‘Ah, the whole team’s here!’ Owain says as he comes outof the end cottage, reaching back to pull his yellow door closed.
‘Wait!’ I hear Gwen call from behind him.
He quickly opens the door again and she bustles out, shooing him from under the porch so she can get on her way. ‘Morning all!’ she calls curtly as she stomps off along the dirt path in the direction of the house.
Owain casts his eyes at the heavens. ‘She’ll be glad when today’s over,’ he says ominously.
‘What’s happening today?’ I ask.
‘Lord and Lady Berkeley’s fortieth wedding anniversary party. They’ve got about two hundred people coming to the Great Hall later. Gwen is stressed about a Women’s Institute afternoon tea she has to get out of the way before they can start clearing tables.’
I hate the thought of Gwen being stressed.
‘I forgot we were closing early today,’ Harri says.
He and Bethan turn to each other and start making plans for that afternoon – a friend of Bethan’s has just had a baby and she wants Harri to go with her to visit. I’m only half concentrating. Evan has just unlocked the big arched door to the walled garden. It’s made of thick, heavily weathered wood and is hung on big hinges that groan as he pushes the door open. He stands back and waves me through.
I smile at him and lead the way, looking around reverentially.
Garden beds that I couldn’t see from my bedroom window line this side of the wall. They’re heavily populated with ferns, and rising out of the feathery fronds are thickropes of tangled wisteria exploding with long trailing purple blooms. We head out through an apple orchard of old trees with gnarled trunks and come to the centre of the garden.
It’s set to be another lovely day, weather-wise, and even though it’s a Monday and unlikely to be as busy as it was at the weekend, we’ll try to tackle the most invasive gardening work before the hall is opened to the public in a couple of hours.
While Owain mows the terraces, Harri and Bethan take two volunteers each to do some weeding and deadheading in the courtyard and East Court. Meanwhile, Evan and I get to work on the tall topiary columns on the upper terrace. We’re trimming them a little earlier than usual, but the Berkeleys want the grounds around the Great Hall to look shipshape for the party tonight.
My stomach feels as though it’s full of tiny bubbles of joy that don’t fade, even as the morning wears on. I’ll never take this job for granted – I feel like the luckiest person in the world right now and I don’t think that will get old.
After breaking for tea in the Mess Room, a converted Victorian garden shed that’s hidden from view of the house by an old yew hedge, Evan takes me for a proper tour of the grounds, teaching me the names of the garden ‘rooms’ I haven’t yet come into contact with. The formal gardens are all sensational, but my favourite bed is the one heading down towards the orangery. Every time I catch sight of the lupins, I think of Nan.
By three o’clock, I’m aching all over and ready for a hotbath, but I go with Evan to do a final check of the courtyard. The Regency wing opens right onto it.
The Great Hall has already been closed to the public, so it seems Gwen got her afternoon teas away on time. A hive of activity can be seen through the tall windows and double doors: people folding up tablecloths and moving tables and chairs.
‘Hmm,’ Evan says, frowning at the path where patches of dirt are spilling from some of the beds. A couple of the volunteers were here earlier, doing some weeding. ‘I’d better grab a broom and sort that out.’
‘I’ll help you.’ Together, we’ll make short work of it.
‘I’m so ready for a nice cold beer,’ he says when we’re almost done.
‘It’s only three twenty,’ I chide.
‘Perfect. You want to join me? Sit out in the back garden, put your feet up?’ He props his hands against the end of his broom and smiles at me.
‘Sure, but you’d better find me a patch of shade. I got a little sunburnt today.’
‘Ellie!’ he exclaims, half amused, half chastising.
‘I know, I wasn’t expecting it in Wales,’ I reply with a laugh, showing him one of my arms. ‘Usually I’m all factor-fiftied up.’
‘I can’t believe someone with your complexion chooses to work outside all day.’ He shakes his head at me as he gets back to sweeping, the muscles in his tanned arms rippling. ‘Andyou get hay fever,’ he points out, teasing.
It’s true, I do. I’m laughing as a window in the Great Hallopens, and it’s like déjà vu when Lady Berkeley leans out, looking all panicky.
‘Evan!’ she shouts with relief.
‘Oh, hey, Mrs B. Happy anniversary,’ Evan replies.
‘Eleanor, you’re here too! Darlings, we’re having a nightmare!’ she exclaims and I get the feeling she tends toward melodrama. ‘The catering staff are dropping like flies – two more have just cancelled and another has gastric flu. Would any of you be available to help out?’
