The Winter Garden Read online

  Praise for

  Heidi Swain

  ‘Sweet and lovely. I guarantee you will fall in love with Heidi’s wonderful world’

  Milly Johnson

  ‘More Christmassy than a week in Lapland – we loved it!’

  Heat

  ‘Sparkling and romantic’

  My Weekly

  ‘The queen of feel-good’

  Woman & Home

  ‘The most delicious slice of festive fiction: a true comfort read and the perfect treat to alleviate all the stress!’

  Veronica Henry

  ‘Sprinkled with Christmas sparkle’

  Trisha Ashley

  ‘A story that captures your heart’

  Chrissie Barlow

  ‘Fans of Carole Matthews will enjoy this heartfelt novel’

  Katie Oliver

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  To Amanda Preston, agent extraordinaire and fabulous friend. Merry Christmas, my darling!

  Chapter 1

  Before I moved to the Broad-Meadows country estate in Suffolk, I’d never celebrated either the summer or the winter solstice, but meeting octogenarian estate owner Eloise Thurlow-Forbes had soon changed that, along with a lot of other things.

  ‘In order to garden successfully,’ she had told me the day we met, which just happened to fall on the summer solstice three years ago, ‘one has to be in tune with nature, the seasons, Mother Earth, the moon and all their cycles.’

  I had been tempted to mention how the human race, global warming and the rising sea levels were set to change all that, but thought better of it. Even though I’d only just met her, Eloise Thurlow-Forbes, with her elegant white bun and refined features, looked to me like a woman who knew her own mind and I wasn’t long in her company before I realised my hunch was right. It came as something of a surprise, however, to discover that she knew my mind too.

  ‘Come on, Nell,’ I said, pulling my thoughts back to the present and climbing out of my van. ‘We need to hurry or we’ll miss it.’

  With much stretching and yawning, the fawn-coloured Bedlington Whippet cross reluctantly levered herself out of the passenger seat and trotted along behind me. We weren’t the only ones who had taken the journey to Ness Point, the most easterly spot in the UK, to watch the sunrise, but we stood a little apart from everyone else and I gazed in awe as the sky turned gold before the sun appeared majestically over the horizon, the few clouds in front of it turning the beams into something akin to an art deco sunburst.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ I asked Nell once the spectacle was over. She responded by leaning heavily against my legs and pushing her damp nose into my hand. ‘Shall we go and see Eloise?’

  Her tail thumped and her eyes brightened a little at the sound of her mistress’s name.

  ‘Come on then,’ I said, turning back to where I’d parked the van. ‘Let’s go.’

  By the time we arrived, I had mixed feelings about the visit. I couldn’t talk to Eloise without mentioning what it was that I had lain awake half the night trying to find the words to say, but I knew I couldn’t put it off much longer, no matter how unpalatable it was.

  ‘I really hope I’m mistaken about this, Eloise,’ I swallowed, pulling my thick, dark plait over my shoulder in a gesture she was sure to recognise as me seeking courage and comfort, ‘but I have a horrible feeling that Jackson’s gearing up to sell the estate. I might be wrong,’ I quickly added, ‘but there’s a couple of things he’s said during the last few weeks and I get the feeling…’

  My words trailed off and I flicked my hair away again. Eloise was a great one for trusting her instincts and she had taught me how to rely more on mine, so there was really no point trying to sugar-coat the situation. Nell sighed, rested her head on her paws and stared at me. Her gaze struck me as reproachful.

  ‘It’s no good looking like that,’ I told her. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. I’m hardly going to be able to change his mind, am I?’

  I wondered what would happen to Nell if Jackson did sell up and move back to America. I couldn’t imagine for one second that the comfort of his great-aunt’s rescue dog would be high on his list of priorities.

  Given that, if he did cut and run, I could well lose not only my job but my home too, I really had more pressing things to worry about, but I was fond of the dog and, unlike me, she had no say over her fate.

  Little had I known when I first went to visit Eloise that fate had led me to her beautiful house and garden not to size the place up as a potential venue for my forthcoming wedding, as was the original plan, but as somewhere, for want of a less clichéd phrase, where I could find myself.

  Within hours of my arrival I had broken off my engagement and accepted Eloise’s offer of a gardening job and a place to live. The last three years had been an education, both personally and professionally, and even though I didn’t feel ready to graduate, circumstances, this time beyond my control, suggested that I was going to be moving on again.

  ‘I’m sorry not to come with better news,’ I said, leaning over the grave to rearrange the flowers I had brought the week before and which were still holding their own in spite of the hot September days. ‘But I wanted you to hear it from me, Eloise, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you have any thoughts as to what I’m supposed to do now, I could really do with a sign because I have absolutely no idea at all.’

  I sat back on my heels and listened to the silence in my head. My thoughts were still too clouded with grief to see the path ahead for myself. I could hear Nell starting to snuffle about, a blue tit twittering and somewhere in the distance a tractor at work, no doubt preparing the ground for next year’s crop, but that was it. There was no inspirational thunderbolt, no flash of enlightenment to reignite my creative spark.

  ‘Not to worry,’ I smiled, trying to sound stoic as I got ready to leave, ‘I’m sure I’ll come up with something and besides, I might be wrong. I’ll see you next week.’

  It was hot back in the van so I turned over the engine, let down the windows and flicked on the radio. Nell drank her fill from the doggy water bottle I always carried with me while I tried to decide whether to head back to Broad-Meadows or make the most of my day off and explore further afield.

  ‘That’s not right, is it?’ I said, reaching to retune the radio which had somehow switched from BBC Suffolk to BBC Norfolk. ‘Come on, Nell. It’s time to go.’

  I had hardly driven any distance at all before the radio crackled and slipped back to Norfolk news again but I couldn’t change it because the road ahead was busy.

  ‘The beautiful gardens here at Prosperous Place are already serving the local community, aren’t they?’

  My brain tuned in at the mention of a ‘garden’ and I risked turning the volume a little higher, which resulted in missing a gap in the traffic.

  ‘That’s right. In the old walled garden, we have the Grow-Well, which is a community space used by the residents of Nightingale Square. We raise fruit and vegetables there and have a few hens.’

  ‘And I understand the Grow-Well recently won an award, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, we won the community garden award and that gave us enough funding to set up another garden and wildlife area and pond just behind the local youth centre.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, and what exactly is it that you’re planning to do here now?’

  ‘Well, the gardens around
the house here at Prosperous Place are already open on certain weekends during the summer, but I’m planning to make use of them over the winter too. There aren’t all that many big green spaces within walking distance of Norwich city centre and I want to open the place up so people can come and enjoy getting outside even during the bleaker months of the year.’

  ‘You were diagnosed with seasonal affective disorder last year, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes I was, and that’s what’s prompted the idea really. It’s all too easy to stay inside on the long, dark days when the weather is cold and the skies are grey, but getting outside, even for just a few minutes, can make all the difference.’

  ‘So, your idea is as much about mental wellbeing as physical health.’

  ‘Exactly, and that’s why I’m opening the garden up today to invite people to come and take a look…’

  I didn’t get to hear the rest of the interview as a car tooted impatiently behind me and I realised I had been holding up the traffic. I waved in apology, turned on to the road and then into a layby to have a bit of a think.

  I didn’t need long. I had a whole day at my disposal, Norwich was less than an hour away and I was a firm believer in embracing nature and gardening for mental health, especially during the ‘long dark days’ as the person being interviewed had described them. It would be fascinating to see what this garden in the centre of the city looked like and what they had in mind to do with it.

  A quick online search led me to the Grow-Well website where I discovered, along with details of the open day, that the owner was a Mr Luke Lonsdale. Before I could talk myself out of it, I keyed the postcode into Google Maps and found the quickest route to take me there.

  ‘Right then, Nell,’ I said, jamming my phone into the holder on the dash so I could follow the directions, ‘how do you feel about going on a bit of an adventure?’

  Her lengthy yawn suggested she didn’t care for the idea at all, but I ignored her and carried on regardless.

  * * *

  Prosperous Place was easy enough to find, but as I approached the gate, it struck me that I might not be allowed in with Nell. I lingered outside as a few people wandered up. Some had pushchairs and an elderly gentleman zipped by on a mobility scooter, but no one had a dog.

  ‘Are you going in?’ asked a voice behind me. ‘The gardens are open to everyone today.’

  I turned to find a friendly-looking man in his late sixties, wearing a padded green gilet and a name badge (which informed me that he was called Graham), holding a large picnic basket.

  ‘I had planned to,’ I told him, ‘but I didn’t think about the dog. I’m not sure if I can go in with her. I’m guessing you work here. Do you think it would be all right?’

  ‘I don’t actually work here,’ he smiled, stepping around me and through the gate. ‘I’m just helping out the owner today. Let’s go and ask him about your companion, shall we?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, following him inside.

  My eyes were quickly drawn to the beautiful Victorian mansion and what looked like a very large garden and grounds that surrounded it. I don’t know what I had been expecting, but the photos online really didn’t do the size of the place justice. I was certainly surprised to find somewhere like it, privately owned, in the middle of a city.

  ‘Luke!’ Graham shouted, beckoning over a man with dark curls and intense brown eyes.

  If this was Luke Lonsdale, then he was also a surprise. I had assumed the owner would be someone much older. I tried to quieten the voice in my head, which was keen to remind me how dangerous assumptions could be, and sounded very much like Eloise’s.

  ‘Graham,’ said Luke, bounding over and looking somewhat flustered. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘This young lady,’ said Graham, rather unnecessarily pointing me out, ‘wants to come in, but isn’t sure if she can bring her dog.’

  ‘Well now, let’s see,’ said Luke, his brow smoothing as he took a look at Nell, who stood, as always, just a little behind me and out of the limelight.

  He squatted down on his haunches and held out his hand. To my utter amazement Nell stepped out of my shadow and allowed him to make a fuss of her.

  ‘I don’t think she’s going to cause too much havoc, is she?’ Luke smiled up at me.

  ‘And I’ve got biodegradable poo bags,’ I said, pulling a handful out of my pocket. ‘You know, just in case.’

  I had no idea why I’d said that and I could feel my cheeks flaming.

  ‘In that case,’ said Luke, straightening back up and looking amused, ‘it’s got to be access all areas, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, stuffing the bags back into my pocket.

  Fortunately, I was saved from further mortification by the arrival of a television crew who were keen to interview Luke for their lunchtime show. He certainly seemed to be a draw for local media and I couldn’t help thinking, as I thanked Graham, and Nell and I took the path further into the garden, that he looked vaguely familiar.

  However, once I was deeper inside, my thoughts didn’t linger on the handsome owner because I was mesmerised by everything else. The garden, I worked out, given the size of the trees, was easily as old as the house, with long sweeping herbaceous borders, a hidden fern garden, rose garden, pet cemetery, what looked like a meandering stretch of river and sizeable lawns. Everything was enclosed by a high brick wall, beautifully bleached and softened by time. It was an absolute gem of a place, or it had been once.

  To the untrained eye, it was probably perfect, but I could see what was hidden beneath. The lawns might be in check, but the shrubs hadn’t been properly pruned, the roses scaling the walls were almost out of control and in some parts weeds had run rampant through the borders. This was a garden on the cusp. That said, it wouldn’t be too difficult to restore it to its former glory and as a potential proper winter garden, it held endless appeal.

  I wandered for an hour or so and was lost in my thoughts until Nell stopped dead in her tracks.

  ‘What is it, you silly dog?’ I asked, pulled up short as she refused to budge.

  I couldn’t see anything which could have spooked her, but she could be a funny old thing. Eloise and I had often speculated on the life she had led before being welcomed into the Thurlow-Forbes fold.

  ‘What does she think?’ shouted a man’s voice.

  I turned to find Luke striding across the lawn towards me with a little girl sitting comfortably on his shoulders.

  ‘Does she approve?’ he grinned, coming to a stop and lifting the girl down.

  ‘She loves it,’ I told him, patting Nell’s head as the child craned to look at her hiding behind my legs. ‘Although she’s just stopped here for some reason and is refusing to move.’

  Luke looked at the magnificent cedar tree behind me.

  ‘Could be the tree,’ he commented, squinting up into the branches.

  ‘I doubt that,’ I laughed. ‘She’s much better with trees than people.’

  ‘But this tree has a history,’ he said seriously, scooping the little girl back up again. ‘This is my daughter, Abigail, by the way,’ he added, ‘my youngest.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Abigail,’ I said, and she dissolved into giggles, burying her head into her dad’s shoulder.

  ‘And what do you think of the garden?’ he asked me.

  I took a moment before answering. ‘It’s stunning,’ I said, looking around again.

  ‘But?’

  ‘But?’ I echoed.

  ‘I could sense there was a but coming.’

  How disconcertingly intuitive of him. I wrinkled my nose and tried to phrase my response in a way that wouldn’t cause offence, or at least I hoped it wouldn’t.

  ‘Well,’ I said, clearing my throat, ‘the lawns are great.’

  ‘And so they should be,’ said Luke, looking at the mown grass beneath his feet, ‘given how much I pay a contractor to keep them cut. What about the rest?’

  ‘Would you like my personal
or professional opinion?’ I asked him.

  They weren’t all that dissimilar, but I could easily soften the personal one a little.

  ‘Are you a professional horticulturalist then?’ Luke asked, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘More or less,’ I said evasively.

  I wasn’t sure my experience warranted such a lofty title, but gardening was the job I had been happily employed to do for the last three years and I had kept Broad-Meadows beautifully. Jackson might have taken every opportunity to point out that I didn’t have a formal qualification to back up my expertise, but he hadn’t yet worn me down enough to stop me sharing my thoughts.

  ‘Professional then,’ said Luke, biting his lip. ‘Tell it to me straight.’

  After giving Nell some encouragement to move – a treat from my pocket – we walked around the gardens together and I pointed out a few of the things I had already noticed. The herbaceous borders warranted the most comment. Had they been regularly deadheaded, they would have continued flowering far longer, and it would have been better to stake the delphiniums in the spring to hide the supports, rather than leaving it until they were fully grown and then lashing together canes and twine Heath Robinson style to try and keep them standing.

  ‘I do what I can,’ said Luke, sounding gloomy, ‘but for most of the time it’s just me and a volunteer, and she’s only here a couple of days a week. I know I could ask my friends and neighbours, but they already have their hands full with the Grow-Well.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, keen to make amends for my pronouncement on the place, ‘you do very well indeed. There’s nothing here that couldn’t be salvaged, given the right attention, and its potential as a proper winter garden is immense.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I said firmly. ‘A full-time professional would have it all back on track in no time.’

  Luke nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what do you mean,’ he asked, ‘by a proper winter garden?’

  ‘One that showcases shrubs, bulbs and trees that are at their very best from late autumn through until spring,’ I explained. ‘These dogwoods over there for example,’ I said, pointing, ‘with the right pruning they could be a blaze of colour again and there are lots of winter shrubs that could easily be incorporated and which flower on bare stems and have the most delicious scent.’