Sowing Secrets (24 page)

Today’s the day they’re going to shoot the opening scenes of
Restoration Gardener
too, but I didn’t know Gabriel had arrived until the gate squeaked while I was mixing the first watering can of Up-She-Roses of the year, and there he was.

Despite the name, there’s never anything particularly angelic about his appearance, and it’s going to be disconcerting if he keeps popping by like this all the time when he lives here. Do I want to be that matey? And what are the Wevills going to make of it?

He said he’d just dropped in to thank me for the food parcels and the long-life milk I’d left at Fairy Glen, and I told him it was mostly overflow stuff that didn’t fit in with my diet.

Then he insisted on carrying the heavy cans up to the rose garden for me, although I told him I could do it myself and pointed out that he would be late at Plas Gwyn.

‘It won’t take long – and then you could come up to the house with me and watch, though it won’t be terribly exciting.’

‘Oh, I’m not coming,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve got loads of work to do … and, besides, I’m still in my old gardening clothes.’

‘You look fine to me, and since you’re not going to be in the film it doesn’t matter, does it? I expect it will all be over in a couple of hours. We don’t shoot it in sequence. The scene where I approach in a helicopter is going to be shot later in the morning, and we’re going to do the bit introducing the house and Rhodri first. I thought you might like to see that.’

I’m not sure how I found myself driving up to Plas Gwyn with him, wearing my rather muddy jeans and a T-shirt printed with a picture of Angel in Fang Mode – except, perhaps, that he turned out to be a big
Buffy
fan too, and we had such an interesting conversation that when he pulled up I only vaguely remembered how we’d got there.

There were strange people, vehicles and equipment all over the place, as though a nest of mechanical ants had been stirred with a cattle prod. Most of the inhabitants of St Ceridwen’s had been drawn up by some kind of osmosis too, and were clustered on the other side of the ha-ha together with a herd of curious heifers.

Nia was very pleased to see me since Rhodri had gone to pieces from nerves and she needed some support; and actually Gabe was right, it
was
quite interesting seeing them shoot the thing out of sequence and in little bites.

After a couple of hours Gabe vanished to rendezvous with the helicopter and we went to brew tea and calm Rhodri down in Nia’s studio. I don’t know why he was in such a fuss, since they’d already shot the conversation between them, so all he had to do now was look up when he heard the helicopter and then walk forward and shake hands with Gabe after it had landed.

A woman popped her head in and said, ‘Get into position please, Mr Gwyn-Whatmire!’ and we went out into the courtyard.

‘Here he comes,’ Rhodri said, as the faint beating of a helicopter became audible, and ran a distracted hand through his hair.

‘Don’t do that, it’s all sticking up now,’ Nia ordered, stretching up to smooth it down. ‘Right, don’t touch it again, just go straight to the spot and stand there looking vaguely intelligent!’

I think she’s missed her vocation.

‘Good luck,’ I said, and we quickly ran back to the workshop, where we waited, brewing more tea on Nia’s little stove.

Eventually the helicopter took off and vanished, and then Gabe and Rhodri came walking across the courtyard chatting, so we figured it was all over.

‘How did it go, Gabe?’ Nia asked as we emerged like troglodytes, blinking in the spring sunshine.

‘Oh – good, I think.’

‘We seemed to be doing it for hours,’ Rhodri said.

‘Yes, but it will all edit down to just an opening sequence. That’s it now until the team arrives for the project itself, and of course we will be coming back and filming the changes just like with the earlier projects. Gardens take years to evolve – this one won’t be any different.’

‘Look at the time!’ I suddenly exclaimed. ‘I haven’t done a bit of work yet,
and
Rosie’s coming back from Ma’s any minute. I’d better go.’

Gabe insisted on running me home again, since he said he’d persuaded me to come in the first place, and we arrived to find Rosie already unloading her stuff from the car. I hoped Gabe would drive away again, but he got out, obviously assuming he would be introduced.

‘Rosie,’ I said reluctantly, ‘this is Gabe Weston.’

Rosie eyed him suspiciously. ‘Hi,’ she said unenthusiastically, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners in the way he has when he’s amused.

‘Nice to meet you,’ he said gravely. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Clearly considering the social niceties had been addressed, Rosie turned a severe gaze on me. ‘Where’ve you been, Mum?’

‘Just up watching the filming at Plas Gwyn. I wasn’t expecting you until later, darling.’

‘I left early. That Mona Wevill came out and tried to be friendly,’ she added, ‘but I told her I knew what she’d done to your Mermaid and I thought she was despicable, and she went bright red and went back in.’

‘Good for you,’ Gabe said. ‘But I think the rose will recover, with a bit of luck.’

‘And manure,’ I added gratefully.

‘I’d better leave you to it and get back up to Plas Gwyn. I take it you won’t be at the Druid’s Rest tonight, Fran?’

‘Mum and I are going to stay in,’ Rosie said, quickly and jealously. ‘We want to spend some time together.’

‘Right. And you’re off surfing tomorrow, I hear?’

‘Yes, in Cornwall with my dad,’ she said defiantly.

‘Oh?’ He looked from one of us to the other. ‘I thought your dad was in Grand Cayman?’

‘Oh,
Mal
isn’t my dad, only a
step
,’ she said airily. ‘Excuse me!’ And off she waltzed into the house with an armful of clothes.

Gabe looked at me, one eyebrow raised. ‘You didn’t tell me she wasn’t your husband’s child!’

‘Well, why should I? And it’s not like it’s some huge secret, because everyone round here knows I had a previous relationship,’ I said defensively, though my voice sounded strange and my heart was hammering so loud I thought he might hear it.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Well … I’d better get back.’ And with a slightly frowning glance at me he strode off to his car, then paused and tossed over his shoulder, rather tersely, ‘Maiden’s Blush.’

‘
What
?’

‘An Alba. Pre-fifteenth century, a hardy pink.’

‘Oh – Bullata!’ I snapped, and strode into the house, slamming the door behind me. ‘Rosie, where are you? I want to talk to you!’

Only of course she was unrepentant. I can see that she will brook no supposed competitors, now she has convinced herself that Mal and I will break up, leaving me free to marry Tom and make us one big, happy family.

Perhaps I told her too many fairy tales when she was growing up.

Nia just called on her mobile, and apparently Rosie popped up to Plas Gwyn briefly yesterday to say hello – and I didn’t even know she’d gone out!

Nia overheard her more or less tell Gabe that her father was an old flame and I’d taken up with him again now Mal had abandoned me! She said it was very artlessly done, but clearly Rosie
does
think that Gabe is some kind of threat to her dreams of a fairytale ending, which is not true, since there is
no
way I’m ever getting back with Tom!

Besides, the fairy-tale bit was when I met Mal and he swept me off my feet. Of course, he’s spent the next ten years sweeping
around
my feet instead, but you can’t have everything, and compulsive cleanliness is not the worst fault a husband could have (though, come to think of it, he’s got one or two of those too).

The Wevills have spent the morning painting exactly half of our shared stone gatepost a dismal lilac, which rather reflects my current mood. When I asked Mal last night if they were still sending him a résumé of my movements, he said they never had done that, only told him any interesting bits of village news, to which I replied, ‘Yes, and I really
am
Tilly the two-ton tooth fairy.’

‘Are you?’ he said vaguely, clearly not paying attention, but there were voices in the background so I expect he was at work.

Whether the Wevills are still sending him bulletins or not, he seems to have stopped being quite so jealous of my friendships, which is possibly an ominous sign rather than one of maturity. And he barely even
tries
to seem interested in news of Rosie, the hens, my roses or the events up at Plas Gwyn. In fact, the only thing he shows any interest in is the thorny subject of my weight loss.

Even when I told him Rosie was off to Cornwall with her boyfriend, to stay with Tom Collinge and surf, he just grunted, ‘That’s nice,’ before reminding me again to put my driving licence on the list of things to take out with me. Presumably this is so I can drive his mother about, although I reminded him that I’m not good with strange cars, especially on unfamiliar roads.

The time we went to the south of France we nearly had a total marriage breakdown after he insisted I drove one leg of the journey and then criticised the way I did it. Then when we got there I spent two weeks looking like Elephant Woman due to an acute allergic reaction to the sun.

Colum turned out to be a stocky, spiky-haired young man, not much taller than Rosie, who didn’t say very much but smiled a lot. He was clearly the strong silent type since he somehow managed to efficiently pack her into his car and depart ten minutes after he got here.

Wish I knew how he did that.

Rosie asked me rather suspiciously what I was going to do while she was away, and I said work, work and more work – except for Sunday, when I had promised to go up and hide Easter eggs with Rhodri and Nia. Otherwise, I’m going to keep a low profile and hope Gabe has a trusting nature, so he believed what Rosie told him. A weak grasp of maths and a dodgy memory would also be desirable.

On Easter Sunday I was up at first light and, after tossing a handful of Happyhen into the coop, dashed up to Plas Gwyn to help hide the Easter eggs.

I was just grateful Nia hadn’t insisted I wear a bunny costume, since anything to do with rabbits makes me think of
Con Air
: he really
should
have put the bunny back in the box.

There was no sign of Gabe even though his car was parked in the courtyard, but while I was doing one of my wider sweeps with my fast-emptying basket of eggs I came across him sitting in the middle of the maze like a minotaur after an earthquake, his chin resting on his knees.

I walked up to the edge and called, curiously, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Thinking,’ he said shortly, his hazel eyes cold. ‘I thought this was one place I would be alone!’

‘Sorry,’ I said, backing off. ‘I was only going to put some eggs under the yew hedge, nowhere near the maze – Nia wouldn’t like that. Weren’t you supposed to be helping?’

‘I didn’t think you’d need me. I’ll come back in time for the grand opening bit.’

‘Right.’ I took a couple of uncertain steps away – for all I knew of him his temperament might be as mercurial as the April weather, and I hoped so because otherwise I was very afraid that he might have started to put two and two together … ‘Sorry I disturbed you.’

‘Fran … ’

I turned and found him still regarding me sombrely; then that slightly crooked smile dawned and he said, ‘Celsiana!’

‘Quatre Saisons,’ I contributed uncertainly, thinking that Four Seasons pretty well summed up his moods. We seemed to be back in sunshine again, fighting a battle of flowers.

At this rate, I would shortly run out of old roses – I must scour my book and catalogue collection again.

True to his word Gabe did turn up in good time for the official opening, as did crews from both
Restoration Gardener
and BBC Wales, who filmed the proceedings and then rolled away again – but not before Dottie had stolen the show.

She had been invited to cut a symbolic ribbon tied between two trees, but when she failed to turn up it looked like Rhodri would have to do the honours – until she appeared at the very last moment round the corner of the stable block, eating a chocolate Easter egg, which she must have found while riding through the grounds.

‘Quick! You’re on, Miss Gwyn-Whatmire!’ Nia said, taking her elbow and pointing her in the right direction. ‘See, over there – they’re waiting for you to cut the ribbon!’

‘Village fête, is it?’ Dottie said vaguely. ‘Should have warned me.’ She thrust the half-eaten chocolate egg into the pocket of her Barbour jacket then, with a businesslike air, pulled out a folding hoof pick, strode over and sawed through the ribbon. ‘I declare this fête open,’ she said. ‘What are you all waiting for? Off you all go!’

There was a smattering of applause. Dottie took the half-eaten Easter egg out of her pocket and began pulling wisps of hay off it.

Nia’s sister, Sian, was hanging around Gabe, I noticed, probably in her official reporter guise. After a while they left together. She
is
very pretty in a hard way, but I think Nia is much more attractive, and, clearly, so does Rhodri. Nia said later that Sian had pretty well forced Gabe into offering to give her a lift down to the village where she’d left her car, but she’d put good money on it that that was as far as she got with him.

‘I don’t think Sian’s his type,’ she said rather meaningfully. ‘He’s got other things on his mind: he asked me earlier if this Tom Collinge Rosie had gone off to visit was the same man you used to go out with at college, the one who had dumped you at the end of term.’

‘Oh my God – no wonder he was morose and preoccupied earlier!’ I said, a feeling of panic rising. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘Well, “yes”, of course … but then I said he’d asked you to go back to him soon after you’d broken up.’

‘Which is true,’ I approved, with a sigh of relief. ‘Well done, Nia! Quick thinking.’

‘Fortunately, he didn’t ask me whether you
had
gone back to him or not, so I didn’t have to tell any lies.’

‘So,’ I said slowly, working it out, ‘Gabe, Rosie and Tom think Tom’s Rosie’s dad; Mal and half the village suspect it’s Rhodri; and I don’t know for certain but am almost
sure
it’s got to be Gabe.’

‘Right,’ agreed Nia, following this with an effort. ‘Look, Fran, I’d better get back and help out – I’ll talk to you later.’

There seemed to be children everywhere, all happy, since Nia had rather overdone the eggs, to the point where they could hardly take a step without falling over one.

I was sorely tempted to eat one myself, but the thought of thin-as-a-whippet Alphawoman Alison out there on Cayman with my husband seemed to be strengthening my willpower. I strengthened it even more by taking myself off home: there were more than enough helpers, what with Mrs Jones and her team showing the house, and even Dottie bellowing instructions at the people trying to park their cars, as though they were imbecile members of her pony club.

I only hoped she had remembered to stable Rollover in his loose box and not Nia’s workshop, or there would be hell to pay.

The start of week two of Atkins, and I can’t face another chicken, let alone an egg. I
am
losing weight rapidly, but more because I’ve gone off all forms of protein and therefore am not eating much of anything apart from the odd leaf.

The latest copy of
S.O.N.W.
magazine came today, and Alphawoman seems to be popular. While they don’t pay a huge amount, at least it’s regular. There was a poem too, which I’ve copied out for the wall of my studio.