As we start walking back, he says, “I don’t pretend to communicate with gardens but I may have a few days to give you.”
“Give me?”
“You’ll need a bit of help with the clearing, won’t you? The tractor can’t go near the fan flowerbeds; they need clearing by hand.”
“What about your own work?”
“While you’ve been busy discovering things and listening to the soil, I’ve had my ‘orchard’”—he mimes inverted commas around the word orchard—“all cleared up. Nothing more to do until my first group arrive for the planting course next week.”
Is he serious? A week of working together? My heart dances a little, even as a warning voice speaks in the back of my mind, telling me working too closely with Osian isn’t a good idea.
It now makes sense: there is bound to be more to discover but I’ve got the key to this garden. Now the renovations will fall into place.
Chapter Twenty
“Can we talk later, when we’re done here?” Osian’s eyes sweep over the nearly clear land that used to be the wilderness.
I check my phone; it’s 9:15 so we still have another nice hour of daylight. By then we’ll be done indeed. Four days of intensive work to transform the dead garden into something that is ready for planting. At last I can start on the fans of flowers. Exciting, isn’t it?
The truth is, my excitement about the garden, the fans… yes of course I’m dancing with joy about that. But that’s not all.
What does he want to talk to me about? It can’t be the garden otherwise he’d have told me right now.
Five days ago, when we stood looking over the railings, discovering the fans and possible pond, he was so enthusiastic, he forgot his usual reserve and smiled. Well, almost smiled. But half a smile is better than nothing and it’s a huge change. Inside me, there’s a deep hunger to believe this is because of me.
This thought adds to my excitement – no, it brings a different kind of excitement: the jittery, can’t-sit-still kind. It makes me keep looking into mirrors. During the days while we work, I keep checking around to see if Osian is there.
He doesn’t help. He makes things worse by helping me a lot. He might not have my ‘psychic vision’ as he calls it, but he’s very practical. For example, he talks to others in Kendric House, and before I know it, everyone offers help. Evan is the first to mobilise. He gets me three teenagers from the village – three strapping lads who follow the tractor and pick up any fallen branches or twigs so the soil is properly clean.
Llewellyn takes pictures and, using my measurements, prepares 2D and 3D models of the gardens and puts them up on the walls of the ballroom. That way, I can mark up what needs doing, and by whom. The boys can check to see what to do each day. Haneen cooks her delicious sausage and mash for all the helpers. Wyn – the boy who hopes to be Llewellyn’s student – takes endless photographs and videos of the work because he’s sure we’ll use it on a garden website.
There’s a real energy about the gardens. Various people keep coming out on the terrace to watch as the wilderness gradually shrinks.
And Osian? The thoughtful, caring man who initiated all this help? He takes Ricky and the boys under his supervision and makes sure the flowerbeds in the fans are dug up carefully by hand. He even lends them his set of trowels and teaches them how to pull plants up by the root carefully, without disturbing the slates. It’s exactly what I would have asked them to do, but he understands me even before I speak and just does what’s needed.
He even reminds me to take breaks, to keep hydrated, to stop late afternoon so I’m not too exhausted.
As I said. He helps a lot.
Which doesn’t help me stay away or keep my emotions distant.
Today, the fourth day of land clearance, all the dead stuff is gone and we’ve exposed the soil, all clean and ready for planting. We’ve also found more trees. They’d been hidden under creepers and camouflaged by bushes, but there are nearly twenty-five of them. It’s anybody’s guess what they used to be; now they’re mostly dead stumps. Cypress and monkey puzzles are the only ones I recognise.
So I’ve hired a specialist tree surgeon to check them out and tell me if they can be brought back to life.
He now comes to find me just as I’m on my way to find Osian. We’re trying to clear out the pond. Yes, there was indeed a pond, and with the bushes gone, the long S shape is very clear. Osian and two of the boys are down inside it, shovelling out dirt and debris, hoping to find tiles.
“Evie?” Noel, the tree surgeon calls me just as I reach the edge of the pond.
“Yes.” I turn to him.
“Just about done here.” He unties an impressive toolbelt and flings it over his shoulder. “I’ve finished this lot.” He indicates the four broken trees. “They’re sweet chestnut; hardy and should make it. I’ve reshaped and cut them back to a more reasonable height so they’re more stable. The cypresses and monkey puzzle trees are fine too, but the rest are dead. They need pulling up.”
It's nothing I hadn’t suspected myself.
“Have you managed to identify any of the dead ones?”
It’s the reason I hired him and am paying his hefty £400 per day.
