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Clearly mistaking Will’s exclamation of dismay for delight, Chris burbled on. ‘I know, it’s epic, right? Her profile is off the charts right now, “BB” is getting some fantastic repeat ratings now it’s available on streaming services. Maybe we can get Clay to a guest on Digging Deep! What a coup that would be.’
‘I’ve already told you I’m not doing that stupid bloody show!’ Will yelled, but he was shouting at himself as Chris had already hung up. ‘Shit!’ he banged his hands in frustration on the steering wheel, startling himself when the horn blared loudly. The driver of the hatchback in front flicked him a rude hand gesture, assuming Will was honking at him. Bloody hell. Raising his hand in apology, Will was grateful when the sat nav directed him to turn off at the next junction. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse …
Chapter 3 (#ulink_4440bbd4-5e12-5921-a921-a80b53dbcd72)
Phillipa Cornwall hadn’t seemed that bothered about the plans for the roof terrace. They’d barely spent five minutes discussing her concerns with the design before she’d left him alone up there to fetch them both a drink. She’d returned with a pot of very strong Turkish coffee and two tiny cups, only to disappear shortly afterwards with a promise she’d be back. He was starting to feel like she was jerking his chain, that this whole thing was some kind of power play. When you were as famous as she was, perhaps it became second nature to assume everyone was at your beck and call. Whatever the reason, he was starting to resent her for wasting his time about something that could’ve been addressed via a couple of swapped emails.
He was about ready to gather his things and make his excuses when her familiar, breathy voice came from behind him. ‘If you’re finished with those designs, there’s something else I’d like your assistance with.’
Jaw dropping was something he’d previously assumed was an acting exaggeration, and not something real people did until the moment he turned in his seat and saw her. Closing his eyes at the same time as he shut his gaping mouth, Will hoped perhaps he was hallucinating after the second very strong coffee he’d recently finished on a still empty stomach. He cracked open a lid and was once more greeted with the sight of his client posing against the doorway leading from the roof terrace back into the house. He might have been able to dismiss the flirty pose she’d adopted-hands clasping the frame behind her, back arched, one knee softly bent-if it wasn’t for the fact the stylish navy dress she’d been wearing when she’d greeted him at the door not half an hour previously was now pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in nothing more than a tiny, sheer black nightgown thing. Nope, not the coffee.
Clamping his mouth tight against a litany of swear words that would earn Anna a full body massage at her dream spa weekend, Will urged his addled brain to think. When he was finally sure he could speak without cursing, he opened his lips. The sound he made was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, the kind of noise he’d only ever heard a cartoon character make and he quickly shut his mouth again.
‘I didn’t think you’d be shy, William,’ Phillipa stretched his name into a purr, which he supposed she thought was sexy, but only made him want to take a flying leap over the low parapet running around the edge of the roof terrace.
Not knowing what else to do, Will decided his only cause of action was to ignore it and try and stick to business. He bent to retrieve the sketchpad which had slipped from his fingers the moment she’d reappeared. ‘I … I think I might have found a solution to the issue for the zen space. We can turn the angle of the pool by forty-five degrees, so the water runs from east to west. You’ll be able to align your exercise mat in the same direction then, which I think was one of the main problems?’ He offered her the sketchpad, making sure to keep his eyes fixed above her chin.
With a quirk of her lips, Phillipa took the pad from him and turned into the house. He almost sighed with relief, thinking he’d found a way to navigate free of the nightmare, until she paused to cast a knowing look over one shoulder. ‘It’s too bright outside to see this properly, come in and show me what you want to do.’
There was no mistaking the message behind those words, and as Will watched her slink inside with an exaggerated sway of her hips, he wondered how the hell he was going to extricate himself from this mess. It wasn’t the first time a client had made a pass at him, though he had to hand Phillipa the prize for the most blatant seduction attempt to date.
Will blamed it on the ridiculous ‘bad boy of gardening’ image Chris had created for him. Eager, naïve, and somewhat blinded by his first taste of the spotlight, Will had allowed himself to be persuaded to play the part. It worked for chefs, after all, his manager had argued, so why not for a gardener? Embarrassing crap like this was the downside he hadn’t banked upon when agreeing to it. Taking a deep breath, he followed in Phillipa’s wake. If she persisted, he’d have to put her straight.
Somehow.
The contrast between the bright sunshine outside and the much darker interior left him disorientated for a moment. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, Will felt his heart sink as he saw the double doors leading to the master bedroom had been flung wide. Tony Cornwall had pointed it out on Will’s previous visit, saying how as soon as he’d seen the fabulous views he’d refitted what had originally been staff quarters into a luxury suite. The door had remained closed so Will hadn’t seen inside.
Right now, he wished he still hadn’t. Perching on the edge of an enormous bed, Phillipa tossed his sketchpad down and patted a spot on the quilt next to her. Will didn’t know what the term was for something larger than a super king, but this vast expanse of crisp white bedding could probably accommodate half a dozen people with room to spare. Even if she was sitting at the far edge of the bed, it will still be too close for comfort. The hounds of hell couldn’t drag him over the threshold. ‘Mrs Cornwall …’
‘Call me Pippa. All my very good friends call me Pippa.’ She patted the bed once more.
Keeping his feet firmly in place, Will crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Mrs Cornwall.’ He didn’t like the way her confident smile wavered into an expression of confusion when he stressed her formal title once more, but it couldn’t be helped. ‘The sketches are pretty self-explanatory. Why don’t you talk them over with your husband?’ Subtle, Will. ‘You can let my assistant know in due course.’
She seemed to crumple in upon herself, as though each word was sucking the confidence and vivacity out of her. How come doing the right and honourable thing could make him feel so awful? He checked his watch-not that he cared what the time was, he just needed an excuse to look away. ‘I really should be going …’
‘Are you sure you can’t stay?’ She sounded less seductive and more desperate now, and although he felt sorry for her, he couldn’t help a tinge of anger that she’d been the cause of her own embarrassment.
Fumbling for what else to say, he was saved by the bell-literally-when his phone starting ringing. He snatched it from his pocket, barely giving the unknown number a glance before he answered it. Even a marketing call would be a welcome reprieve. ‘Will Talbot.’
‘Mr Talbot? Iggy Ludworth, here. I’d like to discuss a job with you, if you’re not busy.’
He didn’t recognise the rather odd name, nor the forthright tones of the woman. His diary was blocked solid for the foreseeable future, and one half of Britain’s golden couple was currently attempting to seduce him so no, he wasn’t busy at all. Turning away from the scene before him, he lowered his voice in the hope Phillipa Cornwall wouldn’t overhear him. ‘It’s not a great time, if I’m honest. Why don’t you call my office and we can set up an appointment?’
‘I’ve already spoken to your assistant; she was the one who gave me your number. Told me to give you a call straightaway, but perhaps I misunderstood her. I’ve sent through a few sample photographs as she suggested, but I’m under a bit of a time crunch so if you’re too busy I’d rather you came out and said it straight.’
She had the clipped accents of a member of the upper class, and her forthright manner made him feel a bit like a stroppy teenager being scolded by a teacher. Patience already on a knife’s edge, he was on the verge of telling her what she could do with her time crunch when a thought occurred to him. Why had Anna passed his private number on instead of dealing with it the way she did all the other enquiries that came into the business? Intrigued, he swallowed his snap of temper and asked, ‘What’s the job?’
A soft exhalation filled his ear. A sigh of … relief? Perhaps Ms Iggy Ludworth wasn’t quite as sure of herself as she sounded. And what the hell kind of name was Iggy, anyway? ‘My brother owns an estate in Derbyshire and we’re planning to open up to the public. I need your assistance to restore the formal gardens here at Ludworth Castle in time for the August bank holiday.’
Castle? Will gave a mental whistle. Upper class, indeed, he thought, picturing towering battlements looming over rolling acres of green. It’d be a hell of a challenge, too, something on a scale he’d never tackled before. Trying to contain the little buzz of excitement, he made a mental count of the months in his head. It was already the beginning of May … He’d have to shuffle a few projects around, leave Nick and Anna to run things here and source a local work crew of his own. ‘Sixteen months sounds doable, what’s the budget?’
A throaty laugh echoed over the phone, so at odds with her frosty speaking voice. Deep, rich and wildly filthy, it shot straight to his groin. ‘You’ve misunderstood me, Mr Talbot, I was referring to this bank holiday, not next year.’
The jolt of insta-lust withered in astonishment, and Will couldn’t help his own shout of laughter. ‘Is this a wind-up? You’re taking the piss if you think I can pull something like that off in four months. I’m good, Ms Ludworth, but I’m not that bloody good. What you’re suggesting isn’t just ridiculous, it’s fucking impossible! The planning alone would take more time than you have left.’
There was no humour in her next words. ‘Oh, it can be done, Mr Talbot, and it will be done. I thought you might be up to the challenge, but apparently not. I thought you were more than your sordid reputation, but clearly I was wrong if you think it appropriate to swear at a potential client. I’m sorry I’ve wasted my time believing otherwise.’
The phone went dead, leaving Will gawping. Wasted her time? ‘Has the whole world gone bloody crazy?’ he muttered to himself.
A soft sniffle came from behind him. Forgetting snooty Ms Ludworth and her ludicrous expectations, Will spun on his heel. To his horror, tears were pouring down Phillipa’s face, streaking her make-up and turning her already sheer nightdress even more see-through. Spotting a box of tissues on a dressing table across the room, he broke his cardinal rule of remaining on his side of the threshold to grab them. Not wanting to get too close to her, he proffered the box awkwardly from arm’s length, taking a precautionary step backwards as soon as she took it.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, God, you must think me such a stupid fool.’ Phillipa began to sob in earnest, like her heart was breaking into pieces.
Embarrassment and guilt made him squirm. Instinct made him want to comfort her, but how could he when she was dressed like that? Wishing like hell he’d made a run for it when he’d the chance, he glanced towards the exit. His eyes alighted on a scrap of material poking around from behind the door. Reaching out he snagged the white towelling dressing gown with one hand. It was shorter than he would’ve preferred it to be, but at least it would cover everything that needed to be covered.
Moving gingerly towards the bed, he draped the robe around her shoulders and did his best to pull it around her without touching anything his hands had no business being anywhere near. Snatching at the material, Phillipa gripped it closed beneath her throat. The look she gave him, so full of shame and misery cut him off at the knees and he found himself sinking down beside her. ‘It’s all right. Please don’t cry.’ He patted her shoulder.
Before he could withdraw his hand, she turned and buried her face in his chest, leaving him no choice but to give her an awkward one-armed hug. ‘You’re a very attractive woman, Mrs Cornwall. It’s just … you’re married … and what with Tony being such a decent guy and everything, it just isn’t right, you know?’
A bitter laugh broke through her tears. ‘Oh, yes, Tony’s such a decent guy. Isn’t it marvellous the way he takes beautiful young actresses under his wing and offers them the benefit of his experience?’
Shocked to the core by what she was suggesting, Will pulled back to stare down at her. ‘He’s cheated on you?’
Shuddering, Phillipa swallowed back more tears and straightened up. ‘Cheating,’ she corrected. ‘Present tense. He left yesterday with his latest paramour. Rehearsing for their new film, apparently.’ She didn’t need to make the gesture for him to hear the quotation marks around the word ‘rehearsing’.
‘I’m sorry, I thought you guys were rock solid.’ Everything he’d ever seen or read about them implied a strong and happy relationship. Then again, everything she’d probably read about Will had made Phillipa think he’d be up for it. If the stuff in the papers about him was a combination of managed spin and made-up rubbish, wouldn’t it be even more so for a couple infinitely more famous? ‘So, this-’ he gestured between the two of them ‘-was supposed to be a way to get your own back at him?’
She shrugged. ‘What’s good for the gander is good for the goose, and all that.’ Using the crumpled tissue in her hand, she wiped at the streaks of mascara on her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Will, you must think I’m ridiculous.’
‘No!’ Whatever anger he’d felt towards her for putting him in such a compromising position was redirected towards her cheating rat of a husband. Not all marriages were good, Christ knew his own parent’s relationship had been a disaster, but at least they’d had the sense to call it a day. Taking her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. ‘I’m really sorry that you’re hurting, Phillipa, but sleeping with me isn’t the answer to your problems-ask any of my ex-girlfriends.’
She managed a watery chuckle, and Will felt his panic subside at last. Reaching out he brushed free a tendril of hair that had stuck to her cheek. Beneath the streaked make-up and the fine lines age had settled into her skin were hints of the beautiful woman she’d been in her heyday. Tony Cornwall was either mad, stupid or both. ‘Shall we both take a deep breath and pretend the past half an hour never happened?’
Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded. ‘Thank you.’
And because he was British, there was only one thing left to say. ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’
Half an hour later, looking much better after the tea, a sheepish-looking Phillipa escorted him to the front door. She’d washed her face and tied the dressing gown tight around her middle leaving her looking much smaller and more fragile than the woman who’d greeted him earlier. Pausing in the open doorway, Will tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and gave her a smile. ‘If you still want us to go ahead with the terrace, give Anna a call once you’ve decided on the alterations I’ve suggested. She’ll make arrangements with you for when the installation team can start.’
‘Thank you.’ She hesitated for a moment then stretched up on tiptoe to pop a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘You’re a very good man, Will Talbot.’
He winked. ‘That’s our secret. Take care of yourself, Phillipa.’
*
As he made his way back towards his car parked several streets away thanks to some very stringent local parking restrictions, Will couldn’t help but feel thoroughly depressed. The Cornwalls had been married for longer than he’d been alive. Had they been unhappy with each other all that time? He shook his head at the idea of it. What a bloody waste.
Thankful to be free of such emotional entanglements, although even his pretend relationship with Melody was growing tiresome, he dug his phone out and browsed for messages. The first one was from Anna to say she’d cleared his calendar for the rest of the day in case things at the Cornwalls got complicated. He couldn’t help but laugh. Complicated didn’t even come close. Beneath that were a couple of sales offers from suppliers they used which he flicked without reading into a sub-folder for future reference.
The next message was from Iggy Ludworth and he was about to drop it into his trash folder when he spotted the thumbnail images attached. Curious, he clicked on the first one and stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed by the image of the top half of a statue poking out from a massive thicket of brambles. He moved onto the next photograph showing the remains of a walled garden, the red bricks of the short walls dividing the weed-strewn beds crumbling and broken. The third image was a distance shot over a collection of overgrown box hedges; the fourth a carpet of bluebells nodding beneath the boughs of an ancient oak. His heart pounded, excitement building inside him as he flicked his thumb to the next picture, then the next. The final few were too small to properly make out any detail, but they looked to be original design sketches, the paper on which they were drawn yellowed with age. As he rolled back up through the images the tips of his fingers began to itch. He could almost feel the rich, dark soil beneath them.
A belch of hot air hit him, followed by the acrid stench of diesel fumes from a delivery van stuck in the endless queue of traffic snaking along the street beside him. Wrinkling his nose, Will moved as far to the inside of the pavement as he could then continued towards his truck. When was the last time he’d breathed a lungful of air that didn’t carry the taint of heavy traffic? Or looked up at a night’s sky not stained orange from light pollution, for that matter?
He gave his phone one last wishful glance before unlocking his door and tossing it on the passenger seat along with his backpack. What was he doing daydreaming about fresh air and starry skies when he had a successful business right here that needed all his attention? Shaking his head, he slid into his seat. Running off to Derbyshire was a mad idea. As mad as the idea that it was possible to sort out the ruined gardens of Ludworth Castle in three short months.
And Will had sworn off doing mad things, hadn’t he?
Chapter 4 (#ulink_184b9bb0-ab71-56c2-88c9-97fd410afa07)
Fuming after her brief, humiliating call with Will Talbot, Iggy marched from Arthur’s office, determination in every stride. She would show that arrogant pig of man exactly what she was capable of. Couldn’t be done? Ha! She’d bloody well show him otherwise. Her righteous march ended swiftly thanks to the sight of an unwelcome present deposited on the stone floor of the great hall by one of the dogs.
Looking from the small, brown pile in front of her to the unusually quiet array of pups and hounds sprawled before the fireplace, Iggy did her best not to laugh at the collection of innocent expressions staring back at her. ‘This better be a one-off,’ she admonished, as though they could understand what she was saying. ‘Because I haven’t got time for you lot to get sick.’ The problem with having so many dogs was it was almost impossible to avoid them all getting ill if one of them caught a bug.
Keeping them under her watchful gaze in the hopes the guilty dog would give themselves away, she walked to the large wooden box next to the fireplace where they kept old newspapers and bits and pieces of dried kindling to help in lighting the fire. When she spotted the paper on the top of the pile, she couldn’t help a self-satisfied grin from tweaking her mouth. It was the tabloid paper she’d dropped in there earlier-the one with Will Talbot scowling out from the front page which had put the stupid idea to call him in her head in the first place.
‘Might as well be useful for something.’ Snatching up the cover and the next few pages behind it, she returned to the offending spot in the middle of the hall and pressed Will’s face into the still-soft poo as she scooped it up. She deposited the ball of paper in the empty bin in the small washroom near the door before washing her hands thoroughly. Collecting the bin when she’d finished, she headed back across the hall towards the servant’s area to dispose of the parcel and to give Mrs W a head’s up that the floor would need disinfecting.
*
Petty satisfaction proved a highly motivating tool, and Iggy pictured various soft parts of Will Talbot’s anatomy as she hacked and slashed at the brambles crawling over the statue of Venus which stood in the basin of a long dead fountain opposite the entrance to the maze. By the time Tristan wandered out with a flask of tea and a couple of Betsy’s homemade rock cakes tucked in his pocket, she was scratched to bits, but the worst of her anger had been exorcised and she’d uncovered most of the moss-stained marble figure.
‘Blimey, you’ve made some progress this morning,’ he observed, gaze sweeping over the piles of shorn brambles she’d raked off to one side.
‘Not enough.’ Pausing to shove her sweat-matted fringe back, Iggy did a couple of rotations and stretches to ease the ache in her back. Maybe Will had a point. It didn’t matter how much effort she put in, there was no way things could be ready in time for the end of August. But she had to try. Blessed with what she called perseverance-and Arthur called bloody-minded pig-headedness-Iggy was never one to give up on a situation, often to her own detriment. Even when everyone else around her could read the writing on the wall, her instinct was to plough on, to stick to the plotted course and tough it out to the end.
Shaking off the wave of self-doubt, she squatted down beside her brother and accepted the plastic mug of tea he held out. The long-term future of her family was still at stake, and she was determined to do whatever she could to secure it. The estate farms were finally running well enough for her to be able to turn her attention to other projects. It had taken the best part of nine months of hard work since their father had passed on for her to convince their tenants she was up to the task of managing the estate, but she’d succeeded.
They were tough men and women-the land and necessity had bred them that way-and she didn’t resent them for expecting her to prove her worth. Through the deprivations of a particularly harsh winter she’d worked side-by-side with them, rescuing stranded sheep high in the dales beyond the borders of the estate, fixing broken tractors and thawing frozen pipes.
Selling one painting, no matter how much it was worth, wasn’t going to keep the castle running for the rest of her lifetime; it wasn’t going to keep those farmers protected by a landlord who understood and respected their connection to the lands. Like Arthur and Tristan both, she wanted to ensure future generations didn’t face the same heartache and insecurity they were currently coping with. Putting Bluebell Castle on the tourist map was an essential part of that, and they needed to open with a bang.
Tristan snagged the mug from her to wash down a mouthful of cake. ‘Arthur told me about your plan to get Will Talbot involved with the garden renovations. I think it’s a stroke of genius. His name’s everywhere at the moment. If you could persuade him, or that gorgeous girlfriend of his to open the fete as well, it’d really draw the punters in.’
Stealing back the mug, Iggy drained the contents then held it out to him for a refill. ‘It might’ve been a genius idea if he hadn’t accused me of taking the piss.’
‘Oh, Iggy, that’s pants.’ Tristan slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick hug. ‘Wait? Did he actually say that?’
She nodded. ‘That and a lot of other rude things. Ridiculous, effing impossible; can’t be done; planning would take longer than I’ve got left to finish it.’ She shrugged. ‘There might have been more, but I hung up on him. Rude bastard.’
Her brother snorted. ‘Bet he loved that.’
She brushed the crumbs from her rock cake off her jeans-a futile exercise given the dirt streaking them-and rose. ‘What Will Talbot may or may not love is nothing to do with me.’ When their eyes met, she read nothing but encouragement in her brother’s gaze. Other people might have scolded her for being hot-headed and overreacting, but not Tris. He’d walk through fire for her, both he and Arthur would, and she’d do the same for them. ‘Do you have time to look at the drawings with me this evening? I’m struggling a bit over what to do for the best.’
‘Can’t see the wood for the trees?’
She groaned at his terrible pun. ‘Something like that.’
Having screwed the mug back onto the top of the flask, Tristan stood up beside her. ‘’Course I’ve got time. Bring them into the family room after dinner, and I’ll take a look.’ He tugged the end of a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her plait. ‘Don’t fret, Iggle-Piggle, we’ll get it sorted out.’
‘I hate it when you call me that,’ she grumbled.
‘I know, why else do you think I do it?’ Flashing her an unrepentant grin, Tristan left her to it.
Iggy entered the family room with the various drawings Lucie had managed to dig up from the family archives secured in a roll under her arm. As usual, several of the dogs had commandeered the floor in front of the fireplace, even though it was too warm for the hearth to be lit. With a few gentle toe nudges, she managed to stir them, eliciting a chorus of grumbles and whines as they begrudgingly yielded the space to her.
She’d barely unrolled the first drawing before Arthur’s greyhound, Nimrod, tried to walk over it. ‘No!’ Iggy grabbed the dog and pulled him into her lap before his claws could damage the delicate paper. With a hug to show him he wasn’t in trouble, she shooed the dog away and rolled the drawing back up. ‘This isn’t going to work, is it?’ she said to the milling dogs as she stood.
‘Talking to yourself again?’ It was Arthur, with Lucie on his heels.
‘It’s the only way I get any sense,’ she retorted with a quick grin. ‘I need to evict these hooligans.’ She gestured towards the dogs. ‘Give us hand, will you?’
Between the three of them, they managed to remove the dogs in short order. ‘You’d think we were locking them out in the stables or something,’ Lucie said, as she watched the dogs skulk across to the far end of the great hall where their enormous pile of cushions and blankets stretched out in front of the fireplace. Taking up most of one end of the hall, it dated back to the origins of the castle.
‘They’ll get over it,’ Arthur said as the three of them returned to the family room. ‘What are you up to?’
Resuming her spot on the floor, Iggy glanced up at him. ‘Tristan is going to help me with a plan for the gardens.’ She spread out a couple of the drawings then sat back on her heels.
Arthur hunkered down beside her. ‘You said earlier about not knowing what to leave and what to change. Show me what you mean.’
‘See, here?’ She pointed at a complicated pattern of hedges and pathways. ‘This was the original layout for the Lady’s garden.’ The most formal part of the grounds, it had once been the highlight of the gardens with its sculptured topiaries and regimented flower beds. Using her finger, she traced the central feature, a flowerbed surrounded by a ring of curlicue hedges. ‘At some point this was removed and replaced with that ugly bronze fountain.’
‘The one with the hideous dolphins, or whatever they’re supposed to be?’ Arthur laughed. ‘You used to be terrified of them when we were kids.’
Iggy gave a shudder. Like something out of a nightmare, the oddly shaped creatures spewing water from grinning jaws full of razor-sharp teeth still freaked her out. Whoever had sculpted them had clearly never seen anything that actually lived in the ocean. ‘I’d love to rip those horrible things out and get them melted down. I can follow this plan and reinstate that part of the garden, but it will take several years for the hedges to grow in properly, so it might end up looking a bit sparse and disappointing.’
‘Can’t you use mature plants?’
She shook her head. ‘It’d be better in the long run to use smaller plants that can grow together and eventually merge into what looks like one seamless plant. Bigger ones won’t create the same uniform effect.’ She sighed. ‘It would be easier to compromise by just removing the sculpture and turning the base of the fountain into a reflecting pool. I can add a few water lilies and aquatics.’
‘I think you should go for recreating the original design,’ Arthur said. ‘No one is going to expect the gardens to be perfect, Iggy.’
‘But we’re asking people to spend their hard-earned money,’ she argued. ‘We need to put on a display for them.’
‘And you will, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Don’t you think people will be more interested in the story of how you’ve gone about the restoration? We could put up some display boards, either out in the gardens themselves, or as part of the indoor exhibitions Lucie and I are planning. Some before, during and after photos would be a great addition.’
It hadn’t really occurred to her before, but it sounded promising. ‘I suppose so, but I’m looking for ways to reduce the amount of work I have to do, not add to it.’
The door swung open to admit Tristan and their Uncle Lancelot. ‘What’s this? Have you started without me?’ Tristan joined them on the carpet whilst Lancelot made his way over to the drinks’ cabinet in the corner.
Arthur filled him in, finishing with, ‘But as Iggy’s rightly pointed out, it’ll be more work not less.’
‘I think it’s great. Especially if we’re thinking in the longer term. If we want to offer something like annual admittance passes for the grounds, for example, people will enjoy seeing how things change over the months and years.’ He caught Iggy’s eye ‘And, it gets you off the hook trying to get everything finished in time.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Think about it. Photos are all well and good, but if you leave some parts of the garden wild like they are now, the visual contrast will have even more impact. And don’t worry about the work, I’ll take on the responsibility for the displays.’ Tristan turned to Lucie. ‘Would you be able to give me a hand with the copy? Maybe a few nice quotes about the gardens if you’ve come across any in the family journals?’
Lucie beamed. ‘Oh, what a good idea! I’m sure I can come up with something.’
