‘My s former apprentice would have ideas for the land. His name is Drake Vennor and he is currently advising on the new Lawton Manor gardens in Kent. His skills are in great demand. He has worked with the botanists in Kew. I could send him plans of the area and see what he suggests.’
Sir Robert thought for a moment. ‘Lawton Manor, I have heard of it. He must be good if they have commissioned him. I do not remember this boy.’
‘He was here for three years but left to complete his training. He must be . . .’ he pretended to work out the age, but in truth he knew it well ‘. . . twenty-four.’
‘Young.’
‘In years, perhaps, but not in knowledge.’
‘I will invite him to visit.’
‘No,’ Timmins replied a little too quickly. Sir Robert threw him a glance. ‘He will be too busy to visit. I will write to him and send him the plans of the area. He knows this land well enough. He will be able to make some suggestions.’
Sir Robert agreed and they retraced their steps, leaving the vast grassland behind them. Timmins felt hopeful. The redesign of the land would give him a reason to contact Drake and, God willing, build a bridge between them. He glanced at Sir Robert. They were men of different classes, yet their shared passion for the soil had forged a respectful relationship which now spanned almost thirty years. Perhaps the same could happen between him and his son.
Sir Robert and Timmins walked side by side in companionable silence until they reached the main entrance toCarrack House. Timmins doffed his cap before turning away and walking towards the granite steps. As he took the first step, a dull pain pressed hard against the centre of his chest, like a hard walnut being pushed through to his back. By the second step he felt nauseous and light-headed as the pain intensified. His third step was no more than a stumble as he clutched at his chest and bent double with pain. He missed the fourth step, his body rolling over it as he fell to the ground. He heard Sir Robert calling, but turned his head away. If he was about to die, he wanted to see the gardens he had lovingly tended over the years. A crimson haze of pelargoniums filled his line of sight. He smiled at their beauty and radiance, and then slowly closed his eyes forever.
* * *
Drake made his way down Miller Road. It was reassuring to see that Perran Village had not changed during the last six years. The same mismatched houses still lined the road, whilst narrow footpaths meandered behind and between the houses, following the route of an ancient stream that had long since dried up. He came to the end and turned onto Piggy Lane. On the corner was his mother’s familiar granite house welcoming him to step inside.
‘My, don’t you look dandy.’
Drake turned to the man who had spoken. Abel Hicks emerged from the shadow of another doorway, pushing himself forward so he took several steps in quick succession before he came to a swaying halt. He stood for a moment, before lurching forward. He had lost weight since they had last met and was in need of a good scrub and a sobering. Drake waited as Abel attempted to make his way across the road to him, his body swaying with each unpredictable step he took. Drake could smell the alcohol on his breath long before he reached him.
‘My, don’t you look . . .’ Abel waved a finger over him ‘. . . the proper gentleman now.’
Drake thought better of attempting a civil conversation with him. ‘We have nothing to say to one another, Hicks,’ said Drake, turning away.
Abel stepped forward and lifted his arms dramatically, barring his way. ‘No. No, no, no.’ He started to laugh, then thought better of it. ‘Sshhhh,’ he reprimanded himself, holding a grimy finger to his own lips.
Drake waited patiently. Abel indicated to himself and Drake in turn with a wave of his hand. ‘Me and you . . . both dismissed from Carrack House by Timmins.’ He noticed the cloth of Drake’s coat, frowned and touched it with his finger. ‘That is expensive.’
Drake glanced down at Abel’s finger. ‘I was not dismissed,’ he said quietly. ‘I left to finish my apprenticeship.’
Abel wasn’t listening. ‘The old beggar is dead now.’
‘I know,’ said Drake, losing his patience. He removed Abel’s hand from his coat and brushed past him. He did not want to listen to the ramblings of a drunkard, particularly when it involved insulting Timmins.
‘You’re no better than me, Vennor!’ shouted Abel, stumbling slightly with the effort. ‘Think you can wheedle your way into rich houses, with all yourstudying.’ He lurched forward two steps, before stopping again.‘Well, I have news for you . . . you are neither one thing nor the other.’ He tapped his temple. ‘I know what you really are. You are a nobody! Anobody!’Abel’s voice echoed along the street and came back to him. He turned to look around, surprised to find that the street was now empty. A movement caught his eye. It was the door of the house Drake had entered as it closed behind him. Abel remained for a moment, staring at the house on the corner of Piggy Lane. His frown deepened, as he wondered who Drake was visiting.The name of the road sounded familiar. The effort of thinking was too much for him. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned and stumbled away.
* * *
‘Mother.’ Drake’s mother looked up, but did not speak. It was as if she was not sure whether to trust what she saw. The dark shadows lining her eyes gave the impression she had lost a little weight. When she eventually smiled and ran into his arms he could feel that she had.
‘Drake! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?’
‘I didn’t know I was.’
‘Never mind, you are here now.’ Her words were muffled as she pressed her face against his chest. How small she seems, thought Drake as he towered above her. They stood, holding one another. Too much time had passed, he realised. The longer he had avoided coming home, the harder it had been to return.
‘Come, sit down,’ said his mother, hurriedly wiping away her tears with her apron. ‘Let me get you something to eat.’ Drake was not hungry, but he did not refuse. He was just happy to be here and she was content to busy herself trying to find something suitable.
‘I baked some bread yesterday and I might have some cheese left.’ She turned, her face much brighter than only moments ago. ‘Or would you like me to cook you a meal?’ Her eagerness to make his stay pleasant was palpable. ‘Soup or a stew . . . Oh! I have a nice bit of mutton I bought yesterday at the market.’ She went to a barrel and lifted the lid. ‘I waited until the end of the day for the prices to drop. Go too early and you are paying the same for half as much.’
Drake came over and stood beside her. He took the lid from her hands and carefully replaced it, covering the wrapped meat soaking in brine. ‘Bread and cheese will suffice. There is no needto take it out if you have gone to the trouble of salting it. Keep it for another time.’ He looked at her. ‘Come, sit down. How are you?’
He led her to a chair at the table and she did as she was told. He sat down opposite her. She looked frail, but she continued to hold his hand with a vice-like grip, with no intention of letting him go.
