That evening I emailed my plans, proposals and plant lists for the Winter Garden off to Peter, including further apology for interrupting his harbourside date, and went to bed early, wondering what the next few days would bring.
The beginning of the week got off to a flying start, and I was able to indulge in one of the aspects of my job that I love the most. Luke had taken delivery of a huge plant order including shrubs, bulbs and a couple of small trees, and it was up to me to decide where they would be best placed.
By Monday lunchtime I had everything marked out and was able to take him around, explaining why I had chosen to put things where and describing for him how it would all look, paying particular attention to the Winter Garden borders, in just a few weeks’ time.
There was a certain irony in that I had just got on with it, rather than waiting to find out what Peter thought of my ideas. That clearly meant I had more confidence than I gave myself credit for and that, in reality, Jackson’s undermining (and to a lesser extent Mum’s) had no lasting power over me.
In my mind’s eye, as Luke and I went around, I could already envisage the additional seasonal pops of colour that the new shrubs would bring and my nose was practically picking up the sweet scent of the sarcococca, which would start flowering soon after the new year. The viburnum x bodnantense with its tiny pink flowers was already providing a smell of what was to come and Luke was delighted with it all.
‘Winter is so often underrated,’ I enthused as we made our way back to the office, ‘but it only takes a couple of tweaks to keep real interest in the garden all year round.’
Luke grinned as he held the door open for me.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘I thought I was enthusiastic about the project,’ he laughed, ‘but you’re taking it to a whole new level, Freya.’
‘Well,’ I said, feeling my face flush with more than cold, ‘that’s what you’ve employed me to do so I might as well make a decent show of it.’
‘More than decent,’ he praised, joining in with my banter.
I was delighted that he was so happy with the way it was all coming together and for me it was a relief to feel my creative spark burning brighter again. My former passion was finally back after its period of grieving for Eloise which had made it vulnerable to attack.
‘I’m going to start planting this afternoon,’ I told him, ‘and carry on with Chloe tomorrow.’
‘And I’m happy to help out,’ Luke said. ‘I was also wondering if we could get the girls out here to plant a few of the bulbs? As long as it won’t interfere with your schedule.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ I told him. ‘In fact, I have a bit of a trick up my sleeve when it comes to bulb planting.’
It wasn’t my trick, but it was a good one nonetheless. I was a massive fan of gardening enthusiast Beverley Nichols, who wrote passionately and prolifically about his horticultural endeavours, between the 1930s and 1960s. Eloise had introduced me to the books he had written about his various homes, gardens, friends and cats, and I had been hooked ever since.
She had gifted me her exquisite hardback copies shortly before her death and they were my most prized possessions. He had not only written at length about his love of winter flowers and how a garden should have enough interest to tempt you from your fireside during the colder months, but also about his fun ways when it came to planting bulbs.
‘I’m intrigued,’ said Luke.
‘Good,’ I laughed, ‘I’m pleased, and I can guarantee you’ll be thrilled in a few months.’
‘You aren’t going to tell me what you’re planning to do with them, are you?’
‘Nope,’ I said, shaking my head.
If I told him Mr Nichols’ methods for bulb planting now, there would be no surprises to come. As well as filling a wooden tray with bulbs, tossing them into the air and planting them where they fell to achieve a naturalistic look, he also liked to give his visiting friends a handful or two, along with a trowel and instructions about planting depth. Then, he would turn his back, send them out into the garden and eagerly look forward to the following spring when he could indulge in a treasure hunt in his own grounds to discover where they had ended up.
That was what I intended to suggest to Kate. ‘Just bring Kate and the girls out tomorrow as soon as Jas gets home from school, and then go back into the house.’ I instructed Luke, my heart thrumming at the thought of playing the game Mr Nichols had invented.
‘You don’t want me to help?’
‘Nope,’ I told him firmly, ‘and I certainly don’t want you looking out to see what we’re up to.’
‘Fair enough,’ he laughed, catching my enthusiasm, ‘I’ll stay hidden until you’re finished then.’
‘Perfect,’ I grinned.
Thankfully, Jasmine was home early from school the next day. She’d had an afternoon dental appointment which meant going back to class was hardly worth it and was able to join me, along with Kate and Abigail and Chloe, just after half past two which gave us enough daylight to carry out my bulb planting plan.
The sisters loved taking part and thought it was going to be great fun keeping it all a secret from their father, and Kate was keen too. It was almost dark when they finally headed back to the house and Chloe cycled home and most of the bulbs had been well hidden. I was going to plant the daffodils in what Luke called ‘the meadow lawn’ myself, and there were just a random few others left to distribute.
There was no sound coming from Finn’s studio, but there was a light on and I wondered if I dared to knock and ask if he fancied taking part. If not in the dark that evening, then perhaps tomorrow or later in the week.
I knew I was using the idea as an excuse to work out whether or not he had forgiven me sticking up for him in front of Zak, but it had all been preying on my mind and I really did want to try and explain to him that, with regards to family at least, we truly were paddling a pretty similar boat.
I was also interested to discover what exactly he had said about me to his family. Zak had implied that he’d said something, but given that Finn had a complicated relationship with his father, I thought mentioning me at all was unnecessary, so it was most likely something and nothing, inflated by his half-brother to arouse Finn’s annoyance and my curiosity, and that of course had worked because I desperately wanted to know.
The only problem was, you never knew which version of Finn you were going to be faced with. Would it be Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde who opened the door? Would I be treated to a warm welcome or a glowering scowl? I’d had a truly lovely afternoon, and the surly Mr Hyde would be a total mood killer. If I was still in Finn’s bad books, then I was really going to regret disturbing him, even though I would have been doing it with the best of intentions.
I’d literally just decided not to take the risk when the studio door was wrenched practically off its hinges and Finn peered out.
‘I thought I heard someone loitering,’ he said gruffly, and I took another step away, swallowing down the gasp which had shot into and then out of my mouth.
‘I was just passing,’ I swallowed, readjusting my hold on the bulb bag and trying to sound placatory for fear of further rousing Mr Hyde from his lair. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just about to pack up for the day.’
‘In that case,’ he said, stepping out, reaching for my sleeve and pulling me in before I had a chance to free myself from his grasp, ‘come and give me your opinion before I bottle it and start to take them all apart again.’
I had barely time to draw breath, let alone object to his gentle but nonetheless forceful manhandling, before I was over the threshold and the door had closed behind me.
‘Where’s Nell?’ he frowned, releasing me and thankfully putting a little space between us.
‘Asleep in the office,’ I told him.
‘Good,’ he said, biting his lip, ‘because I haven’t had a chance to sweep up yet.’
I could see that. The place was littered with all sorts of sharp-looking odds and ends.
‘So,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks and raising his eyebrows, ‘what do you think?’
He nodded towards the back of the studio and I followed his gaze. Another gasp rose unbidden in my throat and this time I did nothing to check it.
‘Oh, Finn,’ I cried, abandoning the bag of bulbs and rushing over, all thoughts of our crossed swords, my good intentions and determination to wheedle out of him what he had said about me, instantly forgotten, ‘they’re incredible!’
He came to stand next to me.
‘You really think so?’ he asked, running a hand through his wild hair and staring at me intently, a frown etched so deeply across his forehead it looked like a freshly furrowed field.
‘Of course, I do,’ I told him. ‘How could I possibly think anything else?’
His shoulders dropped, the frown cleared and his expression was transformed. The biggest smile lit up his face and he looked like a completely different person. Dr Jekyll was definitely in the house. Or studio in this case and as far as being miffed with me for sticking up for him was concerned, I was pretty certain I was forgiven.
‘They’re for the meadow lawn,’ he told me.
The huskiness of his tone told me he was clearly touched by my reaction.
‘They should be in a gallery,’ I said back, and I meant it too.
‘Well,’ he said, cocking his head as he started to study them again, ‘I don’t know about that.’
All of the tension in him had disappeared and his tone was softer. It really would have been heresy if he had ‘bottled it and pulled them all apart again’.
‘Well, I do,’ I insisted, moving to admire them from another angle. I felt tears gather behind my eyes and knew my emotive reaction was not only the result of admiring his outstanding work, but also because of the dramatic change in him. ‘How on earth have you made them look so alive?’
What he had created from various coils, springs, cogs and cylinders were a trio of hares. The first in the sequence was poised to leap, the second was at full stretch and the third had just landed. They were utterly mesmerising and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see them turn their elegant heads in my direction and blink. They were going to look perfect positioned in the meadow lawn.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ he said with a self-deprecating shrug. ‘I just kind of get a feel for the subject and then put together the shapes that I think will work.’
He was utterly self-effacing and it infuriated me to think that Zak and his father were so ignorant and dismissive of his talent. Perhaps once the garden was finished and they could see Finn’s art, because that’s most definitely what it was, in situ, then they might change their opinions. They’d be stupid not to.
With some difficulty, I tore my eyes away from the sculptures and took in the rest of the space.
‘Did you draw these?’ I asked Finn, as I walked over to the bench, which was covered with sketches of hares in various poses.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know this guy, Jake, who has a farm over near Wynbridge with hares on the land and I spent some time there, photographing them and then sketching them in the fields.’
‘Amazing,’ I sighed, meaning both the real hares and the essence of them that Finn had captured in just a few strokes of a pencil.
The marks he had made appeared effortless, but for someone who struggled to come up with so much as a competent doodle, I knew they were incredibly accomplished.
‘There aren’t anywhere near as many hares there now as there used to be, thanks to the bloody coursers, but Jake does what he can to keep those on his land safe.’
‘I thought coursing was illegal,’ I said, turning back to look at him.
‘It is,’ he said sadly, ‘but it doesn’t stop it happening.’
‘But why would anyone want to kill something so beautiful?’ I said, shaking my head, my tears not quite banished.
I knew there had been an increase in coursing activity in Suffolk too in recent years, but thankfully not too close to the Broad-Meadows estate.
‘Money,’ Finn said bluntly. ‘It’s all about money. And big money too.’
He turned back to the sculptures, squatting down on his haunches to get a closer look and I wished he was always like this. Not talking about cruel blood sports and rural crime obviously, but looking proud of his work and with his inner spark aflame.
But then, perhaps it was his artistic temperament, the soaring highs and deep lows, which enabled him to create such stunning pieces. Maybe he needed the good as well as the bad to balance it all out. He looked then like he did the night we had supper with Luke and Kate. He had come alive when he presented Jasmine with her cat sculpture and, in that moment, he wore exactly the same look as he did studying the hares; his eyes blazing with something close to wonder.
He appeared to all intents and purposes as if he didn’t believe he was looking at something he had made, but rather at a vision someone else had been responsible for. It was most endearing and very sexy.
‘Talking of money,’ I said, dismissing my libido as I walked back over to him, ‘I bet you could charge a fortune for these and there would be no suffering or bloodshed.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, straightening back up. ‘These hares might be cruelty-free, but my hands have taken a bit of a battering.’
They did look rather knocked about, but at least he had come out of his trance far enough to acknowledge that the work in front of us was his own.
‘But you know what I mean,’ I said, swallowing hard as I tried not to look at his hands. ‘They’d sell in an instant.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘maybe, I dunno.’
I could see that he really had no understanding about how unique his work was. He might have been passionate about the creative process, but he was clueless when it came to considering his sculptures financial value.
‘I’m being serious, Finn,’ I said firmly. ‘You could make a proper living doing this.’
Anyone would be able to see that it wasn’t just a case of welding a few bits together and coming up with something that resembled the animal he had been aiming for. There was real personality, life and movement in what he had created. I guessed his family’s dismissal and belittling of his passion had taken a toll, just like my parents’ opinions about me taking the job at Broad-Meadows and Jackson’s cruel words had dented my confidence for a while. Perhaps this was going to be the moment to share some of that with him after all.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Luke’s going to be thrilled, along with every single other person who walks through the garden and spots them.’
‘I hope so,’ he sighed.
‘I know so.’ I told him.
‘I wish I had your faith,’ he said, sounding vulnerable.
‘You just need a bit of time,’ I told him, moving a little closer and laying a hand on his arm.
‘Time?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I mean, you’ve barely started, have you?’
‘I’ve been doing this for a while,’ he said, the frown forming again. ‘I did tell you that.’
‘You did,’ I confirmed, ‘but you also told me that you were surrounded by people who were hell-bent on chipping away at your dream, didn’t you? Given the circumstances,’ I carried on, ‘it really must have taken some strength to keep going at all, but you did and now you’re here and Luke has given you the opportunity to work in a completely different atmosphere and surrounded by people who want to champion your achievements. Believe me, it won’t take long for your self-belief to catch up.’
I stopped to draw breath and found he was staring at me.
‘Sorry,’ I said, removing my hand from his sleeve and feeling my cheeks flush.
I hadn’t meant to have such a major soap-box moment.
‘No,’ he said, ‘don’t apologise.’
‘Sorry,’ I said again, without meaning to.
‘And certainly, don’t apologise for apologising,’ he laughed, reaching for my hand and holding it tight in his.
I couldn’t have offered a third apology, even if I’d wanted to because his action robbed me of speech, my libido leapt up again and my body tingled as our skin touched.
‘It’s just that I’ve been in the same boat as you.’ I eventually managed to say. ‘My parents hated it when I took the hands-on role at Broad-Meadows and, even though they didn’t voice their opinion quite as vociferously as your father and Zak, I felt its impact nonetheless.’
‘So,’ he said, looking deeper into my eyes as he stepped closer and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, ‘perhaps you and I aren’t so different, Freya.’
‘No,’ I whispered, glancing up at him and remembering how Zak had said he had described me to his family. ‘Perhaps we’re not.’
Whether it was the feel of his fingers lightly touching my face, the fact that our hands were still entwined or the sound of my name on his lips, I couldn’t be sure, but the next thing I knew I was in his arms and he was kissing me and I was kissing him.
Held tight in his embrace I didn’t hold back; I didn’t think about our professional relationship or Chloe’s warm feelings for him. I kissed him long and hard as the flames of desire which had been burning so low in me for so long, sprang up, shooting hot, fiery sparks to every nerve ending and erogenous zone. Pressed tight against him, I could feel his firm body reacting to my mine and as I dipped the tip of my tongue into his mouth he groaned with pleasure.
‘Freya,’ he breathed, as I twisted my hands into his hair and then felt his tongue gently meet mine.
As one we took a step towards the workbench and he lifted me up on to it. I was just about to wrap my legs around him and pull him in again, when the sound of the Gardeners’ World theme tune filled the air and I realised my phone was ringing.
‘Is that your phone?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I breathlessly replied, reaching for him.
‘I think you’d better answer it.’
‘It’ll stop in a minute,’ I insisted, determined not to have our passionate moment doused.
‘I don’t think it will,’ he said, a few seconds later.
He gently lifted me down and, feeling furious to have been interrupted, I wrenched my phone out of my pocket and accepted the call without checking to see who it was first.
‘Freya?’
‘Hey,’ I swallowed, my annoyance slightly scotched as I realised who it was, ‘Peter.’
Finn took a step away and I checked my watch. He was the last person I would have expected it to be.
‘Why are you ringing so early?’ I asked him. ‘Is everything okay?’
Some speedy mental maths told me it must have been before dawn in New Zealand.
‘Everything’s fine,’ he told me, ‘but I’ve got an early start and a long drive. I’m going away for a couple of days and wanted to talk to you about the stuff you sent before I set off. Is now a good time? Why are you breathing so hard?’
‘Actually,’ I said, taking a moment to try and slow my breathing back down as I looked over at Finn who had moved further away, ‘it’s not a great time.’
He was standing with his hands on his hips, his breath shallow like mine, but I couldn’t have guessed what he was thinking.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, in a low voice.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Peter.
‘No one,’ I shot back, which made Finn’s eyebrows shoot up in response.
‘It’s not Finn, is it?’ Peter laughed. ‘I reckon you wrote more about him than your plans for this Winter Garden.’
‘No,’ I said, pressing the phone harder against my ear in the hope that Finn wouldn’t hear what was being said, ‘it’s not.’
I suppose I had gone a little overboard telling Peter about what had happened since mine and Finn’s first unfortunate encounter, but it had felt cathartic, writing it all down. Peter would have been mightily amused by the sequel, not that I would be telling him about it.
Now the moment had passed and I had come back to my senses, my face burned with shame as thoughts of Chloe and her feelings for Finn filled my head. Some friend I had turned out to be.
‘Look, Peter,’ I said, ‘can I call you back? Now’s really not a great time.’
‘Don’t hang up on my account,’ Finn said gruffly.
‘Are you sure that’s not him?’ Peter persisted.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I said to Finn as I gathered up the bag of bulbs, I had dumped on the studio floor. ‘But I think I’d better go.’
‘It’s fine,’ he said tersely.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I insisted. ‘We’ll…’
‘What?’ he said, his chin held high. ‘Pick up where we left off?’
Had it not been for Chloe’s obvious interest in him, that was exactly where I would have liked to have picked up, but I really did have to factor my friend into the equation and embarrassingly, Finn sounded far from thrilled at the prospect. He was obviously regretting the moment already, which made me feel even worse about allowing it to happen.
‘I thought we could look at the meadow lawn and work out where to put the hares,’ I therefore suggested instead.
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
‘Freya?’ came Peter’s voice in my ear again. ‘I’m sorry, but I really do need to get on.’
I suppose I could have told Peter that I’d catch up with him when he got back from his trip, but given that he had taken the time to read through what I had sent him and had kindly made the effort to call, I could hardly cut him off and so I left Finn brooding over his trio of beautiful hares, and walked back to the office, all the while wishing that Finn hadn’t invited me to look at his sculptures and cursing that we had got caught up in the moment and let our artistic emotions get the better of us.