roses. That’s made it chocolate-boxy.’ Peggy took a deep breath. ‘And the air is heaven! Have you got the keys?’
Emma reached back through the car window. The keys, which they had picked up on the way past the estate agent, were lying on the glove shelf. Will Fortingale had succumbed to his cold and apparently was spending the day in bed, but his assistant had seemed very happy to let them have them for as long as they wanted them. Grasping them tightly, Emma leaned for a moment on the roof of the car. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably.
Glancing round Peggy saw her and frowned. She put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. ‘Are you OK, darling?’
Emma nodded. She was biting her lip. ‘I wish Piers had come too.’
‘I don’t think there was a chance in hell of that happening, Em.’ Peggy sighed. ‘You’ve got to resign yourself to that. If you buy this place it could be the end of you and Piers.’ She scanned her daughter’s face. ‘You do realise that, don’t you?’
Emma shook her head. ‘He’ll come round. He always does. He’s just cross because he didn’t think of it himself. And he wanted to consider a place in France. But what’s the point of that? If we haven’t got a place there, we have a reason to go and stay with Derek and Sue. If we had our own place we’d never see them. He wants to stay with them. So, we shouldn’t get a place near them. That all seems very logical to me!’
Peggy shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Well, come on. Lead the way.’
Emma paused as they stood in the hall, listening, half wondering if she would hear the strange voice calling to her again, but the house was silent, expectant, as though it, like her, was waiting to hear her mother’s verdict.
They spent an hour exploring the cottage and its outbuildings, then they walked out into the garden. ‘I have to admit, it is very sweet.’ Peggy stared round. ‘Idyllic in some ways, but I would have seen you going for something a bit more sophisticated. A bit more modern. And the garden is huge. It’s not a very practical idea, darling. You’ve never done any gardening in your life.’
Emma stared at her. ‘Excuse me! What do you call that place on the roof outside the flat?’
‘Apart from the roof garden.’ Peggy snapped a rose off one of the bushes and sniffed it. ‘But that is all in pots!’
Emma shook her head. ‘And in the pots is earth. And in the earth are plants. And I have tended every one of those plants for the four years that garden has existed. I designed it. I bought the plants and the pots and I created it! Piers never lifted a finger except to buy the furniture he sits on to watch me tend the garden!’
‘Sorry!’ Peggy shook her head. ‘I stand rebuked. OK. So, you have a huge part of your soul craving to be a gardener. But you are an investment analyst with a totally absorbing job in London. How much time would you have for this garden?’
‘I could employ a gardener.’ Emma walked out between the beds. The long grass brushed her bare legs and caught at the buckles of her sandals. ‘Or I could give up London and come and run this place commercially.’ She swung round to face her mother. ‘That’s what I want to do. I want to garden. I want to tidy it and rescue it and make it thrive again. I want to run it as a business.’
‘And Piers?’ Peggy scanned her face thoughtfully. ‘How does he fit into this plan?’
‘He could commute?’ Emma paused and suddenly she smiled, her face radiant, full of mischief. ‘It’s got to work out! Somehow I’ll persuade him. Look at it. It’s so beautiful! It was meant to be!’ She stretched her arms above her head and did a little pirouette. ‘We’ll sort something out. I know we will. This is my home, Ma. This is where I want to spend the rest of my life!’
13
Monday lunchtime
Lyndsey braked sharply and drew to a halt as she saw the green Peugeot backing out into the lane ahead of her. Her bicycle basket was laden
Emma reached back through the car window. The keys, which they had picked up on the way past the estate agent, were lying on the glove shelf. Will Fortingale had succumbed to his cold and apparently was spending the day in bed, but his assistant had seemed very happy to let them have them for as long as they wanted them. Grasping them tightly, Emma leaned for a moment on the roof of the car. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably.
Glancing round Peggy saw her and frowned. She put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. ‘Are you OK, darling?’
Emma nodded. She was biting her lip. ‘I wish Piers had come too.’
‘I don’t think there was a chance in hell of that happening, Em.’ Peggy sighed. ‘You’ve got to resign yourself to that. If you buy this place it could be the end of you and Piers.’ She scanned her daughter’s face. ‘You do realise that, don’t you?’
Emma shook her head. ‘He’ll come round. He always does. He’s just cross because he didn’t think of it himself. And he wanted to consider a place in France. But what’s the point of that? If we haven’t got a place there, we have a reason to go and stay with Derek and Sue. If we had our own place we’d never see them. He wants to stay with them. So, we shouldn’t get a place near them. That all seems very logical to me!’
Peggy shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Well, come on. Lead the way.’
Emma paused as they stood in the hall, listening, half wondering if she would hear the strange voice calling to her again, but the house was silent, expectant, as though it, like her, was waiting to hear her mother’s verdict.
They spent an hour exploring the cottage and its outbuildings, then they walked out into the garden. ‘I have to admit, it is very sweet.’ Peggy stared round. ‘Idyllic in some ways, but I would have seen you going for something a bit more sophisticated. A bit more modern. And the garden is huge. It’s not a very practical idea, darling. You’ve never done any gardening in your life.’
Emma stared at her. ‘Excuse me! What do you call that place on the roof outside the flat?’
‘Apart from the roof garden.’ Peggy snapped a rose off one of the bushes and sniffed it. ‘But that is all in pots!’
Emma shook her head. ‘And in the pots is earth. And in the earth are plants. And I have tended every one of those plants for the four years that garden has existed. I designed it. I bought the plants and the pots and I created it! Piers never lifted a finger except to buy the furniture he sits on to watch me tend the garden!’
‘Sorry!’ Peggy shook her head. ‘I stand rebuked. OK. So, you have a huge part of your soul craving to be a gardener. But you are an investment analyst with a totally absorbing job in London. How much time would you have for this garden?’
‘I could employ a gardener.’ Emma walked out between the beds. The long grass brushed her bare legs and caught at the buckles of her sandals. ‘Or I could give up London and come and run this place commercially.’ She swung round to face her mother. ‘That’s what I want to do. I want to garden. I want to tidy it and rescue it and make it thrive again. I want to run it as a business.’
‘And Piers?’ Peggy scanned her face thoughtfully. ‘How does he fit into this plan?’
‘He could commute?’ Emma paused and suddenly she smiled, her face radiant, full of mischief. ‘It’s got to work out! Somehow I’ll persuade him. Look at it. It’s so beautiful! It was meant to be!’ She stretched her arms above her head and did a little pirouette. ‘We’ll sort something out. I know we will. This is my home, Ma. This is where I want to spend the rest of my life!’
13
Monday lunchtime
Lyndsey braked sharply and drew to a halt as she saw the green Peugeot backing out into the lane ahead of her. Her bicycle basket was laden
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