The Rose Garden (14 page)

‘Well, it worked!’ Kim laughed.

They went through the rough daily routine of the surgery.

‘I work four and a half days a week,’ the doctor explained. ‘My Wednesday afternoon off is sacrosanct, as I play golf or get to see
my grandchildren. Monday is probably the busiest day in the practice, so I take a long lunch break and do a late surgery.’ She listened as he listed the daily surgery times.

‘I use the doctor-on-call service mostly at night and weekends, unless I have a special patient I am looking after.’

‘I understand,’ she smiled.

‘Are you squeamish – okay with people being sick?’ he quizzed gently.

‘Patients come in here with buckets and bowls and kids throwing up, or with tea towels wrapped around their cuts needing help,’ Frances said frankly.

‘My mother died of cancer twelve years ago,’ Kim found herself saying. ‘She was very sick, especially after her chemo, so I’m used to being around people when they are unwell.’

She saw a look pass between them.

‘The last girl we had temping here while I was away seeing my sister in Canada was a disaster,’ explained Frances. ‘She nearly threw up if someone was sick and she wouldn’t touch the patients.’

They both quizzed her about her experience and how she had found herself in Mossbawn. Kim was totally honest with them. ‘I’m not a medical secretary or a receptionist, but I am very good on computers and should be able to manage your system easily enough.’

At the end of the meeting Kim was offered the job. Frances suggested she come in early next week to the surgery and work alongside her for two days to learn the ropes. ‘It’s simple enough when you know it – and get to know how Jim operates.’

Kim was relieved to find that Dr Jim had a separate medical secretary who worked one afternoon a week for a few hours, dealing with letters and correspondence.

The doctor was well liked in Kilfinn and had a busy practice. He was an old-school type of doctor, who believed the patient always came first. A visit could last ten minutes or twenty, but if a patient needed more time, Dr Jim would make sure they got it, even if it threw the day’s appointment schedule into turmoil.

After only a week working in the surgery, Kim was finding the job easy enough. The patients made her welcome and said it was nice to have a new face behind the desk, and Dr Jim was a pleasure to work with. Frances’s hip operation had gone really well and in another few days she would be out of hospital and getting used to walking with her crutches.

Kim scanned the waiting room. Two kids with tonsils, two vaccinations, a bad cough, sore toe and a few other things.

She noticed Rita Flanagan wasn’t there waiting, so taking up her phone she texted her to remind her of her visit today. Rita was recovering from surgery and needed her bloods checked every few weeks. Rita texted back her thanks and appeared thirty minutes later.

‘Thanks, Kim, I’d totally forgotten,’ she apologized. ‘My brain is like a sieve at the moment.’

Kim smiled. One thing about the job was that she was getting to know so many people in Kilfinn. Now when she walked down the main street people stopped to say hello to her and ask how she was enjoying working with Dr Jim.

Liz and her dad had been delighted to hear that she had finally got a job, while Evie and Lisa kept slagging her off about falling for one of the patients.

‘They are mostly elderly or otherwise mothers with babies or toddlers!’ she protested. ‘And the rest of them are sick and spluttering and coughing, which is hardly attractive!’

But having a job, even if it was only temporary, had finally made Kim feel good about herself, and although the work was a bit of a juggling act it was interesting.

Coming to Mossbawn had certainly started to change things.

NIALL DEVLIN FROM THE AUCTIONEERS PHONED MOLLY TO
arrange an appointment for a viewing for a potential buyer who was interested in obtaining a large house with land in her area.

‘He’s looking at a number of properties, but seems very keen to view Mossbawn. He’s been living in England for years,’ he confided, ‘and has a number of properties and investments already in the UK and overseas, but is keen to invest and buy here in Ireland.’

Molly didn’t know whether to be happy or dismayed about a potential buyer coming to see the house.

‘Wait and see what happens,’ urged Kim, sensing her panic. ‘Just because he’s coming to see the house, that doesn’t mean that he is going to buy it!’

‘I know it’s not that easy,’ Molly reminded herself over and over again as she and Kim gave the place a massive clean, getting rid of piles of old newspapers and odds and ends and filling the tall vases with arrangements of flowers from the garden. As it was a dull day, she lit a fire in the drawing room so that it felt warmer and more welcoming.

She was so nervous that when a large black Mercedes appeared in the driveway she could feel her heart pounding. What would David think of her showing their home to someone and contemplating selling the house that they had both worked so hard to restore?

‘Mrs Hennessy, nice to meet you again,’ gushed Ronan King, the tall, grey-haired auctioneer she had first talked to in Dublin. He was impeccably dressed in a grey suit. ‘Let me introduce you to Mr Dunne.’

‘Frank,’ insisted the other man, who was smaller and blockier, reaching to shake Molly’s hand. Even though he was well dressed in a tweed jacket and beige cords, there was an air of toughness about him. He was very dark and almost bald, and seemed extremely confident.

‘Would you like a tea or coffee after your journey?’ she offered.

‘We just had some coffee in the hotel, thank you,’ replied the auctioneer.

‘Well, let me show you around the house then!’

She led them from the hall into the large drawing room, the fire brightly blazing in the grate, the deep mahogany furniture glowing in the light; the dining room, with its massive sideboard and serving table; the library, the study, the orangery; back to the sitting room, then upstairs.

‘It’s been a wonderful family home,’ she enthused. ‘My husband and I tried to make it as comfortable as possible while retaining the important classical features.’

‘And you have done that extremely well,’ agreed Ronan King admiringly.

The other man said very little, but she could see he was taking in everything, studying the windows and fireplaces and architraves.

Back downstairs, she brought them into the kitchen where Kim was engrossed, working on her laptop.

‘This place is the heart of the house,’ Molly smiled as she showed them the hand-crafted kitchen with its well-stocked pantry, neat utility room and boot room.

‘If you don’t mind, Mrs Hennessy, I will show Frank the grounds, let him have a bit of a ramble around.’

‘Of course,’ she said, watching the two men walk out across the terrace and towards the kitchen garden.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘Not sure,’ admitted Kim. ‘He barely said a word when he saw the kitchen, and most people just love it!’

‘I know,’ Molly sighed. ‘He’s hardly spoken as we walked around, but he was definitely checking everything out.’

She tried to keep busy until she saw them returning.

‘We just wanted to clarify, Mrs Hennessy, about the back field near the woods –that is yours?’

‘Yes. I let my neighbour Pamela use it to graze her horses.’

‘And the stables and outbuildings and the cottage are all included in the sale?’ added Ronan King.

‘Everything is except for the Gardener’s Cottage,’ she found herself saying. ‘I’m afraid the cottage and the garden around it are not part of the sale.’

‘It’s itemized,’ the other man reminded her.

‘I’m afraid that’s a mistake,’ she said slowly. ‘I am keeping the cottage for my own use.’

The auctioneer pulled out a small, black, leatherbound notebook and scribbled in it.

‘If you would like to have another look around, please do,’ she offered.

They went upstairs again before leaving, taking another walk around the house before going out the side door to the old stable-yard. The two were deep in discussion from what she could tell when she went out to join them. Frank Dunne was not giving any indication of what he thought of the house.

‘I will be in touch,’ Ronan King promised as they said their goodbyes.

Standing in the doorway, Molly felt a strange sense of relief as she watched the two men drive away.

MOLLY HAD NO IDEA WHY SHE HAD SAID TO RONAN KING ABOUT
keeping the old Gardener’s Cottage that they had never used, but suddenly it seemed important. Grabbing the key off the hook in the kitchen, she found herself going down to look at it again. Perhaps it might have some sort of possibility to be renovated and used.

Opening the door, she got that awful, strong, damp, musty smell again and she suspected a cat and her kittens must have found their way into the place. The windows were grimy and covered in cobwebs, and the ancient range looked in a pretty poor state. The fireplace in the sitting room, however, seemed fine. Outside there was a small lean-to with a sink and a disgusting toilet. Up the narrow, rickety stairs there were two small, pokey bedrooms that overlooked the garden, though the tiny windows were so covered in thorny briars that you could hardly see out of them. One wall was black with mould and a hole in the roof could be clearly seen, where the rainwater had poured in.

David had talked about fixing up the cottage sometime in the future, but it had hardly been a priority when there was so much other work to do. An old bed frame took up almost all the space in one room, with a mottled mirror and a plain wardrobe. Whoever had lived here before had lived very simply. Returning to the kitchen, she opened the drawers in the old dresser; they were filled with odds and ends of gardening implements, string and labels
and a yellowing notebook full of planting schedules and plans, and a record of vegetables grown in the kitchen garden.

Even though it was smelly and cold and damp, there was something about the place that had an appeal. Going back outside, Molly walked around the small vegetable plot to the side and the simple courtyard-style garden area. It was smaller than she would have liked. A path led towards the house, which was screened by trees. The cottage was closer to the wall of the old rose garden and its rusted entrance gate, and to the large kitchen garden where the gardener would have worked.

It was strange, but there was something about the cottage that she liked. She could imagine it redone – bright and clean and cosy – and her living here. Why would she even consider moving to a small house in the village or a place in Dublin when she could have this cottage to live in if she ended up having to sell the big house? She was excited … She’d absolutely no idea how much it would cost to renovate, but the fact that she already owned it was a huge advantage.

Taking out her phone, she searched for Trish’s number. Her architect friend would tell her straight out if it was worth putting a bit of money into fixing up the cottage.

Trish McMahon came over the next morning and measured and checked every bit of the cottage, pulling at plaster, kicking at floorboards and scrutinizing the roof.

‘Molly, it’s a fine cottage. Okay, the roof needs replacing along with the electrics and plumbing, and you would want to put in heating and replace all the windows, but otherwise it’s sound.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course – it’s my job to be sure.’

‘But that’s a huge amount of work!’

‘Almost anything you buy will need work,’ Trish reminded her. ‘If you end up moving out of Mossbawn and getting a cottage or a bungalow near the village, I can guarantee you will be doing a lot of the work you have to do here – and those terraced houses at the
end of the village have serious problems. I did work on one of them last year and it all had to be damp-proofed.’

‘So what do you think, Trish? Be honest!’ she pleaded.

‘I think it’s a great cottage with huge potential. Even a slight extension would open it up and create more space.’ She grinned, walking around the small sitting room. ‘A support beam here and a joist and some lovely big glass doors that will help bring in the outside will make a massive difference.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Molly, watching Trish scribble on a pad and do some very rough drawings. ‘But I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t cost a fortune.’

‘You will have to spend some money, Molly, but it will be worth it in the long run. You could extend and get a good-sized open living area downstairs, along with a really decent-sized bedroom, and upstairs I’d suggest turning those little rooms into one larger bedroom with an ensuite. You already own the cottage, which is the main thing! I’d certainly advise doing it, whether you live here yourself or rent it out or want to keep it for the girls.’

‘I like the cottage – it has a good feel,’ Molly said, walking around. ‘Even when it’s damp and dirty there’s something about it.’

‘I’ll do up some plans for you,’ offered Trish. ‘Most of the work doesn’t need planning permission, but if you extend over a certain limit you will need to apply for planning.’

‘But why? There’s nobody near – no one to object.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ insisted Trish. ‘I’d advise you to go ahead and get planning now, because who’s to say if someone buys Mossbawn that they won’t object to you extending the cottage.’

‘That wouldn’t happen!’

‘Believe me, it would!’ she warned. ‘The Linders sold their house two years ago and kept a site for themselves, but when they went to build on it the new owners of their house objected. It was awful.’

‘Trish, do you think it would work, me moving in here?’

‘Molly, it’s a huge change, but you’d still be living at Mossbawn,
still have a garden and lots of open space,’ said Trish as she took a few photos with her iPhone. ‘This old cottage with a bit of work could look amazing. I love it – I really do.’

‘I know, there’s something about it …’

‘Listen, I’ll try and get a few drawings to you by the weekend,’ promised Trish, who was in a hurry to get to a meeting about a job in Castlecomer.