The Art of Inheriting Secrets(77)

But I found the first bracket of five leaves, as my mother had taught me, and clipped a blossom, then another, reaching back to hand them to Pavi. As I handed her the last one, I caught my arm on a thorn, opening a long scratch that immediately beaded up with bright-red blood.

“Ooh, careful,” Pavi teased. “Don’t want to fall asleep for a hundred years!”

“No worries.” It stung a bit, and I let it bleed a bit to get any bacteria out, and anyway, I wanted to trim a couple of canes away while I had a chance. Reaching down over the white roses, I said, “Don’t do anything with it yet. I want to shoot some photos so I can reference the paintings later.”

“It’s visually very appealing, isn’t it?” She held it in her hands, took a big sniff, and said, “That’s a strange one. I don’t think I like it either.”

“Probably bred for size, and that threw something off.” I pruned the bush and then straightened, looking around at the view from this slightly higher spot. The house was clearly visible, the back windows that would have once been my mother’s room, the tumbledown wall that had just fallen into the ballroom. As I turned, I could see the abbey and the first of the fields. “Gorgeous spot. I should make a note of it and ask for a bench here.”

“It reminds me a bit of Sissinghurst. Have you been there?”

“No.”

“You might like to visit as you’re going through the renovations.”

“Which reminds me—the cameraman is coming back to go through Violet’s room with me. Do you want to come?”

She shook her head. “I hated that room, even when we were kids.”

“Really? There’s so much stuff in there!”

“It’s sad. The way they just left her things.”

I thought of the photos, what we had discovered about Violet and Nandini, pushed it away so she wouldn’t see anything on my face. “It’s all good. Thanks for your help this morning.”

“I’ll walk back with you. I have plenty of rose petals.” She opened the canvas bag to show me a pillowcase’s worth of white petals. “These are very nice. I’ll make you some rosewater toner.”

“What does it do?”

“It’s very good for the complexion.”

As we walked back up the road toward the house, a woman carrying a woven basket met us at the junction to the cottages. She was tall and redheaded, wearing jeans and red-flowered wellies. “Hullo, Olivia,” she said. “I don’t know if you’ll remember me—”

Smoothly, I said, “Of course I do, Elizabeth.” She was one of the tenants I’d visited on the earl’s instruction. “How could I forget your rhubarb crumble?”

“Thank you.” She blushed slightly across her freckled cheeks. “I saw you walking to the roses earlier and waited for you to come back. We have a bumper crop of asparagus this year, and you said you’d been pining for your own cooking. I thought you might enjoy some.”

I poked my head into the basket and made a low noise of approval. “Pavi, look at these.” The spears were thick as my thumb, perfectly pointed. We both sighed. “Pavi runs Coriander, the Indian-fusion restaurant in town.”

“Oh, we love it. The mulligatawny is one of my husband’s favorite things.”

“Thank you.” Pavi took an asparagus out of the basket, admiring it, then biting into it. “These are fantastic. Would you sell them?”

Elizabeth’s mouth turned down. “Not today, but tomorrow I’ll have more. How many could you use?”

“How many will you sell? I’m an asparagus fanatic, and the season—the true season—is very short.”

“Would you like a look at the garden? I have to admit I’m quite proud of it. When I married Joseph, it was sorely neglected, and I’ve brought it back to health.”

“Yes! I’d love to!”

“I’m afraid I have to meet the cameraman,” I said, holding the basket close. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

As I carried the basket up the hill, I was imagining a dozen ways I might use the asparagus to feed Samir, blissfully unaware of everything that would come between us and those exquisite spears.





Chapter Eighteen

Along with the camera crew—who filmed the site of the abbey where the excavation was ongoing, then joined me in the house—Jocasta had sent movers. I directed them to organize and pack everything in a way that would make it easier for me to review later. The paintings were taken down and carefully wrapped for storage with the other possibly valuable items from the first round of clearing. I looked at each one as it was removed from the wall, but there were no more messages. I hadn’t expected there to be.

By two, Ian was finished filming and dropped me off at my flat. Sunshine poured in the back windows, making the rooms stuffy, and I settled everything on the wooden kitchen table and opened the windows to let in the breeze. Below, in the garden, the Chinese woman who ran the fish-and-chips shop was leading a group in tai chi. The sight of them, all dressed in easy clothes, some barefoot, moving with deliberation, calmed something in me, and I actually let go of a breath.

I told myself I needed to get back to yoga, but I was already thinking about the asparagus and what to pair it with. Asparagus and peas and . . . lamb, of course, with fresh herbs and new potatoes. Kicking off my shoes, I started making a list in my head of all the ingredients I’d need to pick up from the market.