So the next morning, at a quarter to six, when his office is empty, I slip in and put the large envelope on his desk. It has my legal agreement and the special power of attorney so he can do what he needs with Hope Gardens. Then I push my keys into the envelope. The keys to my beautiful apartment, furnished with white, light greens and turquoise.
Does it sting to give it up? Yes, like the lash of a thorny briar, but it’s nothing to the sharp briars wrapped around my heart.
That’s why I’m leaving. Giving up my investment and a hell of a lot of money to save my heart and my mental health. Youcan always make more money, find a new home to decorate. But I only have one heart.
If saying goodbye to Evan Kendric was difficult, Leonie is worse.
“Osian is an idiot.” She hugs me and cries. “Please don’t let him drive you out.”
The café is still closed but she’s already preparing to open and the smell of baking bread fills the space. “I’ll always think of you whenever I smell fresh bread or really good bacon.”
“I hate you.” She sniffs and squeezes me tighter.
“I hate you too.” I kiss her. “Promise me you’ll give my love to everyone else. I hate goodbyes and this is killing me.”
She doesn’t let go. “Only if you promise to stay in touch. Every day.”
“I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve arrived at my new flat.”
My new flat, just a temporary stopping point, is an Airbnb in Oxfordshire. London is not really an option. I’ve burnt my bridges there. The last thing I want is to run into any of my old friends from my TV days and have to answer questions. Besides, I need to disappear somewhere nobody can find me. Especially Osian.
If he doesn’t know where to look for me, I won’t wait or hope he’ll somehow change his mind and come for me. It has to be a clean break or I’ll never move on.
With that aim in mind, I spend two weeks scanning the maps for invisible villages that might have possible jobs. It might not help with the pain but it keeps me busy.
Finally, something looks promising.
Walsham, in Suffolk, halfway between the sea and Bury St Edmonds, is so tiny it doesn’t have a school, a police station or even a supermarket. What it does have is a large garden centre with potential for expansion. It’s run by the Bakers, an ambitious husband and wife team.
“We get people from ten miles away,” they tell me after a tour of the nursery and a look at the various potted trees and plants. We’ve moved into their sitting room – a cheerful place with wicker furniture and orange-and-green floral cushions.
“We’ve built a solid business, but there’s a limit to how far people will travel for plants,” Mr Baker grumbles. “There’s always another garden centre or another nursery they can go to.”
I’ve already thought about this: a way to help them expand the business, offer something unique that will attract more customers.
Over a pot of PG Tips and a plate of rich tea biscuits from the local Morrisons, we discuss my proposal.
“I can take over your greenhouse and run a potting and propagation section.”
“You know we can’t afford to pay you,” Mr Baker says.
“I know,” I assure him. “My income would be from bookings. I will run workshops and experience days where people can take cuttings from plants they like and pot them here before they buy. Or I can help them create their own special hybrids,” I explain. “You know, splice a pink rose and an orange one to make a new colour combination, that sort of thing.”
Two days later, we sign the agreement, and I rent a one-bedroom cottage in Walsham.
The cottage has a garden the size of soap dish – a universe away from the ten acres in Kendric Park – but I can make something of it. The rent is £700 a month, a fraction of the Airbnb flat in Oxfordshire. That expensive Airbnb experience turns out to have been a gift. Like all silver linings and blessings in disguise, it has given me a great idea. Holiday lets earn twice or three times as much as a normal let. So I’ve taken my London flat off the residential market and turned it into a holiday flat. It now not only covers the eye-watering double mortgage, but there’s enough left over for the cottage in Walsham.
I refuse to think of my rent-free, all-bills-paid apartment in the west wing overlooking Hope Gardens.
Less than a month since Osian James broke my heart for the second time, I have moved into my new home and started a new job. My new kitchen even has a windowsill wide enough for potted flowers.
Chapter Forty-six
“Oh, my word,” Leonie gasps on the other end of the phone. “Do you always land on your feet?”
“The better to hit the ground running.” I settle more comfortably in bed and push one of the pillows up against the wall so I can lean on it. “It’s summer. Garden centres do their best business in summer.”
My social media campaign to attract people to the potting and propagation centre has resulted in a steady stream of enquiries and bookings. Even Mother & Children Planting Together days prove popular and have all been pre-booked for when school holidays start.
