The Art of Inheriting Secrets(94)

They had accomplished a lot, I noticed as I wound down the path toward the pool. I’d not seen as much progress on the roses because evidently Jocasta had recruited a pair of rose experts from Kent to come in the following week to assess and formulate a plan, but here, weeds had been cleared and some of the shrubbery trimmed, enough that I could get a feeling for what it would be like when it was finished—willows trailing fingers in the winding stream, rhododendrons blooming purple above tufts of primrose. This was the wilder section, quieter, meant for contemplation.

And peacocks, evidently. One strolled ahead of me, stopping now and again to poke at the earth. It didn’t seem to care about me in the slightest. Its long feathers swept the ground like a train. Another bird, as plain as the other was showy—a female—bobbed ahead of it.

The path bottomed out at the pool, which had been swampy and green with neglect the last time I’d seen it. Now the little bridge and balustrades around the rectangle were scrubbed clean, showing the pale stone, and the concrete pool held clean water that reflected the sky and tree branches. A few pots had been planted with ferns and geraniums, and those reflections shimmered across the surface. It was extraordinarily peaceful. I walked onto the bridge and leaned on the ledge, peering down. Around me, the trees rustled, and birds twittered and sang out.

Magical.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Jocasta said, emerging from the trees in another direction, Ian right behind her, filming. “So far, this is the best payoff.”

“I love it.” At the far end of the pool, a white peacock emerged from the greenery beyond and strutted toward the pool, where he bent his head to drink. His reflection shimmered across the surface, ghostly. “They aren’t afraid of humans at all, are they?”

“Don’t seem to be.” She took my shoulders and turned me to walk the path upward. “Time for your surprise.”

“I’m so excited. But I hope it isn’t going to be something that costs another fortune.”

“It is not, and anyway, this is my treat.” The three of us puffed up the little bricked steps, emerging by the conservatory. “Ta-da!”

A large truck loaded with supplies I couldn’t quite figure out was parked near the conservatory. “What’s happening?”

“That is a load of glass, my dear. Your heart was so set on doing the conservatory that we decided to give you a little present for showing up for the estate so diligently.”

“Oh, wow.” I covered my cheeks with the palms of my hands. “This is absolutely wonderful.”

She touched my shoulder. “I thought you’d be pleased. Helen and I are friends, you know. She showed me the picture book your mother painted. I was enchanted.”

Impulsively, I hugged her tight, and she chuckled, patting my shoulder in a gesture of calm. “You’re welcome.” She gestured to Ian to film the greenhouse, and when he was engaged, she said, “Everything all set for the picnic Saturday?”

“Yes. I was just with Pavi in the kitchen, figuring out where to put the tables if it rains.”

“Wonderful. We’ll be here. Might be nice to give the locals a little national coverage. Which trucks will be here?”

I listed the three that were coming. “And of course, Coriander is providing many dishes too. Have you been there, Jocasta?”

“No. I take it I should go.”

“Yes, you should. Pavi is one of the most talented cooks I’ve ever met.”

“Mmm. I’ll take a look.” She waved as she took off, busy as ever, on to her next project. I’d been very lucky to connect with her. It was hard to imagine how I would have been able to do it without her insights. And the earl’s, of course.

I watched as materials were unloaded, seeing the conservatory whole in my mind, filled with exotic plants and seedlings for the gardens. Using the greenhouse system, we could propagate plenty of plants to beautify the front of the house, as well. If I used bright-colored flowers in mass plantings, the colors would be visible from the village, a sign of beauty and prosperity. A tiny, tiny sense of pride took root in my heart. Maybe it was going to work out.

In my pocket, my phone vibrated. Expecting the contractor, I answered without looking.

“Olivia,” a woman’s voice said, “this is Claudia Barber. I’m afraid there’s bad news. The earl has had another heart attack. It’s quite dire. I thought you’d want to know.”

“How dire?”

“Very, but he was still alive last I heard. He’s been taken to Watford Hospital. Shall I send the car for you?”

I’d been afraid to ask if I could come, given that we were only friends, and not a very long acquaintance. But somehow, in our limited time, we’d become very close. “Please.”

Three of us waited for news together—Claudia; her brother, Alexander; and me. I felt a little awkward, but Claudia sat next to me and held my hand, clearly beside herself. Alexander, who looked as if he’d just come in from a great hike, in battered boots and rip-proof pants, fetched paper cups of tea for all of us.

“How long have you been caring for him?” I asked Claudia.

“Nearly fourteen years now. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

“He was so kind to me as a girl. Our parents were killed when we were in grammar school, and while Alex is made of stern stuff, I was a wreck over it for months and months. He just let me be. Brought me dolls and games and finally”—she smiled, sniffing—“a horse. That did the trick.”