I walk a few steps along the terrace, my eyes already seeing the future. “We can have a chain of hidden gems that draw the visitor further and deeper along winding unexpected walks and a series of discoveries. A garden that reveals more of itself when you engage with it. An adventure.”
In spite of the beautiful picture in my head and my attempt to paint it for him, he doesn’t seem impressed. At least, not impressed enough to give me the job. They must have had lots of applicants, and anyone can talk about a beautiful future. Was this why he mentioned the gardener before me, the one who gave up? Maybe he too promised a beautiful future. Thethoughtful expression on Mr Kendric’s face tells me that I haven’t said anything to prove I’d succeed where that other guy failed.
A gust of wind blows over the dead bushes and right at me. My smart suit and silk shirt are more suited to an indoor meeting, not a stroll outside in February. I shiver and he notices. “Let’s go inside. We’ve had a cold snap this last week and North Park is pretty exposed.”
He doesn’t take me back to the office but through the conservatory door towards a long room. It’s the one with the tall windows. An old Victorian orangery.
“Let’s have a hot drink.” He ushers me to a table by one of the tall windows.
A blonde waitress comes over immediately. “What can I get you?”
He smiles at her, a much warmer smile than anything he’s given me. “This is Evangeline Palmer.” Then he turns to me, “Evangeline, this is Leonie Henderson.”
Why does he still call me Evangeline and not Evie as I asked him?In my world, keeping names formal is a sign that he’s not convinced yet.
“Leonie,” he continues, “is one of our profit participant partners. The Orange Tree is her project. She’s restored the old orangery and, as you see, it’s now a beautiful café.”
Something tells me it’s no accident we’ve come here. If Leonie Henderson is a profit participant, perhaps he wants her opinion on me.
“Hello.” I smile up at her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Coffee? Tea?” she asks.
“Oh, whatever is easiest.” This is the wrong time to indulge and ask for my favourite coffee blend. I don’t want to be known as the spoilt TV gardener, the diva who is too cold standing outside in her silk shirt and lightweight suit.Why didn’t I dress like a gardener? Why, why?
As if she senses my anxiety, Leonie’s face suddenly softens and she gives me a very warm smile. “If you’ll take my recommendation, how about almond tea? It’s a smooth Sri Lankan tea with a touch of roasted almond.”
The way she says this, like a friend who cares, makes me feel very welcome, as if what she really likes is to make her customers happy. That’s why she’s a profit participant – a partner in the Kendric Park project. Because restoring this beautiful café and suggesting the perfect tea is her passion, just as restoring the garden would be my own passion.
Mr Kendric orders coffee for himself and she leaves us alone to continue the interview.
“There are lots of gardens open to visitors all over the country,” he says. “What would be special about yours?”
So I was right – he’s still waiting to hear something that sets me above other gardeners trying for this opportunity.
As it happens, it’s also the question that goes to the heart of what I want to do. If I’m allowed.
“A garden should not be a generic, off-the-shelf, one-size-fits-all design; it should have a real relationship with its native land.” I glance out the window at the dead bushes. “To make this unique, we need to make it truly Welsh – a celebration of local plants.”
I’ve done my research; there’s an active campaign to restore the Welsh countryside. After decades of being used as an industrial dumping ground, many of its native plants have all but died out.
“If this fits in with your vision, I’d like to include as many local plants as possible, especially rare and endangered ones. We can have Ley's whitebeam, hawkweed, cariad cherry, even Bardsey apple – all of which can’t be found anywhere in the world except in Wales.”
He listens attentively, but his expression gives nothing away.
Pushing my anxiety down, I plough on. “One of the things that interests me about the Brecon Beacons, theBannau Brycheiniog”—I take care to pronounce it as close to the authentic Welsh,Ban-eye Bruck-ein-iog—“is the drive to regenerate Welsh flora destroyed by industrial waste. We have enough land here – why not create a nursery specialising in these endangered native shrubs and rare varieties? People who are interested in Welsh plant life would come here to learn about them and buy cuttings. We can even offer an educational—”
Leonie comes back with a pot of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits, but I’m on a roll and don’t stop. I just smile up quickly then go on.
“What I mean is experience days. Visitors can book a workshop where they learn about these native species and practice taking cuttings, planting and care. At the end of the day, they can leave with their own potted plant. In time we can create a nursery specialising in Welsh plants. This will make us a destination like no other.”
“Don’t eat those,” Mr Kendric warns.
I didn’t realise my fingers had picked up one of the shortbread biscuits.
“You don’t want to spoil your lunch.” Then he looks up at Leonie who stayed here as I rambled on.Oh God, why didn’t anyone stop me?At Styler TV, we have editors and producers who trim a talk that goes on too long. Here, I’m on my own. My face heats up. I’m back to the joke I used to be at sixteen – the geeky girl who talked to plants more than people.
“Do you still have those delicious sausage rolls?” he asks Leonie.
