The Rose Garden (26 page)

‘Thanks,’ she said again, reaching for her bags, unsure if she should invite him in or not.

‘I was meant to go to London this morning on business, but all the flights are cancelled. Hopefully they’ll be up and running tomorrow.’

‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’

‘That would be great,’ he said, turning off the engine.

She hadn’t really expected him to say yes and she hoped that she had left the kitchen in a decent state and not with clothes drying on the overhead rack.

‘Here, I’ll get the bags,’ he offered as she opened the front door.

She led him through the large hallway and down the steps to the kitchen, flicking on the light switch.

‘It’s nice and warm in here,’ he said, putting the bags down on the kitchen table as Daisy ran around his feet. ‘Nice dog!’ he added approvingly, patting her.

Molly packed away the groceries quickly and put the kettle on as Rob glanced at the newspaper. She took off her jacket and boots and put them in the cloakroom. Her cheeks were burning hot after coming in from the cold.

‘Great kitchen,’ he said, sitting at the table and looking around.

‘I know – it’s the heart of the house and the place to be in this kind of weather,’ she said without thinking, then remembered that he was probably still staying in the hotel. ‘Listen, I was about to get some lunch – if you want you’re welcome to share it,’ she
offered. ‘I’ve a vegetable soup and some of Donnelly’s brown bread and some cheese which comes from a farm about ten miles out the road.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he smiled, slipping off his heavy navy jacket.

Molly had a big pot of vegetable soup that she’d made yesterday, cutting up all kinds of vegetables; she had even added the ends off some broccoli and celery and a sweet potato she’d had left in the fridge, to bulk it up. There was plenty and today it would taste even better, she thought, as she put it on the hob to heat.

They talked about Cara and Tim; he had taken them both for dinner recently.

‘We went to that fancy French place near the castle in Kilkenny. I think that one of Tim’s friends owns it.’

‘Marius,’ she smiled. ‘He’s a great guy and the restaurant does really well.’

‘Yeah, we had a fantastic meal, then we went to the Riverbank pub after.’

Molly said nothing. The Riverbank had been one of David’s favourite spots and the year before last on their anniversary they’d had dinner in Marius’s restaurant and gone there afterwards.

She cut up the bread and some cheese and ladled the thick warming soup into two Nicholas Mosse bowls, putting them on the table.

‘This looks good and hearty,’ he said, taking a spoon of the soup. ‘What kind of vegetable is it?’

‘Every kind,’ she joked. ‘I just cut up whatever I have and throw it in the pot.’

‘Well, it tastes great,’ he said, helping himself to a few slices of the bread. Molly sat across from him.

‘Thanks, Molly – there’s nothing like home-cooked food when you can get it,’ he said approvingly. ‘It beats food in restaurants and hotels every time.’

‘It’s just a bowl of soup!’ she teased, but she knew what he meant.

Rob asked her about the house and she found herself telling him
about how she had planned to sell Mossbawn but the sale had fallen through.

‘So for now I’m staying put unless I find a buyer. Even though the house is far too big for me, I don’t know if I could ever bear to leave the place,’ she admitted.

‘I can understand that,’ he said, looking around. ‘This place is full of history and is such a part of the village. I’m sure living here keeps you busy.’

‘It does. There always seems to be something to do or to fix, but the thing I love the most is the garden – I spend hours on it. Weather like this is terrible because I can’t get out and do anything useful; I can only read gardening books and plan out things for when the weather improves. But at the moment I’m doing research, as I’m trying to restore the old rose garden that was built by the original owner, Charles Moore, for his wife, Constance.’

‘That sounds interesting.’

‘It is, because they grew some magnificent old Irish country-house roses here. Charles was a keen gardener. It would be lovely to see them growing here again.’

‘I remember hearing stories about him and how the house was abandoned for years after his son gambled it away on a racing bet.’

‘It’s true. Poor Charles was still alive. He was heartbroken after Constance’s death and moved to London. His son George took over the house, sold a lot of the land and practically ran it into the ground. It was only about twenty years later, after George’s death, that his younger brother James managed to regain the house. He married a Mary Hennessy, who it turned out was a distant relation of my husband’s.’

‘Old houses and their stories are fascinating,’ he smiled.

‘I know. My niece Kim is doing all kinds of research about it,’ she confided. ‘She’s always on the internet or off trying to find some photos or information about Charles Moore and his family.’

‘Genealogy is such an area of interest these days,’ he said. ‘Everyone wants to know about their family tree, even if there are skeletons in the closet.’

‘That’s exactly what Kim says,’ she laughed, getting up and asking him if he’d like a coffee.

‘I’d love one,’ he said, thanking her, ‘but I’m due to have a conference call with a few of my associates at three o’clock, so I’d better get back to the hotel where all my notes and work stuff are.’

Molly walked him up to the front door. The snow had stopped. Rob thanked her again for lunch and she watched as he got in his car and disappeared down her driveway. She’d enjoyed having lunch with him. He’s an interesting man, she thought – a very interesting man!

THE NEW YEAR HAD COME AND GONE LIKE THE SNOW, AND GINA
found it hard, as business was quiet. She missed the café and working, and hated being idle. She wasn’t good at sitting around doing nothing.

She was still disappointed about the café, but at least Paul had got the building work on Norah’s place, knocking it and the Armstrongs’ together and redecorating the new section of the local pub. It was great that he was busy, and he had more work lined up for the coming months, including Molly’s cottage.

She had looked at the old Mulligan’s Bar, but Paul had made it clear that it would not work as a café or restaurant as it was too small and too dark, which was fine for a pub but not for a café; besides, it was on a narrow lane overlooking Timoney’s, the local car-repair mechanics. Who would want to have a coffee or lunch during the day while someone revved an engine or tried to fix an exhaust or moved cars around?

‘Wait and see – something will turn up!’ Paul kept assuring her.

She was enjoying spending more time with the boys, seeing friends, going for long walks and pottering around, but long-term she needed to do something else. She was only thirty-six years old, for heaven’s sake!

Gina had just come back from visiting Norah when she got a call from Molly Hennessy.

‘I was wondering if we could meet up tomorrow, Gina, to
talk about Libby’s wedding and go through things here in the house?’

When Molly had asked her a few weeks ago about catering for the wedding in Mossbawn, she had said it would be possible as long as the numbers were kept strictly at a manageable level. She had also talked briefly to Trish and the bride, Libby, and done up some wedding menus for them.

‘Normally we’d have met up in the café,’ smiled Molly, welcoming her and leading her down to the kitchen, ‘but now we either go further afield or just stay at home!’

‘I know. Everyone seems to really miss the place.’

‘Maybe someone else will open up.’

‘Actually, I’ve looked at opening somewhere in the village,’ Gina confided, ‘but unfortunately I can’t find any suitable premises.’

‘What a shame! Anyway, the reason I brought you here, Gina, was to go through the details about this wedding. Trish and Larry are old friends and I’ve known Libby since she was a little girl, so obviously I want to help. And now that we have agreed to having their wedding here, I want to make sure that it will all work.’

‘Listen, Molly, Grace’s twenty-first was buffet-style, but guests will expect more at a wedding,’ she warned. ‘But we can get hot serving trolleys and things like that to keep food warm. That’s what I used to do at some of the bigger events we catered in my old job. However, the main thing is that I wouldn’t offer a choice of main course. I’ve told Libby and her mother that it would cause far too much pressure in terms of the kitchen.’

‘That’s agreed,’ nodded Molly. ‘How many guests can we fit?’

‘A wedding is different from a party, as everyone is expecting to sit down at the same time,’ she explained. ‘Do you mind if we have a look at the rooms again, Molly?’

Gina paced up and down the dining room, then went into the large connecting living room. She rooted around in her
handbag and, taking out a tape measure, she and Molly measured back and forth.

‘I think we could get about sixty to sixty-five max between the two rooms. We can take off the doors so it looks almost like one room, and then use the orangery for drinks and dancing.’

‘What about the couches and piano and living-room furniture?’

‘We’d have to move some of it around – maybe put a couch in the lower hall, and the piano could stay. I’d need to measure properly and look at table sizes. How many does the bride want to invite?’

‘I was talking to Trish on Friday and she said the guest list is up over the hundred mark.’

‘Molly, that wouldn’t be possible!’ she said firmly.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Molly agreed. ‘I told her that this is just a family home …’

‘Hold on!’ said Gina, getting an idea and walking back into the orangery. ‘What about doing it the other way around: the meal in here and the drinks in the living room and dining room?’

‘Would we fit more people?’

They measured again.

‘We can put long trestle tables here and here and here.’ Gina was calculating it in her head. ‘I think at a big push we could get around eighty-four people in here. And when the meal and speeches are over, you could take some tables out and use here for dancing like we did at Grace’s.’

‘So you think it is possible?’

‘They are the only two options, as far as I can see, that will work within the confines of the house. There is no problem with extra friends coming on after the meal for drinks and the dancing, but for the formal meal itself we are restricted.’

Gina had always loved weddings: the menus, planning, canapés and creating an overall look for the bride and groom. Organizing a wedding here would obviously present some difficulty and she would need some help, but it was something she knew that she would enjoy doing.

‘I’m so glad that I asked you to come over and talk to me about it.’ Molly sounded relieved. ‘I’ll speak to Trish and tell her that if they want to go ahead with hiring Mossbawn the numbers are limited and there is absolutely no budging on that!’

Driving home, Gina hoped that the wedding would happen. Weddings were expensive, but catering one was the opportunity to earn, and earn well, as people didn’t skimp on their weddings!

THE SNOWDROPS WERE EVERYWHERE, GENTLE HEADS PEEPING UP
from the grass, under the trees, at the edge of each border. Molly was cheered by the sight of them. The garden was beginning to rouse itself, stretch and wake up. She found herself smiling as she walked around checking snow and frost damage. She had lost two or three new roses; perhaps they hadn’t been strong enough to withstand the winter’s chill and cold. She would find a hardier variety to replace them.

The pipes were rattling ominously every time she switched the ‘on’ button for the bath. She’d phoned the local plumber to come and check them.

‘Have to be replaced, Mrs Hennessy – just all rusted and worn out,’ he announced. ‘It was a miracle that the immersion water heater didn’t burst with the cold.’

She blanched when he told her the cost of the replacement.

‘You’re a lucky woman,’ he said. ‘Most people with old pipes like yours, they just burst – terrible damage done.’

More money out … Was it ever going to end? she thought, as she wrote him a cheque.

A wealthy American man and his wife had come to view the place. They seemed a nice couple and were looking for a large Irish holiday home. They both loved Mossbawn, the husband, a keen angler, impressed with the river and fishing rights; but apparently
when it came down to it they considered it too far from Dublin and the airport.

Molly veered between relief and despair. If someone like that bought the house it would remain empty most of the year, and old houses did not do well being left empty. Mossbawn needed plenty of life and activity …

Roz came and stayed for a few days, the two of them going for long bracing walks, and she brought Roz down by the Gardener’s Cottage to see her reaction.

‘Oh Molly, it’s just perfect for you! You’ve got the garden and all of this, and the cottage is far more manageable than a big pile like Mossbawn,’ she enthused as they walked around it and went inside.

‘I know it looks run-down and there’s a fair bit of work to be done to it, but Roz, there is something about it I really like. It feels like home every time I come through the front door.’

‘I could imagine you living here and me coming to stay!’

‘If the house gets sold, it’s the ideal solution to move here,’ Molly confided. ‘Given my life now, it feels right.’

‘Well, you know if it’s all done up and if you change your mind you’d probably have no problem renting it or even selling it.’

‘I wouldn’t want to sell it,’ she said firmly as she told Roz her plans for enlarging the kitchen, for installing glass doors to the garden, for her own sunny bedroom that overlooked the back garden, and for the two pokey attic bedrooms to be converted to one large upstairs bedroom with a small bathroom.

‘You put me to shame, Molly,’ said Roz. ‘I haven’t done a tap to my place for years! It’s a bit of a time-warp.’