The Last Garden in England(72)

“I’m afraid forests do a lot better at regulating themselves. This is completely overgrown,” she said.

“I think it’s spectacular. Look at all that you’ve already done.”

“Thanks,” said Emma, genuinely appreciative. “Was there something you needed in particular or were you just curious?”

“Nosy, more like it. No, I actually did have something to ask. Andrew and I were talking, and we wanted to know if you would consider doing the kitchen garden.”

“The kitchen garden?”

“I know it’s not as historically significant as this one, but we’d really like to get it up and running again. We just don’t really know where to start,” said Sydney.

“A kitchen garden that size was designed to feed the house’s family and staff, food for a dozen or more. Are you sure you want something that large?”

“It wouldn’t just be for us. I’ve been talking to a teacher at the local primary school, and she said that the kids would get so much out of spending a term in the garden as they learn about plants. I thought it could be part functional garden, part teaching tool.”

It was a fantastic idea. The younger that children got into the garden, the more passionate they were likely to remain when they grew up.

“What would you do with the extra produce?” she asked.

“Henry’s offered to take it on. In addition to his main distributors, he does some community farming initiatives, sells directly to restaurants, things like that.”

She had walked through the kitchen garden only a dozen or so times, but already she could envision what to do with the space. They’d need to rebuild the raised beds and rig up a durable system of netting to keep cabbage butterflies and wood pigeons out. Succession planting to make sure that there was always something ready for harvest, and— No. She was getting way ahead of herself. She’d already booked her next job after Highbury House—a contemporary bonsai garden for an influencer in Berwick-upon-Tweed—and there would be no room in the schedule to add the kitchen garden in, no matter how tempting the extra money would be.

“I’m really sorry, Sydney, but I don’t think I can extend the job. Besides, kitchen gardens aren’t really my specialty. Charlie has some experience in urban farming, though,” she said.

Sydney’s face fell for just a second before her bright smile popped up again. Still, Emma clocked it.

“I can refer you to a few colleagues who are very good at that sort of thing,” Emma said quickly.

“That would be great,” said Sydney graciously. “Sorry to barge in while you were working. I did try to text.”

“Did you?”

Emma dug her phone out of her back pocket. She saw she’d missed Sydney’s message as well as a string of texts on her family chat:

Mum: We’ve decided to come visit in two weeks! We’re driving up on the Saturday.

Dad: If that’s okay with you.

Mum: We want to see the garden you’re working on.

Dad: Eileen, you can’t invite yourself to other people’s gardens.

Mum: Emma will arrange it.



She groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Sydney asked.

“Would you mind if my parents drop by to see the garden in a couple weeks? They’re curious, and it’s been a while since I’ve worked on one close enough for them to see,” she said.

“Of course they should come! Why don’t you all stay for tea as well?” Sydney suggested.

“Are you sure? Mum will grill you about every aspect of the house. She’s not the most subtle woman in the world,” she said.

“I think I can handle that.” Sydney turned to the ladder but stopped herself. “Charlie isn’t a partner in Turning Back Thyme, right?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“If Charlie has experience with veg gardens, do you think he might be interested in doing the kitchen garden as a one-time contract?” Sydney asked.

“Oh. I really don’t know,” she said, surprised.

“Would you mind if I asked him?”

“Of course not. He can do whatever he likes,” she said, realizing as she said it that Charlie would probably jump at the chance to do a favor for Sydney.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Sydney asked.

She shook her head. “Go for it. And thank you again for the invitation to tea.”

“I’m glad you’ll be able to come,” said Sydney.

Alone once again, Emma picked up a pair of loppers and resumed attacking the underbrush.



* * *



Sydney’s questions about Charlie bounced around her brain all afternoon and evening. Did he want to take on his own jobs? She’d never really thought about that before, but maybe she should have. He could design, but he’d always told her he was more interested in the physical side of their work.

Selfish though it might be, she couldn’t stand the idea of Charlie striking off on his own, not because he would be competition but because she’d miss him. She’d met every one of his girlfriends and drank in pubs across the Home Nations with him. She’d been at his mother’s funeral, and he’d been the one to drive her to the hospital when she’d broken her arm falling off a ladder. Charlie was her right-hand man, her confidant, her best friend.