, who’d be a father figure to Milly. She needed that and Xan could hardly object. For nearly four years I’d led a Cinderella existence, waiting quietly in the shadows; maybe it was now time for me to go to the ball.

EIGHT

‘That’s balls,’ Jamie said three weeks later as we stood in the mud and rain in the Edwards’ garden. ‘You’re out by a good six centimetres.’

‘I’m not.’ I felt a drop of water trickle down my neck. ‘I measured it exactly.’

‘I don’t think you did, sweetheart.’

I showed him the site plan again. ‘I don’t know why we always have to have this argument, Jamie.’

‘Because we have lots of arguments,’ he said tetchily. Normally good-natured Jamie had been in a difficult, crotchety mood all day.

‘We do wrangle over things,’ I said, ‘that’s the nature of our professional relationship – but we always work it out, so let’s just look at it again.’ I took out the tape measure. ‘Grab the other end, will you?’

‘I tell you it won’t work,’ Jamie insisted. He pointed at the drawings. ‘And we can’t afford to get this wrong – not when the stone’s a hundred and twenty pounds a square metre.’

‘That’s true.’ I looked around the site. In the first two months the original hard landscaping had been removed and the ground levelled – four tons of earth had been carefully carried out of the garden. The electrician had put in the cables for the lighting, a specialist plumber had installed the irrigation system and now the slabs of creamy limestone, which were lying under a tarpaulin, were due to be laid the next day.

‘It’s eight centimetres out,’ Jamie insisted as we measured the space again. ‘So the pointing gap between each slab will be too wide.’

‘It won’t, I tell you.’

‘And I don’t want to do any patching up with offcuts – people would say I was a crap builder.’

‘We won’t do that, but look, Jamie.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘The Edwards’ will be home soon. They won’t want to find us bickering in their garden – and I have to get back for Milly, so let’s call it a day and sleep on it.’

‘OK.’ He sighed. ‘Whatever you say.’ He began to tidy the site, putting the tools in the temporary shed, covering the cement mixer with thick blue plastic sheeting and winding the electric cables back on to their spools.

‘Could you give me a lift home?’ I asked him as the housekeeper showed us out. ‘My car’s been playing up – it’s at the garage.’

‘Sure I will.’

‘Are you OK, Jamie?’ I asked as I sat in the passenger seat of his old pick-up truck a few minutes later.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied wearily. ‘Never been better.’ As he pulled up at a red light he ran his hand through his wet hair. ‘I’m feeling just … wonderful.’

I stared at his profile. ‘No you’re not.’

We listened to the regular beat of the windscreen wipers as they thrashed to and fro. ‘No.’ He sighed. ‘You’re right – I’m not. I can’t eat. I can’t think … I can’t sleep. I’m sorry I lost it a bit today, but I was up all night …’ He lowered his forehead on to the wheel and closed his eyes for a moment.

‘What’s happened, Jamie?’ He didn’t reply. Then, to my dismay, I saw his mouth quiver. ‘You can talk to me,’ I added gently. ‘We’re not just business partners, we’re friends. And if you’re feeling down I’d like to try and help.’

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, lifted his head and stared through the windscreen.

‘So… what is it?’

The light went green and he released the handbrake. ‘I’ve got problems,’ he said quietly as we moved forward.

‘What sort of problems?’ I asked, though I knew.

‘With Thea.’ His face was flushed with emotion.

‘Because she’s away so much?’ He nodded bleakly.

I reflected on the fact that although I’d now known Jamie for two and a half years I’d only met Thea three or four times. On each occasion I’d found her friendly, but had felt that hers was the polished charm of the practised PR.

‘Couldn’t she get a job that would keep her in London a bit more?’

He changed up a gear. ‘I’ve been asking her to, but she won’t. In a way, I can understand why. She’s only twenty-seven – she’s ambitious; she loves travelling. She’s riding the crest of a wave at work – and making good money – but it’s no good for
us
.’ I thought of the little space he’d left clear in his garden for a slide or a swing. ‘I’d love a family,’ he went on. ‘I want to feel that I’m working for a reason. We’ve been married four years now. I’m just…
jack
of it.’

‘Has she changed her mind about having kids?’

‘No. Or at least she says she hasn’t,’ Jamie added as he turned into Havelock Road. ‘But she’s ruled it out for the time being. Before our wedding she said she hoped to get pregnant within eighteen months – but then she got this job at The Pitch agency and that changed everything. Anyway… I’m a bit distracted at the moment, to put it mildly.’ He drew up outside my house.

‘Will you come in and have a beer?’ I asked as the engine ticked over.

‘I don’t know …’

‘You could park in my space here – come in, Jamie. Please. I don’t want to leave you like this.’

‘OK.’ He sighed as he turned off the engine. ‘It’s not as though there’s anyone at home – and it would be nice to see Milly – I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks.’

As I put the key in the lock, I heard Milly running down the hall. ‘Mum!’ I gathered her up in my arms and kissed her. ‘Hi, poppet! Thanks, Luisa,’ I added, ‘I’ll take over now.’

‘I go to swim, Anna.’

‘Enjoy yourself then.’ I wondered if that really was where she was going. ‘Look, Milly,’ I said, ‘here’s Jamie.’ Milly smiled at him, then looked away, suddenly shy. ‘He might read you a story.’

‘Of course I’ll read you a story, Princess.’ He unlaced his muddy Timberlands. ‘Let’s look in your book box, shall we?’

I put Milly down and she ran into the sitting room. ‘Caterpinnar!’ she shouted. ‘Want Caterpinnar, Jamie!’

As I opened the fridge I heard Jamie begin to read her
The
Very Hungry Caterpillar
and, as usual, Milly wanted to race through it as quickly as possible, turning over the pages in rapid succession.

‘On Saturday he ate …
one
piece of cake,’ I heard Jamie say.

‘… One pickle … one s’lami … one lollipop,’ I heard Milly anticipate excitedly as she flicked over the pages. ‘… Hungry
any
more … bee-
you-
tiful
butterfly
… the END!’ she shouted triumphantly.

‘She always does that,’ Jamie called out.

‘I know,’ I said as I opened two bottles of Stella. ‘It’s like watching the Reduced Shakespeare Company. She gallops through the story at ninety miles an hour.’

‘Why do you think she does it?’

‘Because she just loves shouting out “The End”! Don’t you, poppet?’

‘Let’s read something else,’ I heard Jamie say.

‘Gruffano!’ she yelled.

‘
The Gruffalo
? Ah … here it is … OK? Are you ready, Miss Milly?’

‘I ready.’

‘Right … A mouse took a stroll through a deep, dark wood … a fox –’

‘… Undergwound house,’ I heard Milly say, ‘… knobbly knees … owl I scream … roasted fox … logpile house … Gruffano cwumble … The END! Want DBD, Mum!’

‘Could you put on a DVD for Milly?’ I asked Jamie. ‘She’ll choose one.’

‘
Peter Rabbit
,’ I heard her say. ‘Want
Peter Rabbit
!’

I came in with the tray and Milly settled herself in her tiny yellow armchair as she watched the DVD, occasionally clapping her hand to her mouth at the drama of Peter’s close shave with Mr McGregor, then turning to us with round, shocked eyes.

‘Couldn’t you go with Thea on these trips sometimes?’ I said to Jamie as I handed him his beer.

He shook his head. ‘I’m too busy. Plus it would look a bit pathetic, wouldn’t it? As though I didn’t trust her.’

‘But you do?’

There was a slight pause. ‘I always have done,’ he replied carefully. He fiddled with his glass. ‘But now I’m not so sure.’ An uneasy feeling settled on my stomach. ‘A couple of days ago I found something. I’m trying not to overreact here, but …’ He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Well …’ He swallowed. ‘Over the last couple of months Thea’s been to South Africa three times – and she’s going again in ten days. And I had some things to wash so I pulled everything out of the laundry basket and at the bottom was one of Thea’s dresses. And I was just about to put it in the washing machine when I felt something in one of the pockets – a business card.’ He paused. ‘It was from this guy, Percy du Plessis. She’d never mentioned him, but the card said that he’s vice- chairman of the South African Tennis Federation. But on the back of the card he’d written that he “couldn’t wait” to see her again, and was “really looking forward” to their “hot date” in May, and how he was going to give her “a damn good time”, dot dot dot … it was incredibly suggestive.’

‘Oh. Well …’

‘You don’t have to say anything consoling,’ Jamie croaked. He sipped his beer. ‘It’s obvious what’s going on.’ It certainly didn’t sound promising. ‘But then there are so many temptations for Thea when she’s abroad. She stays in five star hotels; she’s invited to all these parties and receptions; she meets attractive, powerful men who probably want her – she’s gorgeous after all.’

‘And how is she towards you when she’s at home?’

‘Usually she’s … fine,’ he replied. ‘She’s very happy to see me again. But this last month or so she’s seemed remote, so I’d begun to feel that something might be going on. Then I found this card and … well …’ He shrugged. ‘It obviously is.’ His head sank into his hands. I saw Milly shoot him a perplexed but compassionate look. Then she came over to him and patted his leg, looking at him enquiringly.