The Vow by Georgia Fallon Page B

perhaps one of them snored.
    They peeled and chopped harmoniously together at the granite topped work island, Lucy admiring the collection of old copper pots which hung above it, intermingled with bunches of dried herbs and flowers. Marcus described to her the sad condition the house had been in when they bought it and how gradually over the years it had developed into the place where he most liked to be. They ate their Caesar salad and wild strawberries at the big old table in front of the window looking out onto the perfectly manicured lawn.
    ‘ What would you like to do this afternoon, Lucy?’ Marcus asked.
    ‘ I’d love to see around the garden, but I’ll fit in with you,’ Lucy replied, starting to clear the table.
    ‘ Well, when we get down to the orchard there’s a nice walk through the woods and on to the village if you fancy that.’
    ‘ Sounds lovely,’ she said.
    Lucy was captivated by the garden’s exuberant planting and as they walked through the wisteria-covered pergola, the flowers hanging like huge bunches of grapes, she said with admiration, ‘Helena was a wonderful gardener, a real plants-woman.’
    ‘ Indeed she was,’ Marcus agreed.’ It was her passion and things always grew well for her. She was quiet and gentle, everything responded well to her, plants, people, animals and children.’
    ‘ Would she have liked her own children?’ Lucy was emboldened to ask.
    He thought for a moment before answering. ‘I don’t think it was something which bothered her much, but we never really talked about it. By the time we married she was forty six so it was never an issue.’
    ‘ And how old were you Marcus?’
    ‘ Twenty-eight.’
    ‘ I bet that raised some eyebrows.’
    He laughed. ‘One or two. Of course most people thought I was marrying her for her money.’
    ‘ But you weren’t.’ It was a statement not a question.
    Marcus sighed. ‘No, money was not the reason I married Helena.’
    ‘ Did you ever regret it?’
    She wondered if she’d gone too far but he smiled at her and said, ‘No, I never did. Come on, let’s go for that walk.’
    In those few minutes he had told her more about himself than ever before, it wasn’t much, but it was a start, and made Lucy hopeful that he would soon sto p holding her at arm’s length.
    From the small wild flower meadow and orchard they strolled into the dappled light of the woods, the sun was warm on their backs and, like Marcus, Lucy was glad to be out of the city.
    She had been back in London three weeks but still hadn’t grown used again to the hustle and bustle, traffic, noise and dirt that were part of life in a city. A country girl at heart, she had been happy in rural South West France, coming to love its rolling hills, large tracts of woodland and the ridge roads with their breathtaking views of the snow capped Pyrenees. Lush green pasture played host to herds of Blondes d’Aquitaine cattle, chubby butter-coloured beasts whose beautiful bovine faces stared back at you with gentle curiosity. With clouds of mimosa in the spring, miles of sunflowers in summer and the elegant albizzia trees with their silky pink feathers later in the year, it was a far cry from the urban life she was now leading.
    Reaching the edge of the village Marcus helped her over a stile and she would have left her hand in his but as they walked on he released it. They bought ice creams at the little shop on the green and ate them sitting on a bench overlooking the duck pond.
    ‘How’s it going at the workshop, have you settled back in?’ Marcus asked.
    ‘ Yes, it’s fine. They’re a nice crowd, it’s good to see them all again. I’ve set up my equipment, bought materials and I brought back enough finished pieces from France to make a reasonable display. All I need now are some customers.’
    ‘ Are you alright for money?’
    ‘ Hmm, just about,’ Lucy answered whilst taking a big lick of rum & raisin. ‘I had some through from my French outlets this week