The Rose Garden

‘I’m sorry?’

‘First you ring me up and ask me out to lunch,’ he said, ‘which in itself is rather odd, you must admit. And now you’re drinking in the middle of the day. Not,’ he qualified, with roguish charm, ‘that I’m complaining about either, mind, but it does seem a little out of character.’

I pointed at my half-pint. ‘Can I have that?’

‘When you tell me why you need it.’ Leaning slightly back he looked me over, taking stock. ‘You’re either working up the nerve to proposition me,’ he guessed, ‘or else you’re getting set to break my heart.’

‘Oliver …’

‘In case you’re undecided, I say go with option number one, it’s so much more enjoyable for everyone involved.’

I told the table, ‘I won’t need to rent a cottage from you, after all.’

A pause. ‘You’re staying at Trelowarth, then?’

I shook my head.

‘I see.’ He took a drink himself. ‘So, option number two, then.’

I said, ‘Oliver.’

‘What changed your mind?’

I shrugged and deflected the question because there was no way to answer it honestly. ‘I thought I’d do a bit of travelling.’

‘Alone, I take it?’

Glancing up, I saw he wasn’t expecting an answer. The smile in his eyes, though resigned, held a trace of regret.

He said, ‘Well, I did try.’

‘You did.’

Leaning confidentially towards me he pretended to look pained. ‘Was it the biking shorts? Were they too much?’

It felt good to laugh. I told him, ‘No, I rather liked the biking shorts. It was just that … well, I couldn’t …’

‘Say no more.’ He slid my glass across the table to me. ‘I mean, you’re not the first woman to feel a passion in my presence that’s so strong she runs away from it.’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘It happens all the time.’

He raised his menu, feigning nonchalance, while I regarded him with fondness. How like Oliver, I thought, to try to make this whole thing easy for me, when with any other man it might have been so awkward.

On impulse I told him, ‘You really are wonderful.’

He answered without looking up. ‘An unfortunate side effect.’

I had to smile. ‘Side effect? Of what?’

‘Brain damage, actually. Somebody nailed me right here with a rock, once.’ He showed me the place on the side of his head and his eyes, meeting mine briefly over the top of the menu, lost their teasing light. Just for a moment. ‘I’ve never got over it.’

And then he dropped his gaze back to the menu and said, ‘Now, let’s see what you’re buying me.’

‘How did he take it?’ asked Susan.

I carefully helped her manoeuvre the last of the show roses into the van. ‘He was fine. He did get a bit drunk, though.’

‘He’s rather adorable when he gets drunk.’ With a smile she admitted, ‘I’m not sure that I could resist him, in that state.’ Securing the roses, she took a look round. ‘Is that all of them?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘I do wish that you’d change your mind and come.’

‘I can’t.’

‘But you’ve never been to Southport, and the flower show’s quite fun. Besides, I’ll need someone to play with. Fee won’t have much time for me, will she?’ She emphasised that with a meaningful glance past my shoulder to where Mark stood close to Felicity, talking, beside the front door. But in spite of her complaining, Susan didn’t look at all put out. In fact, she looked well satisfied by how things were developing. ‘Do come,’ she said.

I explained that I would if I could. ‘But I can’t change my travel arrangements.’

‘Too bad. Maybe next year, then.’

‘Maybe.’

She dusted her hands on her jeans. ‘Look, you’ve been such a help. I can’t thank you enough.’

She was talking, I knew, about more than our loading the van, but I’d played such a small role in launching the tea room that I couldn’t take any credit. I said, ‘It was nothing.’

‘Of course it was something. I mean, our new website, and all that publicity, bringing the tour groups on board. Not to mention the trouble you went to, to find me those smugglers to spice up the brochures. And now Mark,’ she said, with a nod at the van, ‘doing this. It’s your influence, Eva. We couldn’t have done it without you.’

I wanted to say, ‘Yes, you could,’ but her eyes were so earnest I kept my thoughts private and hugged her instead. ‘You take care of yourself.’

‘And you. Don’t you forget us,’ she told me. ‘Come back any time.’

My hug briefly tightened, and then I released her and said, ‘Have a good time in Southport.’

Felicity, when it was her turn to wish me well, gave me a gift.

‘I remember you liked him,’ she said, as she passed me the little bronze sculpture. My pisky, the one I had held and admired in her shop on that day when she’d told me the story of Porthallow Green and the piskies who’d taken the young boy adventuring, whisking him dancing from place to place as the mood took them. The pisky looked up from the palm of my hand with his wide knowing smile.

Felicity said, ‘It’s insurance, to see that you’ll find your way back to us. Just tell him, “I’m for Trelowarth”.’