The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) (7 page)

“How do you know that?”

“She was fiddling with her ring finger. There was no ring but a pale mark where one had been.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re a police officer.”

He half-closed his eyes. “Would you like another pint?”

“No, I want to go home with you.”

As they walked back on the footpath through a field of stubble and chaff, Pru said, “For the last two weeks, ever since we started back to work after the holidays, Liam has been angry at Ned and made no attempt to hide it.” She looked at Christopher, a small frown on her face. “Why would Liam be angry with the father of the girl he was seeing? Although,” she remembered, “Cate herself didn’t look too happy when she mentioned Ned.”

Christopher took Pru’s hand as they hopped over a particularly large fissure. “Who was she married to? Not Liam,” he said.

“No, not Liam.”

A light mist fell as they walked back, seeping through the layers of clothes. Christopher built a fire—he was an artist in kindling and logs. They settled on the sofa and soon forgot about everyone’s troubles.

Too early on Monday morning, Christopher drove off into the darkness. Neither of them had been happy about it. They stood silent in each other’s arms before he left, until finally he took a deep breath, but Pru spoke first.

“I’m sorry you have to go.”

“You’ll be busy,” he said.

“As will you, I know.”

“And I’ll be back. But…”

“I know we can’t do this every weekend,” she said. “Still…”

He finished it for her. “It’s better than it might have been—at least you aren’t in Texas.”

“We’ll see how long that works for us.”

Before getting in his car, he covered her face with kisses.

A pall hung over everyone that morning as they went about their work in the gray light, puffing clouds of fog like steam engines and stamping their feet against the cold ground. Pru couldn’t shake the sadness of Christopher leaving—really, she kept saying to herself, he’s only gone up to London. Ned shuffled around, Fergal worked without speaking, even Liam was subdued, and there was no Robbie to brighten the day with talk of Robin Hood. What pale winter sun there was faded after lunch as clouds drew close, making the day darken even earlier than usual.

Pru had walked to her cottage at lunch and returned by way of the lower path to the back gate of the walled garden. Preoccupied with thoughts of the next big project—the gardens immediately around the house—the loud voices didn’t register until she walked in and saw Ned and Liam in each other’s faces like two rams about to butt heads.

“It’s no concern of yours,” Ned growled, his hands clenched at his sides.

“It bloody well is my concern if you won’t do anything,” Liam shouted back, jabbing his finger at the old man’s chest.

They both stopped when they realized Pru was there and, without a word, turned and walked off in different directions.

Her spirits couldn’t have been lower. Here it was Monday, and the week was already a disaster. Fergal stood near the front gate talking with the mason, and she made her way up to them, longing for some peaceful conversation. The mason had packed up and said he would be back the next day, but would have to put off work after that until the following week as he had a job to finish near Lamberhurst.

Ned appeared around one corner, Liam from the other. They stopped about twenty feet from each other, as if their anger created a force field between them. The silence was deafening.

“Let’s stop for today, shall we?” Pru said. They had spent the morning spreading more of the manure and had at least made progress. Without comment, Fergal collected and began cleaning off the spades.

Liam walked toward her, but stopped and turned away when Ned came up first.

Ned looked over his shoulder before saying, “Another day, Pru, perhaps a quieter day, could we have a chat?”

They’d had no quieter day than the one just finished, but she could guess that what he meant was a day without Liam. “Sure, Ned, that would be fine. Do you want to stay today and we can talk?”

“No, not today,” he said, and lifted his chin. “I’ve something to do.”

“Right, well, any day is fine with me.” He made a movement to leave. “Ned,” she said as an afterthought, “I met Cate.”

She’d never seen such a smile on him before, revealing a row of too-perfect teeth. “You met my girl? She’s her dad’s pride and joy. And did you meet the wee one?”

“No,” Pru said, and smiled. “I haven’t met Nanda yet.”

“Well, she’s a charmer, just like her mum.” Ned straightened his shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Liam didn’t approach her again, and they all went their separate ways.

At home, Pru showered and sat at the kitchen table with the Red Book, forgetting her worries as she got lost in Repton’s plan. For each of his clients, including Primrose House, he painted watercolor landscape views as they were, and then cut a horizontal strip out of the paper, keeping it attached at one end. Behind the opening he placed another watercolor that showed what his proposed landscape would look like. It worked like a charm: here’s what you see now; lift the flap and here’s what you’ll see if you hire me. He had been quite a salesman.

Tires crunched on the gravel outside, bringing Pru back to the twenty-first century. When she opened the door, there stood Jamie Tanner.

“Pru, hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this.” He smiled at her as he gave his stubbly chin a scratch.

“Not at all. Come in. Would you like tea?”

“No, no,” he said as he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, “I don’t want to be a bother, just thought I’d find out how you’re doing. Are you getting to know the place well?”

What is he, the welcome wagon?
she thought. “Look, why don’t you come in—it’s quite cold out there.”

“Oh sure, well, if it’s no bother.” He stepped inside and stood by the kitchen table. “So, have you met some friends?”

She busied herself with the kettle and said over her shoulder, “I haven’t had much chance to socialize except to get to know everyone here—the Templetons, Ned, Fergal and Liam, and Robbie and Ivy.” She heard a chair scrape on the floor, and could’ve sworn she’d seen him kick it. “Do you know Robbie and Ivy Fox?”

“No,” he said, “I don’t believe I do. Do you go down to the Two Bells ever? It is your local, after all, and they pour a good pint.”

She turned to face him, and leaned back against the rail on the Aga. “Yes, I’ve been in a few times, usually on the weekends—I’ve no time during the week. How’s your job?”

“My job?” he asked, and laughed as if she’d told a joke. “My job is, yeah, good. My job is good.” He looked right and left, and then said, “Look, I’ve got to go. Just wanted to stop and say hello. I’ll be seeing you.”

She followed him to the door and watched him drive away. He hit the accelerator too hard and showered gravel everywhere. As his car got to the lane and turned out, another car turned in, coming just as quickly as Jamie had left and scattering more gravel when it stopped. Liam got out and slammed the door.

“What’s he doing here?” he shouted at Pru. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“What?”

“Are you on his side?” he continued to shout as he walked toward her.

“Calm down,”
she shouted back, “and tell me what you’re talking about.”

He stopped. His face was blotched, his eyes on fire, and his breathing heavy. “Come in here and sit down,” she said.

She really did feel like his mother now. The kettle had boiled, and she prepared the tea. Liam yanked a chair out, plopped down, crossed his arms, and didn’t speak. She cut a few slices of Ivy’s tea cake and put the plate, along with mugs, milk, and sugar, on the table. She sat down across from him and said, “There now. What’s wrong?”

“Pru, do you not care what he’s done? How can you be friendly to a man who would do that?”

“Liam, I do not have a clue what you’re on about.”

He jerked his thumb toward the road. “He hit her.” He stood up again abruptly and walked to the door, as if he could see Jamie through the small frosted window. “She spent years putting up with his yelling and bullying, and then he hit her. And she left.”

Pru looked at the door, realization dawning. “Jamie is Cate’s husband. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had no idea.” Liam sat back down again and let out a big breath. As she poured the tea, Pru tried to reconcile the image of Jamie that Liam painted of an abusive husband with the image she’d already formed of him—a helpful colleague, although one who seemed to want her job. “Christopher noticed she’d worn a ring.”

“We dated for a while before she met him,” Liam said, stirring sugar into his tea, “but I wasn’t ready to settle down. I’d no real work, and he was older and had a job—she said he was charming.” Liam said the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Not too difficult a choice there.”

“But maybe now she realizes it might not have been the best one. Except for Nanda.”

That got a grin from him. “I never thought I’d like children,” he said, “but she’s something.” He reached for a slice of cake and swigged his tea. “I’m only helping out, Pru,” he explained. “I only rang her after I’d heard she left him. I know she needs time. She and Nanda have moved in with a girlfriend of hers, a flat up closer to town. I’m doing what I can.”

He seemed to have grown up remarkably fast, she thought. “But, Liam, then why are you so angry with Ned?”

His eyes flashed again as he swallowed a large bite of cake. “Her own dad, and he’s the biggest champion of Jamie Tanner, tells her she needs to stick with her husband, what about her marriage vows, and…how could he say that to his own daughter after what Tanner did to her?”

Pru had no answer to that, only more questions of her own. Liam quieted down again. “Thanks for talking with us, you know, at the pub.”

“She’s very sweet.”

“Would you…?” he began as he swirled his tea around in the mug. “It would be great if you might stop by and see her, if you ever had the time.”

“I’m sure she has loads of friends to support her,” Pru said. She had, after all, spent only ten minutes with Cate.

“Tanner wouldn’t let her,” Liam said, his color rising again along with his voice. “He wouldn’t let her work and he wouldn’t let her have any friends. She’s lost touch with almost all the girls she used to know.” He shook his head.

“Then I’d love to stop by and say hello. Why don’t you leave me her number, and I’ll ring her.”

“That would be great, thanks,” he said as he scribbled down two numbers. “There’s her mobile, and the phone at the flat.” He glanced up at her. “She liked meeting you and Christopher.” He cleared his throat. “You two, have you been together a long time?”

“No.” Pru smiled. Even the description of them as being “together” was still new to her. “We’ve known each other only a few months.”

“Is that right?” he asked as his face brightened. “That’s great that you’re together, you know, at…”

She raised one eyebrow, daring him to say “at your age.” He closed his mouth and then started again. “I could tell that he likes you,” Liam said, and turned scarlet. “Is he a gardener, too?”

That got a laugh out of her. “No, he’s a DCI in London.”

Liam dropped his spoon onto the table. “That’s a good score.”

After three pieces of Ivy’s cake and draining the teapot, Liam left much calmer than he arrived. “Thanks, Pru. You’re a good boss,” he said with a smile. He walked out the door and turned around. “What was he doing here? Tanner.”

“Just stopped by,” she said. “I’ve met him a couple of times. He’s the one who found the roses and replaced the seedlings that were destroyed.” She shrugged. “I just thought he was helpful. I didn’t know.”

“Look, if he comes round again, and Christopher isn’t here, you give me a ring. All right?”

“Thanks, Liam.” She smiled at him. “I appreciate that.”

She poured herself a glass of wine, set some of Riccardo’s minestrone on to heat, and rang Christopher.

“I had my phone in my hand,” he said, “about to give you a ring. How was your day?”

“Weird,” she said. “How was yours?”

“Busy, thank God, because every moment I wasn’t occupied, I wished I was there with you.”

She thought about how far they’d come in the few months they’d known each other. Into her heart had crept the unfamiliar longing for some permanence. Occasional weekends sounded like a gift when they didn’t think they’d ever see each other again, but they were not nearly as wonderful examined close up. But for now, occasional weekends were all they had. “Well, here’s what you missed.”

She filled him in on her two visitors.

“Now we know why she was looking over her shoulder at the door every two seconds,” he said. “Can you see that in Ned—why he would want her to stay with an abusive husband?”

“I know so little about Ned,” Pru replied. “He’s quiet, he works. I don’t know why he would tell his own daughter that.”

“And what do you think of Tanner?” he asked.

“I know even less of him,” she replied. “He’s been friendly every time I’ve seen him.” Her mind wandered back. “The first time I met Ned, when I interviewed here, he told me that someone else had been offered the job. After I met Jamie, I thought that was who Ned meant.”

“The Templetons never told you that, did they?”

“That I was second choice? No, Davina has never mentioned it—but maybe I was.”

“Impossible.”

“You couldn’t be prejudiced, could you?” she asked. She had something else on her mind and wanted to say it while she had the nerve. “Next time you’re able to come down—if you wanted to—you could bring some extra clothes and things to leave here. You know, save you packing so much each time.”

He was quiet for a moment and then said in a light tone, “Take care, you might find I’ve moved myself down there for good—what would you say about that?”

“I would say you are very welcome.”

Pru barely blinked at the next blog headline—“Gardener Intends to Work Magic on Ancient Yew”—and shrugged off the references to druids and witches in the comments section. She had described to the reporter, Hugo Jenkins, what might be done with the overgrown yews in the large middle square of the walled garden. Yew is forgiving, she had said; they could cut it back to old wood and it would break into new growth. Almost like magic, she had said.

A tingle of dread mixed with anticipation had settled in her stomach when it came time to open the gate to the walled garden. The voice of DS Hobbes echoed in her mind, connecting the blog posts with the vandalism. She stopped for a moment, her skin prickling.

She touched the large iron handle lightly, then took hold, pushed the gate, and breathed a sigh of relief: the yew remained intact. It was just another day in the garden.

Apparently, previous events had put Hugo on edge, too; midmorning, he stopped by.

“Just wanted to check with you about a topic for next week’s post,” he said, standing inside the gate and eyeing the yew.

Pru saw Ned walk in from below. “We’ll be planting the walls with apples and training them in different shapes. We’ve chosen cultivars from the 1700s up through late Victorian—grafted onto disease-resistant stock.”

“Antique fruit, I like it,” Hugo replied.

“You could talk to Ned about that.” She nodded in his direction. “He’s come up with the list and placed all the orders, although the trees won’t arrive for another month.”

Hugo’s eyes followed her nod and his gaze fell upon Ned. He paused a moment and then, with his eyes still on the old man, asked, “What about up at the house? Don’t you have big plans for the space in front? Mrs. Templeton mentioned it—perhaps we’ll focus on that for now.”

Pru would rather leave Davina’s merry-go-round of design ideas for the oval alone. “Are you sure? Ned would probably love to talk about what he’s chosen—he’s got a real nose for history.”

“And it’s in everyone else’s business,” Hugo said, almost under his breath.

This was going nowhere, she thought. “Could we talk about it perhaps tomorrow—or on Monday?” The reporter didn’t answer, but kept watching Ned, who had glanced up at them and then away. “Hugo?”

“Yes,” he said, turning back to her. “Sure, Monday.”

A full day of work filled her with the confidence that they could get the garden finished by summer. Ned marked the spacing for the apples, which would be espaliered into fans, cordons, candelabra—three trees between each buttress. Liam and Fergal began to clear the path that led from the lower gate of the walled garden to the house. Pru believed the path to be Repton’s, and so there should be remnants of a broader walk that curved around to the front gate, too. He preferred things done in a grand style. “At present,” he wrote, “the only pleasure ground consists of a long belt connected with the house by an unprotected gravel walk….Whilst it is too uniform & too destitute of objects to be beautiful or picturesque; and much too narrow, and too confined, to be in character with the magnificence of the house.”
We’ll fix that, Humphry.
They would re-establish the lower path, and where it diverged and swept up toward the front gate of the walled garden, it would be broad enough for four abreast and coated with flint and stone gravel chippings to match the drive.
Beautiful and picturesque it will be,
she thought.

Thursday, she stepped out the door after putting on her yellow waterproof jacket over three layers of thin undershirts and two sweaters.
I’m like an onion,
she thought with a smile as she walked out to the garden. It had rained through the night and was still coming down lightly; when Liam came racing out of the gate, he skidded on the soaked ground as he made the corner and turned toward her, his eyes wide and his face white. “Pru, you haven’t been out to see it?”

She didn’t answer but ran past him to find Fergal and Ned staring at the yew—two of them had been hacked to pieces. The plants had been at least twelve feet tall, with trunks so wide at the base she couldn’t get her arms around one. But now, branches and sprays of foliage lay in heaps. It was not a neat job: the trunks looked as if they’d been hit by lightning and had exploded.

She felt weak and had to take a couple of deep breaths before she built up enough strength to speak. “Did anyone see anything?”

Heads shook. “I got here just ahead of Liam and Fergal,” Ned said. “Not ten minutes ago. I saw no one.”

“Nobody move, all right? Just stay here.” She got out her phone to ring DS Hobbes.

“I could go check the shed,” Liam said, “see if the ax is still there. And the hatchet.”

“No.” She put out her hand to stop him. “We can’t disturb anything. There might be evidence.” She’d learned that well enough—don’t touch. She looked at the ground and waited for Hobbes to answer his phone. The early-morning frost melted in the sun, taking with it any footprints, and their shoes left no impression on the hard ground—at least none that she could see.

The police arrived. DS Hobbes talked with them all in turn, while two uniformed officers scoured the scene. The morning wore on as they took turns telling what they knew, which was precious little. It didn’t look like the work of a chain saw—Pru might’ve heard that, but her cottage was too far away to have heard anything else, plus she’d had BBC Radio 4 on for most of the evening.

“Pru, could you go down and check the tools in the shed—see if anything is missing?” Hobbes asked.

The acrid smell of smoke permeated the shed, but Fergal had tidied up after the fire and laid the tools back out for display, and so she saw immediately the blank space where the ax should have been. Nothing else was missing.

Hobbes took her aside at one point and said, “Will Inspector Pearse be down this weekend?”

“No, he can’t make it—and I don’t want him to think he needs to be here. It’s just the vandals again.” She watched his face. “Don’t you think?”

“Each time it’s been worse,” he said.

The DS talked with Ivy. She had arrived at Primrose House later than usual, stopping first to clean for another client. Davina and Bryan had gone up to London early that morning before they flew off to Brussels.

Pru gave her employers a report by phone. Davina sounded as heartbroken as Pru felt. “Did you see Ned around at all—last evening or early this morning?” Davina asked her.

This is ridiculous,
thought Pru. “No,” she said. “Why? Do you think he had something to do with it?”

“Oh, Pru, it’s such a long story. I’ll explain when we’re home again next week.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to do this, Davina,” Pru said. “It’s too big a job.” Not just physically: she didn’t believe Ned could have that much rage in him.

In the afternoon, Pru told everyone to go home. Much of the walled garden was off-limits, and they weren’t allowed to move any of the debris off the site yet. She would take the paraffin heater up to Tunbridge Wells for repairs—one of the chimneys had cracked when the firemen dragged it out. Before she left, Fergal reminded her that he and Liam would not be at Primrose House on Friday, so she would have only Robbie and Ned.

Reluctant to go back home herself, she wandered through a few shops in town, looking but not seeing. She got a coffee and sat in the café’s window seat, watching the bustle on the street at the end of a workday. Too many questions were bouncing around in her head, and she needed to sort them out.

Each incident had followed a blog post about the garden, Primrose House, and Pru’s work. Did someone want to make her look bad, and if so, why? Was it someone’s wish that, if enough of these acts of vandalism occurred, she would quit or be fired from her head gardener post? This trail led her to two people: Ned—it seemed long ago now that he had told her someone else got the job—and Jamie, who had applied for it. But Ned never acted as if he held anything against her, and Jamie had been nothing if not…charming. She thought about what Liam said Tanner had done to his wife. It didn’t sound like the same person.

There was no other reason for her to link Jamie with any of the damage—unless, of course, he showed up next week with replacement yews already clipped into peacocks. He seemed concerned to make sure that Davina and Bryan knew about his good deeds, Pru thought. Maybe he wanted them to regret their choice of head gardener.

Oh God,
she thought.
Just ask him.

She located the Council parks office and asked where she might find Jamie Tanner.

The girl at the desk sighed heavily as she clicked off a page on her computer—Pru caught a glimpse of the Duchess of Cambridge at some charity affair—and jerked her head up at Pru, then down at her computer screen, and back to Pru, each movement causing her wad of braids, caught up in a thick hairband, to jiggle and sway. “If he’s still around,” she said, “he’ll probably be at the sheds, finishing up for the day. They’re round to the back, the other side of the car park.”

Pru followed the directions, sticking her head in a greenhouse that had lockers and a workroom at one end, and asked for him.

“I was up at Dunorlan Park with him today,” a man with a red ponytail said, as he took off his rubber overalls. “But we were working at opposite ends. He might be up there still—do you know it?”

Pru knew the park, just outside the city center, but she was losing her nerve as quickly as she was losing the light. “Thanks, I’ll find him another day.”

As she headed back to her Mini, Jamie pulled in, got out, and walked toward the greenhouse.

“Jamie?”

He stopped just past the pool of light from the security lamp, his face in shadow. “Pru. Are you looking for me?” His voice was quiet, and she walked closer to hear better.

“I’m sorry to bother you at work,” she said, wondering what she thought she would say to him. “We’ve had another problem up at the garden.”

“A problem? More rabbits in the greenhouse?” She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear a smile in his voice.

“No, it’s worse than that. Two of the yews in the walled garden were hacked to pieces this morning. Or last night, I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “Jamie, did you really want the head gardener post?”

He remained still. “Why do you ask me that?”

“You…” Her throat was dry. She swallowed, trying to find her voice again. “You seem to like the place.”

“I couldn’t take any more work on,” he said. “My wife would…” He didn’t finish.

This was heading in a direction she didn’t like, but she didn’t know how to turn it. “Ned…” she began.

“Ned. Ned’s my only friend now.” His voice broke. “Ned will help me sort it out.”

She had come about the garden, not Jamie’s personal issues. “I’ve got to go—I’m sorry to bother you.” Pru got to her car and pulled away, checking her rearview mirror. He was still standing there.

A bowl of soup and a half pint at the Duke of York on the Pantiles, the historic section of the town, would do for her supper, but before she went in, she pulled out the paper with Cate’s numbers on them, an unease building in her mind.

“This is Pru Parke. Is this Cate? We met at—”

“Oh, Pru, yes. It’s very good to hear from you.”

“It was lovely to meet you on Sunday, and I wanted to ring and find out…”
if your abusive husband had been around?
She didn’t know how she was supposed to finish that question.

“Nanda and I are doing fine here with Francine.” Indeed, Pru could hear little-girl giggles in the background. “We’d love for you to stop by sometime.”

“Thanks, I will do that. Liam is quite concerned about you.” Was that vague enough?

“Liam checks in with us now and then. He’s being very considerate. I haven’t talked with him in a day or two, but I’m sure we’ll see him soon.”

“That’s fine, then. We’ll talk again.” With that off her mind, she ate her supper and drove home.

Pru desperately needed some distraction for the evening, and so she sat down to catch up on correspondence. Mr. Wilson’s email and photo from Boxing Day had arrived, along with the phone number for Birdie Parke, Simon’s aunt. Pru clicked to open the message, and the photo of her seated next to Simon on the Wilsons’ sofa popped up on the screen. She frowned and then squinted. She knew they were no relation, but they did seem to look a bit alike. They had the same hair—thick, brownish, and frizzed on the ends, although Simon’s had more gray than hers. She reached up to her own, took out the clip, combed through, and reclipped. A knot began to form in her stomach.
Wishful thinking,
she told herself.
Two gardeners, we look like two gardeners.
But the knot wouldn’t go away. She clicked on the next email.