Second Thyme Around (4 page)
‘I’m sure it doesn’t. But what about the fact that I’m one of your major customers and I happen to like seeing where what I buy comes from?’
That was unanswerable. She often showed interested buyers round.
‘You’d better borrow a coat, then. Or you’ll get cold.’
‘You won’t have anything to fit me.’
She smiled accommodatingly and went into the hall. ‘Yes I will. Here.’ She burrowed into a row of hooks and produced a very ancient man’s jacket which had once belonged to Kitty’s husband. Kitty had left it behind once and it had stayed there ever since. Now she was pleased to see the curiosity in Lucas’s eyes.
‘It belongs to a friend,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But you can borrow it.’
There was nothing she could do about Wellingtons for Lucas, but he managed perfectly well in his steel-capped boots, although he did get them covered in mud. Perdita had often wondered if she should have the path from her house to the poly-tunnels gravelled, but like many things which would have made her life easier but not increased her income, she had never got round to it. She just lived in her Wellingtons. She clenched her teeth on her apology for the conditions underfoot.
‘Here’s my shed, where I do all my seed sowing, what pricking out that gets done, and where I keep my tender things in winter, things like scented geraniums. Very good for flavouring ice-cream,’ she added pointedly.
He grunted, casting his disdainful gaze over the shed, which didn’t look very prepossessing, even to Perdita’s fond gaze. It had a potting bench, a high typing stool, so she could sit to work, and a radio, which she kept permanently tuned to Radio Four. There was a paraffin heater, which just about kept the chill off by day and the frost off by night, not much more. A tottering pile of grubby, mossy polystyrene seed trays occupied one corner. These she used in rotation, and while awaiting their turn, they dried in heaps. The roof was partly wooden and partly corrugated plastic, and there were puddles where they didn’t quite join. A fluorescent strip was the main illumination, but there was an ancient anglepoise over the potting bench.
‘I’m surprised they don’t want to make their cookery
programme in here,’ Lucas said.
programme in here,’ Lucas said.
‘I did think of offering it to them,’ Perdita replied with a completely straight face, ‘but I wouldn’t want them in a space I actually use. Come on, come and see the tunnels and meet the veg.’ His sideways glance told her he was wondering if she was mad, and, wanting to encourage his doubts about her sanity, she added, ‘They’re like my family. I talk to them all the time.’
Lucas scrutinised her carefully to see if she was sending him up. Perdita looked blandly back at him, innocent and guileless. The fact was, although she didn’t actually regard her salads as close family members, she certainly chatted away to them, cajoling, chiding, and often, congratulating them—‘Who’s Mummy’s nice little earner, then?’
She opened the door of the first tunnel, lifting it over the rut which had formed over the years.
‘Hello, darlings!’ she said gaily, having checked that William, who worked for her, wasn’t in the tunnel. She didn’t want him thinking that his boss had gone dotty. ‘Mummy’s brought you a visitor.’ She stole a glance at Lucas’s horrified expression. It filled her with glee. ‘Be on your best behaviour,’ she went on, nauseating herself as well as him.
Then she forgot to be mad as Lucas helped himself to green morsels, and she gathered groups of leaves and rolled them into cigarettes of zing and flavour.
‘Here, try this.’ She handed him a leaf. ‘But be careful, it’s strong.’ She knew he would ignore her warning and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes water. ‘It goes well with golden purslane, which as you know, is divinely pretty, but a bit bland. This is practically my favourite.’ She handed him an attractive plant with rounded leaves wrapped about the stalk. ‘I’d almost grow it for its looks alone, but it has a nice flavour too, fresh and quite mild.’
‘I am familiar with claytonia,’ said Lucas. ‘Or has this particular member of the family got a Christian name?’
Ignoring his sarcasm, Perdita looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s very important not to give the plants names, or you get too attached, and it breaks your heart when you have to let them go.’ She flirted with the notion of telling him she could hear the plants scream as she pulled them out of the earth, but decided he might think she was too much of a nutter to do business with. ‘Come along,’ she added briskly. ‘There are two more tunnels to see.’
William was at the far end of the third tunnel. He straightened up as Lucas and Perdita entered.
‘Hello, Perdita,’ he called. ‘The mesembryanthemums have put on a spurt. Have you got any buyers for them?’
‘This is William, my – right-hand man,’ she said as she reached him. She hoped she’d put enough nuance into her voice to make Lucas wonder about their relationship. William was quite a bit younger than she, but toy boys were fashionable these days. ‘This is Lucas Gillespie, the new chef at Grantly House. Can we interest you in ice plants, Lucas? They’ve a different sort of texture which is good in a salad – taste a bit salty.’
Lucas almost admitted to being confronted with something he had never eaten before. ‘I know these as flowers. They grow a lot in Cornwall.’
‘They do have pretty flowers,’ admitted Perdita, ‘if rather gaudy, but we remove them as soon as they appear.’
‘Isn’t that a bit cruel?’ asked Lucas, one black brow raised.
Perdita looked down at her hands in mock remorse, hoping William wouldn’t ask what on earth Lucas was talking about. ‘It’s tough being in business,’ she said.
William, when she finally dared glance at him, was looking a bit confused but, fortunately, he was shy and therefore unlikely to address Lucas.
By the time Lucas had inspected all the tunnels and
seemingly every plant, Perdita was exhausted, and not only because she kept forgetting she was supposed to see her plants as her children. The project as a whole
was
her baby. She did want Lucas to approve of it, and see it as a good, profitable business. Not, she assured herself, as they walked back to the house together, because he was Lucas, her ex-husband. But because he was the new chef at Grantly House, and therefore a valuable customer.
seemingly every plant, Perdita was exhausted, and not only because she kept forgetting she was supposed to see her plants as her children. The project as a whole
was
her baby. She did want Lucas to approve of it, and see it as a good, profitable business. Not, she assured herself, as they walked back to the house together, because he was Lucas, her ex-husband. But because he was the new chef at Grantly House, and therefore a valuable customer.
She didn’t offer him tea, although she was gasping for a cup herself, but she did offer him a lift back to the hotel in her van. It had got very dark and a cold November wind was blowing up the valley.
‘I’m sure you’ll need to be getting back,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to call in on Kitty anyway, and see how she got on at bridge.’
‘I’m sure she must be an excellent player.’
It was just possible Lucas was trying to be pleasant, and that she only imagined a sneer in his voice, but Perdita couldn’t bring herself to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘She’s awful, actually. She’s only recently taken it up, and although the other members of the club are all terribly fond of her, no one likes being her partner. She has a tendency to think aloud, which gives the opposition an unfair advantage.’
Lucas grinned, and for a dangerous, teetering moment, Perdita was reminded of how he was when she had first met him, handsome, devil-may-care, with a wicked grin. It gave her a nasty jolt. Once she had dropped him home and was on her way to Kitty’s, she realised that if she wasn’t careful she could quite easily find herself attracted to him again.
Of course she wouldn’t do anything about it, and would not even allow herself the teeniest fantasy about luring him back to her, but it highlighted her problem. She was alone, with no focus for her romantic urges, no love object,
no one even to have a crush on. It was a dangerous state to be in. She must do something about it.
no one even to have a crush on. It was a dangerous state to be in. She must do something about it.
Later, while she was washing up half a dozen dirty mugs and a few bowls, Perdita found it impossible not to think back to her short, turbulent marriage to Lucas Gillespie, and how she had picked herself up afterwards.
Kitty had been marvellous. She had fought Perdita’s corner against her parents, insisting that their daughter didn’t share their passion for travel and so didn’t want to backpack round the world to get over her heartbreak. She convinced them that living quietly with Kitty, gardening, reading and eating nourishing meals, was what Perdita needed. And much later, when Perdita had done her horticulture course, and Kitty had got Perdita’s wedding money out of her father, she encouraged Perdita to buy her first polythene tunnel and set up in business.
Kitty then sectioned off half an acre of her own enormous garden and gave it to Perdita – ‘So I don’t have to feel guilty about not looking after it.’
Later, Perdita had found herself in a position to buy the tiny cottage at the end of the lane which had once housed the gamekeeper of Grantly House, as well as enough land for two more tunnels.
There were a few spectacular arguments about money; Kitty wanted to finance the whole thing. She disapproved of mortgages, having never needed one herself, and felt that Perdita should let her buy the cottage and the land, the argument being that Perdita was going to inherit all Kitty’s money anyway.
With a stubbornness which had surprised them both, Perdita refused. She arranged a mortgage and a bank loan. ‘So I’ll have more to inherit,’ she told Kitty.
It was at college that she had learnt about markets. She realised that she could never make enough to keep herself
by growing carrots and potatoes. She needed to grow specialist vegetables for specialist cooks. She went to the nearby health farm and persuaded Ronnie’s predecessor that he needed to provide vegetables fresh out of the ground, and if he would only tell her what he wanted, she would grow it and deliver it.
by growing carrots and potatoes. She needed to grow specialist vegetables for specialist cooks. She went to the nearby health farm and persuaded Ronnie’s predecessor that he needed to provide vegetables fresh out of the ground, and if he would only tell her what he wanted, she would grow it and deliver it.
She did the same with Enzo at Grantly House. His requirements had been more esoteric and included specialist herbs, flat-leaved parsley, chervil, coriander, every sort of basil and tarragon, thyme, parsley, dill. He wanted baby leeks the size of her little finger, vegetables too young to die, sprouted fenugreek, alfalfa, and sweet seasoning peppers grown from seed sent from the Caribbean. Her business had flourished.
Now, five years on, certain that all wounds and scars from her marriage were healed, Perdita’s first concern was Janey. Lucas was obviously the sort of chef who thought humiliating one’s staff was the way to get the best out of them. Even without her own, personal knowledge of just how cruel Lucas could be, Perdita would have been worried about Janey, especially when a couple of telephone conversations with her made it clear that she was developing a crush on Lucas. It was easily done when you were Janey’s age, as Perdita knew only too well. Janey must be rescued. Perdita liked rescuing things, and if it thoroughly annoyed Lucas in the process, well, all the better.
With these happy thoughts in mind, she didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry when, the next day, she received a faxed order from Grantly House that was even bigger than the last one. She had no way of knowing how Lucas felt about her personally, but he was a big fan of what she produced.
When she delivered it a couple of days later she dutifully removed her gumboots and padded into the kitchen in her woolly socks.
‘Hi, everyone! How’s things?’ she carolled gaily, in an attempt to sound as she had before Enzo’s departure. ‘Oh, he’s not here,’ she went on, more naturally. ‘What a relief.’
Greg was scrubbing the bars of the oven, giving Perdita the impression that he’d done nothing but clean it ever since she was last here. Janey was making potato balls with raw potatoes and a melon baller, a process which looked both extremely tedious and painful to the palm of the hand.
‘Pommes Parisienne,’ she explained gloomily. ‘Bloody agony.’
‘How can you fancy a man who makes you do such poncy things to potatoes?’ Perdita murmured to Janey, so Greg wouldn’t hear.
Janey blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t help it.’
‘So where’s your lord and master?’ asked Perdita, at normal volume.
‘He’s having a conference with Mr Grantly,’ said Janey, throwing down her baller in a gesture of rebellion. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea!’
‘Oh, let’s. I’ll get the stuff.’ She went to the door and put her boots back on. Such a relief not to have to take them off when she returned.
‘Is it hell? Is he a bastard?’ Perdita, having unloaded six crates of salad and put them in the cold store, helped herself to a biscuit, and heaved herself onto the counter.
‘Don’t sit there!’ Janey screamed. ‘He’ll go mad! I’ve just sterilised it. He says he doesn’t know how we weren’t closed down when Enzo was in charge.’
‘Oh sod him.’ Perdita said rebelliously, staying put.
‘I suppose things had got a bit slack,’ Janey went on, reluctantly picking up her melon baller.
‘You haven’t said much,’ Perdita said, turning to Greg. ‘How do you like working with him?’
‘I don’t. I think I’ll go back to college and get some qualifications.’
‘Well, I expect your mother’s pleased about that.’
Greg growled. ‘Anything’s better than being bossed around by that bastard. I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. Enzo was Italian, but at least he spoke bloody English.’
‘You could get another job. So could you, Janey.’
Janey sighed. ‘It’s very good experience, working with someone with such a good reputation. It’ll look very good on my c.v.’
‘But surely you could work for someone with a good reputation who isn’t such a pig? That would look just as good on your c.v.’
‘Yes,’ said Greg.
‘And how come he’s got such a good reputation? He’s not famous, is he?’ Perdita, aware that she led a rather narrow existence, wanted to make sure there was nothing about her ex-husband she ought to know.
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