Cinnamon Gardens Read online

  She went quickly into the house and banged the door in his face before he could push in after her. She leant against it and took several deep, slow breaths. She didn’t let him ride roughshod over her any more but even so, it was always an effort to stand firm against him as he loomed over her. She wished she’d been born tall and strong.

  It had been a big effort to be so tough with the boys, too.

  She wondered if she’d ever do that sort of thing easily.

  The dreams started that night. She was walking round a garden, a beautiful place. It had a sundial in a walled square that was like a garden room, and a shabby summer house to one side. It was a very English garden, with masses of soft flowers, like living rainbows. She loved gardens like that.

  Beyond the summer house were some tall old trees because the garden seemed to back on to a park.

  There was a house, too, but it was only a shadowy outline, and however hard she tried, she couldn’t see it clearly.

  She could hear voices, women chatting. They were too far away for her to make out what they were saying but the sound was soothing.

  For the next two nights she had the same dream, each time seeing another part of the garden: a huge vegetable patch, a few old fruit trees, a rather neglected rose garden in full bloom. She still couldn’t see the house the garden belonged to or the women, but she kept hearing them chatting, laughing, clinking their teacups.

  ‘Who are you?’ she called out to them on the third night.

  There was soft, musical laughter and a voice said, ‘We wondered if you could see us yet. I’m the original lady of this house. You’ll visit it when you come here. Hurry up. You’re needed.’

  ‘I can’t come to England till I’ve sold my house in Australia.’

  More gentle laughter. ‘In two days it’ll be Lady Day. You’ll sell your house then. Very appropriate, don’t you think, Nell, for a nice lady like you?’

  The dream began to fade, and she woke, feeling comforted by the thought of selling this house quickly and by their compliment. She snuggled down and fell asleep almost immediately.

  All day she kept remembering the garden. It had been so beautiful, she wished she could go and walk round it. Why hadn’t she been able to see the house, though? One day she would, she felt quite sure of that.

  How stupid! She was acting as if that garden and those people in it were real. Who believed in dreams? Not her. She was a modern woman, more used to computers than spooky stuff.

  Out of sheer curiosity – she didn’t believe you could foretell the future, no way! – she checked Lady Day on her favourite search engine: Lady Day, March 25th, tied in to the Equinox. It was the end of the financial quarter and had been the traditional time for signing annual contracts between landowners and tenant farmers in England.

  And it was the day when her house would be open for the first time, for inspection by potential buyers. That must be what had sparked the dream.

  She hoped the house wouldn’t take too long to sell. She was eager to start her new life.

  Angus Denning sighed in annoyance at himself when he realised he’d been speeding and the police were signalling him to pull over. He was only five miles above the speed limit, but it was enough to earn him a fine. He groaned when he saw who was getting out of the police car: Edwina Richards.

  He’d played cricket with her father, Eddie Richards, on a small local team for years. They’d never got on, though, and had quarrelled frequently about politics, the latest news, other sports; you name it, they could quarrel about it.

  Eddie was a redder-than-red socialist and hated anyone with a title on principle. Not that Angus had a title, exactly. He was just an Honourable, and most of the time he forgot about it. He’d put Eddie out of his mind, too, when his old antagonist had transferred to Bournemouth prior to retiring there.

  The trouble was, Eddie’s daughter Edwina had carried on the family tradition and joined the police force, and she’d been posted to the district once her father left. She seemed to be carrying on the other Richards’ tradition, too, of making life difficult for the owner of Dennings. The old house had been in his family for generations and Richards had seemed to resent the mere idea of that.

  Angus pulled over and opened the car door, surprised when she reached in to pull out his keys. What did she think she was doing – apprehending a criminal who might try to start a car chase?

  ‘Well, if it isn’t the Honourable Angus Denning,’ she mocked.

  He ignored the sarcasm, had given up telling the Richards family that the term ‘Honourable’ was never used in speech. He was the youngest son of an earl, so he had no chance of succeeding to the title, and thank goodness for that. But tradition had lumbered him with the prefix ‘the Honourable’, whether he liked it or not.

  ‘Can I help you, Officer?’ he prompted when Edwina continued to gaze scornfully at him.

  ‘You were speeding, sir.’

  ‘Was I? Sorry.’

  ‘We’ll have to give you a—’

  The other officer nudged her. ‘It was only five miles over the limit, Edwina. We can let him off with a caution this time.’ He turned to Angus. ‘Have you had anything to drink, sir?’

  ‘No. I don’t drink and drive. Ever. But go ahead and breathalyse me, if you have to.’

  She had the gadget out already.

  He blew into it, not surprised by the zero reading. He resisted saying ‘Told you so!’ in case it further upset her.

  Edwina scowled at the gadget, then shrugged and turned back to Angus. ‘Please be careful how you go from now on, sir, whether you’re nearly home or not. Speeding can kill … not just yourself but other people. And make sure you keep this car roadworthy. It’s rather old and battered. In fact …’ she studied the vehicle.

  Damn the bitch! That was a below-the-belt blow. She knew perfectly well his wife had been killed in a car accident by a drunken lout three years ago. He summoned up his most upper-class accent, the one he used when telling jokes against the aristocracy, knowing it would gall her. ‘Yes. I certainly will be careful, Officer.’

  He looked at the male officer and spoke more normally, ‘Warning duly noted.’

  ‘I believe in letting people off with a warning once,’ the man said. ‘Not twice, though.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘And you should keep an eye on those tyres, sir. They’re getting near the end of their useful life.’

  ‘Yes. I will.’

  Angus watched them drive off down the country lane. Not until they were out of sight did he get back into the car and continue in the same direction, heading towards Sexton Bassett. He wove his way through the streets on the outskirts of the small town, then turned left, approaching his house via the rear entrance, which had been used by tradesmen in the old days.

  He was still simmering with anger. That officious bitch had mentioned drink-driving on purpose to hurt him, he was sure. And had succeeded. He and Joanna had had a great marriage and he still missed her.

  He drove even more slowly along the dirt track that formed the rear entrance to his two acres of land. He knew how to avoid the worst potholes and rode out the bumps by going slowly, feeling as if he were on a ship.

  The main drive, which led in from Peppercorn Street, was gravelled and in better condition but still not good. He wished he could afford to do some work on it before it deteriorated further still. It was only a hundred metres or so long, but it’d cost too much to resurface it while his finances were in their current state.

  Inside the house, which was far too big for one person, all the unused rooms were dusty and cobwebs graced the corners. Fortunately the roof was sound. One day he hoped to be able to do something about the general shabbiness, but he didn’t want to spend the money to get proper domestic help to keep such a big place clean, not at the moment.

  He’d been over the moon when he was offered voluntary redundancy a couple of years ago, because a small specialist app he’d developed in his spare tim
e had just taken off. It hadn’t made him rich, too specialist for that, but together with the redundancy payment, it’d given him enough money to stay away from paid employment for a few years.

  His daughter looked down her nose at the way he was living, but he wasn’t changing his lifestyle to suit her. Ashleigh was into motherhood and social climbing, in that order, with grandson number two expected in a few weeks.

  His son was backpacking round the world and was in Australia at the moment. Angus hoped Oliver wouldn’t stay away too long, or decide to settle in one of the faraway countries he’d visited. His cheeky lad had left a big hole in his life.

  The house had once been full of laughter and young people. Angus missed that era so much it was like a physical pain. The joyful energy had all seemed to ebb away after Joanna was killed. And after Oliver left home, it was worse.

  He didn’t enjoy living on his own, but what alternative was there? The house had been in the Denning family for over two hundred years, was named after them: Dennings. He didn’t want to sell it, he loved it too much. It was … home.

  Parking the car near the back door, he lugged in his groceries, and once he’d put them away, he forgot about everything else, setting the timer to remind him to stroll down to the pub later to meet his friends.

  He always enjoyed eating there. He wasn’t helpless, knew how to cook a few basic meals, but he was usually in a hurry to get back to his computer, so he made do with whatever was quickest when he cooked for himself.

  Thank goodness for his work. He’d be lost without that.

  Nell had arranged to take the next day off work to get the house ready for its first viewing on the Saturday. Her estate agent said the house was unlikely to sell quickly, because March was the end of the main buying season, but Nell intended to give it the best chance she could. If she could leave for England soon, she’d have the English summer in which to settle down.

  On the Friday she went through each room in turn, making sure they were immaculately clean and looked as good as possible. She’d bought a couple of showy pot plants to prettify the downstairs room.

  The only places she didn’t touch were her sons’ bedrooms. If she tidied them today, they’d be in chaos again before tomorrow.

  When Nick and Steve came home from work, they whisked in and out of the house at the speed of light, eager to go out for their regular Friday evening on the booze with their mates. As she’d expected, they didn’t seem to notice what she’d done to the house.

  When they came to say goodbye, she barred the way out. ‘Listen carefully for a moment, you two. I’ll want you to get up early tomorrow morning, by seven o’clock at the latest.’

  Steve stared at her as if she’d lost the plot. ‘What? On a Saturday?’

  ‘The house is going to be open for viewing. Remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember. But that’s not till noon. We won’t need to get up till eleven, give or take.’

  ‘You’re getting up at seven and you’ll be off the premises by nine because I want to clear out your rooms. They’re like pigsties. You’re not to come back till three o’clock at the earliest.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  Their father said that when he wasn’t really listening or didn’t intend to do as she asked. It annoyed her that they’d picked up the habit recently. She didn’t argue now, though. Just wait till tomorrow, she thought after they’d gone. You two are in for the shock of your lives.

  She put her cleaning things away and strolled along the street to her friend’s house for their usual Friday night glass of wine and natter. But she didn’t stay late.

  She couldn’t settle to anything. It was so important to sell her house.

  Only then would she be truly free.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning Nell woke her sons at seven o’clock as she’d threatened, dragging the covers off, ignoring the fact that Steve was naked. Well, she’d seen it all before.

  When he tried to get the covers back, she raised the spray bottle of iced water she’d brought with her and gave him a good squirt.

  His yells echoed down the corridor.

  ‘I meant what I said, Steve. Get up now!’

  Nick must have heard because he was up by the time she went into his bedroom. He was wearing a sagging pair of jocks and looked bog-eyed. He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘No need to squirt me, Ma. I’m out of bed.’

  She brandished the spray bottle. ‘See you stay up, then.’

  ‘That was cruel of you.’

  She grinned. ‘Only way to get Steve going after a booze-up.’

  They both came along to the kitchen shortly afterwards, expecting her to make them a cup of coffee before they started getting ready.

  She stood guard in front of the kettle, arms folded. ‘You’re not getting anything to eat or drink till you’ve had your showers.’ She didn’t budge, staring them down.

  It gradually dawned on them that she was deadly serious, so they fought their way to the bathroom they shared. Nick won by a short head.

  When they came back, fresh-faced, with hair still damp, they reminded her for a moment of how they’d looked as little boys after their evening bath and her heart softened slightly. But her determination didn’t.

  Steve announced, ‘As it happens, I can’t go out today. I need to do some stuff for work on my computer. They’re paying me overtime. But it’s OK, Ma. I’ll just sit quietly in my room. If anyone comes to look round, they’ll not even notice I’m here.’

  She slapped their breakfasts down on the table. Scrambled eggs on toast. ‘You’ll be out of the house by nine at the latest if I have to drag you out by the hair. I want you and your cars gone. You can do the work tomorrow.’

  He opened his mouth, caught her eye and gave an aggrieved sigh.

  When they’d finished eating, she shooed them along to their rooms. ‘Tidy up now. Any mess you leave goes straight into the bin. Put every single thing away, including your clothes. I mean it.’

  They rolled their eyes at each other and she left them to it. She smiled as she went back to the kitchen to clear up their mess. They didn’t think she meant it about the dustbin, but she did. Oh, yes. She was fed up to the teeth of their slobby ways.

  When they came back, she thrust the newspaper into Nick’s hands. ‘There. The property pages. You need to start looking for a place to rent. I’ve marked some possibles. What if I sell the house today? I’ll have to be out in a month and I’ll be off to England straight after that. Where will you two live then?’

  Steve let out a snort of laughter. ‘Sell it today! You may not realise it, Ma, but there’s been a downturn in the property market for a while and this is an old place. It’ll be months before you sell it and you’ll probably have to drop your price considerably. Minimalist is in fashion now in houses, not tumbledown colonial.’

  He might be right. But even so, every time the house was open she intended to make sure it looked as attractive as possible.

  When they’d left, she breathed a sigh of relief and went to do their rooms. She found dirty clothes tossed in heaps in the corners of both bedrooms, a worse mess than she’d expected after all her warnings.

  She’d kept the lads moderately tidy as youngsters, but how did you force grown men to put things away? Heaven knew, she’d tried hard enough. The effort had driven her to this state of desperation.

  Grimly she piled up the clothes and anything else lying around. She hadn’t really been going to toss them into the bin, in spite of her threat, but when she found remains of food going mouldy in takeaway wrappers under the beds, she changed her mind.

  She didn’t even separate the clothes, just hurled everything into the big plastic rubbish bags, including the food scraps, then tossed them into the bin.

  ‘See how you like that!’ she muttered.

  She wiped away a tear. They hadn’t even tried. That hurt.

  The estate agent, Stacy, didn’t turn up until five minutes before opening time. By then
, two cars were parked in the street. Nell kept peeping out of the living room window, checking them. No doubt about it, they were waiting to view her house.

  Even as she watched, one couple got out of their car and came to study the front garden, pointing things out to one another.

  Stacy came rushing into the house, after dumping a ‘House Open’ sign on the grass verge. ‘Didn’t expect anyone to come looking so early, Nell. That’s a good sign.’

  She turned in a circle on the spot, staring. ‘Wow, it looks great in here! You must have worked really hard to declutter. Didn’t you have time to put some coffee on? And what about playing music, as I suggested?’

  ‘I don’t want to play tricks on people.’

  ‘It’s not tricking anybody, it just puts clients in a better mood.’

  Nell shook her head, still unwilling to do this. She didn’t know why, just that it felt like cheating.

  Stacy shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll do my best anyway. The house and garden are looking good, and that’s the main thing.’

  Nell stopped at the door. ‘Just one thing. If my ex-husband turns up, don’t let him inside and don’t say anything to him about offers or anything else financial. He may tell you he’s handling the business side for me, but it isn’t true. I wouldn’t trust him to do my grocery shopping.’

  ‘Yes. You said that already. Several times.’

  ‘Just reminding you.’

  Stacy patted her hand. ‘Calm down. It won’t be the end of the world if we don’t sell today.’

  Nell took a deep breath. ‘Sorry.’

  Stacy’s voice grew gentler. ‘I’ll do my best. I realise how important it is to you.’

  As she went out to her car, Nell passed the couple who’d been studying the garden, so on impulse she stopped for a moment. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’

  The woman, who was rather pregnant, smiled. ‘Yes. And you’ve got the garden looking beautiful.’

  ‘It’s a very rewarding hobby. Take a look at the veggie garden at the back while you’re here. I supply a lot of my own food, all organically grown. I had the soil checked.’