‘Oh,’ Ellie said, slightly disconcerted by this offhand reception, but ploughed ahead. ‘Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but I walk past your garden every day and I’ve been admiring your ferns. I was wondering if you could tell me what they are?’
‘You’re that girl who’s living in Wickham Lodge, aren’t you?’ the woman said, finally lowering the binoculars and looking at her properly.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’m house-sitting. At least I was. Now Dr Faulkner’s home, I suppose I’m demoted to cleaner.’ She offered her hand. ‘Ellie March. How d’you do?’
‘Morrison. Laura Morrison. I’ve seen you, cutting the grass.’ Then, after a long, assessing look, ‘So, Ellie, what do you know about ferns?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s this stone trough at the back of the Lodge where I thought they might just work. The pansies in there certainly don’t look happy.’
‘They won’t. Pansies like the sun. Hate being wet.’
She should certainly know. Her garden was stunning. Flowers spilled over enticing stone paths that wound between herbaceous beds before disappearing behind flowering shrubs. A glimpse of roof suggested a summerhouse tucked away in the trees. And there was an exquisite gothic bird-feeder being mobbed by small birds.
It was all on a much smaller scale than the garden at Wickham Lodge, but it echoed the way-in her imagination-‘Lady Gabriella’s’ garden would look, how Ben Faulkner’s garden would look given sufficient care and attention. Informal, exciting, with hidden places for children to claim as their own.
‘There should be some ferns behind the greenhouse,’ said Lady Morrison. ‘I’d get up and find them for you, but my back’s gone into a spasm.’
‘Oh, I am sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
‘You could pour me a whisky.’ Then, before Ellie could query the wisdom of mixing liquor with painkillers, Laura Morrison’s eyes narrowed. ‘Stand aside,’ she hissed, and whipped out a pistol.
Ellie, scarcely able to believe her eyes, just stood there, open-mouthed.
‘Out of my way, girl!’ she said, taking aim, and Ellie belatedly turned to see what had caused such a reaction. It was Millie, fat little belly hugging the grass, who, having followed her, was now creeping up on one of the bird- feeders.
‘No!’ she cried, without a thought in her head for the consequences as she leapt to block Laura Morrison’s aim.
Something stung her ankle, and as she crumpled in a heap on the floor it crossed her mind that she was having a very bad week for legs.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she declared, more surprised than hurt-shock, no doubt. ‘You shot me!’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU’VE shot me,’ Ellie repeated, unable to quite believe it.
‘Don’t be stupid, girl.’
‘Stupid!’ Outraged, Ellie said, ‘There’s blood running down my leg! See,’ she said, pulling up the leg of her cropped trousers, forcing herself to look.
She blinked.
There was no sign of blood. No damage.
‘But I felt it…’ The sting of something hitting her. The damp trickle. She touched her skin, and sure enough her fingers came away wet-but not with blood. ‘It looks like water…’
‘It is water,’ Laura Morrison said. ‘Unless you wet yourself with fright?’
She might have, if she’d had time to be frightened. ‘That’s a water pistol?’
‘Of course it is.’ Then, ‘Did you really think I had a firearm?’
‘Um…yes.’
‘Stupid, but brave,’ she said.
‘No,’ Ellie assured her, ‘stupid does it.’ Then, with only her pride hurt, she picked herself up, wincing as she put her leg to the ground.
‘Did you hurt yourself when you fell?’ Laura asked, finally concerned.
‘No, I did the knee yesterday, when I was dusting.’
‘Dusting? I have to admit that I never saw that as a dangerous pastime.’
‘It is when you do it at the top of a ladder.’A colourful array of bruises had emerged overnight to confirm this fact. She wondered if Ben Faulkner had a matching mirror set, left shoulder, right thigh…Best stop right there, she told herself, and tuned back in to Laura Morrison, who was laughing.
‘You do live an exciting life. Are you sure something as down-to-earth as gardening is quite your thing?’
‘I seem to have the knack of turning the most mundane activity into an adventure,’ she said, her own smile a touch wry. Then, as Laura Morrison winced, she forgot her own aches. ‘Have you seen a doctor? For your back?’
‘For all the good he did. Painkillers and bed-rest was the best he could offer.’
About to suggest that maybe she should do as he’d advised and go to bed, so that she could lie flat, Ellie thought better of it, suspecting that she was not the kind of woman who took kindly to unasked-for advice.
‘Could it be tension?’ she offered instead. ‘My mother’s back seizes solid whenever Great-Aunt Jane comes to visit.’
It was possible that an invasion of neighbourhood cats treating her garden as a fast food franchise might have the same effect on Laura Morrison.
‘She finds massage helpful,’ she continued-her mother occasionally voiced the opinion that she’d been vaccinated with a gramophone needle. ‘She’s fit for anything after that.’
‘Really? Likes a young man giving her a good working over, does she?’ Ellie, not normally given to blushing, blushed furiously. Laura’s laughter was brought up short by another spasm. ‘Good for her. I’ve got my own young man coming any time now. In fact I thought you were him.’
‘Oh.’ She’d been teasing. ‘I’m sorry to have disappointed you.’
‘On the contrary, my dear, you’ve been thoroughly entertaining. You must come again, when I’m on my feet.’ Then, ‘Now, go and get those ferns.’
She did as she was told, sorting through dozens of pots before returning with a likely assortment of ferns in a tray and anticipating a botany lecture.
‘You’ve missed the grey and red one,’ said Laura, sending her back for it. ‘Yes. That should do. Take a look at my planter on the way out and you’ll see how to lay them out.’
‘What? Oh, you mean these are for me? But I just wanted the names…’
Which roughly translated meant, Oh, bother. I’d rather not…It was information she’d wanted, something she could use in her column, not a do-it-yourself dirt-under-the-fingernails lesson in gardening.
‘No point in buying them when these are just sitting around, no use or ornament. You’ll find the names on the labels.’
‘Well, that’s really very generous. Thank you.’
Laura Morrison waved her thanks away. ‘Just buy a bell for your cat and we’ll call it quits.’
Uh-oh. ‘How did you know it was my cat?’
‘It’s my back that’s unreliable, not my eyesight. I’ve seen you sitting at your window, playing with your computer. And I’ve seen that cat climbing in through your window.’ She touched the binoculars. ‘I like to know my enemy.’ Before Ellie could answer, there was a ring at the doorbell. ‘That’ll be Josh. Send him round, will you?’ Then, ‘Don’t let those plants dry out.’
‘I won’t. I’m really very grateful, Miss Morrison.’
‘Laura. Come again soon, Ellie. But leave the cat behind.’
Ben was looking at the text in front of him, but he might as well have had his eyes closed for all the sense he was making of it. He couldn’t get Ellie March out of his head. The way she’d kept those huge brown eyes of hers averted as he’d walked into the kitchen, as if by not looking at him she would somehow render herself invisible. As
