And so many other questions. Why is he here? And where is his wife? I’ve been sneaking surreptitious looks through the window into his apartment. There has to be a sign of a woman; where is she? Still in Cardiff? That was where he was until yesterday, wasn’t it?
His eyes widen slightly, surprised. “Didn’t Evan explain? I’m the gardener here.”
My hand holding the coffee tilts, and Osian quickly reaches over to take the cup from me before I spill it all over myself.
“Another gardener, I mean,” he says. “I’ll be working on the smaller patch of land between the east and south wings.”
“Of course, Evan did mention something about the other patches.”
Gardener, Osian James? Why? When did this happen?My eyes drift to his hands. Clean. Although there are small calluses and nicks that you get even if you take care to wear gloves most of the time.
“We’ll have to come up with something better than”—he makes air quotes—“‘The patch between the east and south wings’. It’s not exactly a name that slips off the tongue. What about you?”
The question brings me out of my internal thoughts.Focus, Evie, focus.
“Have you decided what to call your North Park?”
“I’ve been calling it my dream project, but I don’t suppose that will work when we open to the public.”
He gets to his feet, a quick but smooth move that reminds me of his athleticism. He used to move like that sixteen years ago.As if his body were a well-trained instrument, which I suppose it must be. He walks over to the balustrade and leans slightly to look down on North Park.
“Open to the public,” he repeats. “So you’re making it into a pleasure garden. Flowers and all that?”
“The usual thing,” I say, not wanting to talk about myself. “More or less.”
He shoots me a speculative look. “Why does this sound like it’s more,notless? If I were a betting man I’d say probably a lot more.”
Self-conscious to have his attention on me, I make a non-committal half-gesture.
“I promise I’m not going to steal your ideas.”
His words take me by surprise. Does he think I’m being cagy? I rush to explain. “No, no. Didn’t even occur to me, and even if you wanted to do that I doubt you could. No one can copy a garden idea; the land wouldn’t let you.”
His brow furrows and he turns fully to face me.
I shrug.
He waits for me to say more, but I can’t.
This is not something I can put into words in spite of my verbal autopilot that can chatter away endlessly. When he still waits, I have to try.
“It’s hard to explain, just something you find out when you explore on foot.”
He thinks about this then comes back to sit down. “So what is your plan?”
“Initially, I plan to discover what I can of the original design. You see, someone – or many people – created these gardens and I get the feeling that it was something really wonderful.” Talking about gardens puts me at ease and brings me a little more confidence. “It would be good to find out as much as we can and incorporate it into a new design.”
“How could you do that? I didn’t know there were any pictures.”
“You don’t need pictures.”
He narrows his eyes. “Is this another one that’s hard to explain?”
In spite of myself I laugh. His obvious interest makes me want to explain.
“There are clues, if you know how to look.”
“It’s just a curious idea,” he says, in the way people use when they’re being polite about something they don’t actually agree with.
