The Art of Inheriting Secrets(93)

“She isn’t disdainful of you. She’s just—”

“Let’s not.” I held up a hand. “She implied terrible things about my mother.”

“Oh. That.” She bumped up the driveway to the house. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. That’s a bit of . . . not jealousy, but possessiveness . . . there. My dad always had kind of a thing about your mom—they were good friends, I think—and he always defends her against any negative comments.”

“You didn’t say it, Pavi. I’m not upset with you.”

She parked and turned off the van. Looked at me. “Good. Because I really like you, Olivia Shaw. I haven’t made a new friend in a long time, and I will hate it if my family gets in the way of that. My mother or my brother.”

I reached for her hand. “Me, too, Pavi. I mean it. Who else would get it when I flip out over a strawberry?”

She laughed. “You did flip out a bit.” She slapped the steering wheel. “Enough. Let’s go see what we can make happen here.”

We organized the vendor schedule and the timetables and mapped out the indoor plan, which actually seemed quite doable. If the day was fine on Saturday, we’d set up on the grass. If not, we’d set up inside. When we were done, it was still only ten, and I asked her to come with me to the carriage house, where I took measurements and paced out what I thought I might do with the space. I’d need everything from pots and pans to furniture to linens, and it was fun to imagine.

“Are you moving soon?” Pavi asked.

“As soon as I can get some furniture, actually. Why not?” I turned in a circle, narrowing my eyes to add the pale celery of my imagination to the walls. “It will be a lot better than the place over the chip shop.”

“I can see that.” She ran her fingers over the counter. “I’m jealous. My father doesn’t want to live alone, but I’d love a place like this, where I could come and go without any bother.”

“Why doesn’t he go to India with your mother?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. They seem to still have a good marriage, but they’re both intractable on this point of location. He’s never lived in India, and he isn’t sure he would feel at home there. But he’s lonely without her all winter.” Bending to open the doors of the AGA, she added, “That’s why I’m staying single. Marriage is too much trouble.”

I realized I’d never heard her say anything about lovers. “Or not,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t. I cannot possibly listen to a woman who is in the new throes of—” She brushed her hands, avoided choosing a word. “You know.”

“Yes.” My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. “It’s Jocasta.” I picked up. “Hey, Jocasta. What’s new?”

“Where are you, love? Can you meet me at the gardens in a bit?”

“Sure. I’m at the carriage house, actually. I think I’m going to make over the caretaker’s flat, and I was getting some ideas. What time?”

“We’re on our way.” She sounded oddly buoyant. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Really? I’ll walk over there. Meet by the rose garden?”

“How about the pool?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“See you in ten.”

“Great.” Hanging up, I looked at Pavi. “She has a surprise. Which she will no doubt film. Am I a big mess?”

“Not really.” Pavi brushed at my shoulder. “You just need to comb your hair. Put some lipstick on.”

“I don’t wear much lipstick.”

Her gaze was level. “Put some lipstick on. The camera washes out your face.”

I scrambled through my bag and came up with a berryish color. “How do you know something like that?”

“At one time, I was desperate to be on Master Chef.” Hands on her hips, she looked around the room. “I love this place, but how did they afford the upgrades?”

“They couldn’t afford it. The estate afforded it.”

“Ah.” Her phone buzzed, and without answering, she said, “I’d better get back to Coriander. If you decide to go shopping, I’d love to go with you. I can only get away Mondays, but we could make a day of it, go to London. Escape.”

“That would be fun.”

On the way out, she said, “Everything is good for the picnic, I think, but if you think of anything, let me know.”

I saluted her.

“Comb your hair.”

“Right.” I dug out my comb, ran it through the tangles, and spread my hands. “Good?”

She gave me a thumbs-up and headed out.

But the minute she was gone, I felt the weight of the picnic’s expense fall on my shoulders. It was going to be wildly expensive, and while there was enough in the accounts to cover it, I would be virtually broke until the next influx of rent payments, which meant if I wanted to move soon, I’d be in a sleeping bag on the floor.

A team of gardeners, herded about by one of the garden club officers, had been hard at work the past few weeks, or at least whenever the weather had allowed. Not that English gardeners seemed to mind the rain—I’d often seen groups of two or three in their macks and wellies working in the drizzle.