She nodded. ‘Nobody else would want these things or really value them. But, to me, they’re special.’
‘A bit like One Ear, eh?’
‘Exactly! I told you he’d been in the rescue home for months?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nobody wanted him until I came along. But I knew he was the one for me. We had . . .’ – she paused – ‘things in common.’
Luke finally made the connection, because Orla was missing her left ear. It wasn’t always obvious because she managed to hide her loss with her long dark hair, but he couldn’t help wondering if that was why she’d been drawn to the disfigured dog.
‘Orla?’
‘Yes?’
‘What happened to you?’
She looked up, lowering the teapot carefully to the table. ‘You can’t ask me that.’
‘Why not? You know what’s happened to me.’
‘That’s different.’
‘How?’
‘You came to me with that; I didn’t come to you.’
Luke sighed. She was right. ‘But I’d like to know. I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.’
‘I do mind.’
‘Okay.’ He backed down, seeing that she was upset. The last thing he wanted to do was to upset her. Helen would be furious with him if she knew he’d upset her, wouldn’t she?
Orla’s gaze dropped down to the teapot again. Teapots and cups and saucers were safe, weren’t they? He could see why she surrounded herself with them. They didn’t ask questions.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, feeling awkward and backing out of the room.
‘Luke?’
He stopped in the doorway and turned back to face her.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s that – I can’t . . .’ Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes sparkled with sudden tears. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘It’s okay. Really.’
She nodded, reminding him of a scared little girl standing in the middle of that room surrounded by all that china. The pieces were like grown-up toys, he thought. An adult’s version perhaps. Beautiful distractions from whatever horror she was trying to shut out.
Chapter 9
Despite Orla telling him that she didn’t want to talk to him about her past or the way she chose to live her life, Luke couldn’t help thinking of ways to reach out to her. The thing he kept coming back to was the horticultural group he’d seen advertised in the village. He was so sure that he could help her and he couldn’t help feeling that Helen was somehow guiding him in this. So, the next day, after a good couple of hours working on repointing one of the walls in the great chamber, Luke walked into the village and reread the poster on the noticeboard.
‘New members welcome,’ he read again. There was a telephone number and an address. Oyster Cottage, Quay Road. Luke looked up into the sky and decided to walk down towards the quay. The red-bricked cottages that lined the narrow street looked resplendent in the sunshine and gardens were colouring up with the bright purples of alliums and the first roses of summer. As he approached the quay, the sound of gulls pierced the sky and he started to look out for Oyster Cottage. It wasn’t hard to find and he was soon knocking on the door. As with his arrival at the castle, the sound of barking was heard, but this sounded like a much smaller dog than One Ear. Mind you, weren’t all dogs much smaller than One Ear, Luke thought?
The door was opened by a pretty woman whose long white hair was swept up in a messy bun. She was holding a pair of knitting needles in her hand from which a long project in purple and green dangled.
‘Hello,’ Luke said. ‘I’m Luke Hansard. I’ve come about the horticultural club.’
‘You’ll want to speak to my husband,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
Luke stepped into a narrow hallway. The sound of barking was louder now, coming from behind a door which had been resolutely closed on the anxious animal.
‘He’s in the garden,’ the woman explained.
‘Appropriately enough.’
‘He lives outdoors at this time of year. Well, at all times, really.’
They reached the back door and Luke saw a garden with neat borders full of colourful blooms, a small pond and a tiny blue shed. And in the middle of it all was a white-haired man wearing a tweed cap, bent over as he deadheaded a rose bush.
‘Someone about the horticultural club,’ his wife announced, and the man looked up.
Luke did a double take. ‘Ah, Bill, isn’t it?’
‘Luke?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you?’
‘Very well.’
‘You two know each other?’ Bill’s wife asked.
‘Sort of,’ Luke said. ‘Met each other at the allotments the other day.’
‘Still in Lorford, I see.’
‘I’m actually doing some work on the castle now.’
‘Are you?’
‘Your suggestion was a good one.’
Bill removed his cap and scratched his head. ‘I’m glad to hear it. So, you wanted to talk about the horticultural club?’
‘Yes.’
‘Margy – how about a cup of tea, yes?’
Luke nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ Margy said, disappearing back inside as Bill gestured towards a bench.
‘This is a nice garden you’ve got here,’ Luke told Bill. ‘Like your allotment. I can see it’s a passion of yours.’
‘You could say that.’
Luke looked around in admiration, thinking of how Helen had adored their tiny garden in Kent.
‘Luke – come and see this peony! Isn’t it a beauty?’
Luke flinched and he looked around in confusion. He could have sworn . . .
‘Are you okay, son?’ Bill asked him, leaning forward.
‘Erm – yeah.’ Luke blinked and focused on the man sitting next to him. He’d heard her, hadn’t he? It had been Helen’s voice. Nobody else’s.
‘You wanted to talk about our little club?’ Bill prompted.
‘Yes. I’d like to come to the next meeting.’
‘This Friday? You’d be very welcome.’
‘It’s here, right?’
‘In our front room, such as it is. We tried the village hall, but it’s just too draughty.’
‘I’m hoping to bring someone with me,’ Luke went on.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Orla.’
Bill looked stricken by this news. ‘Miss Kendrick?’
‘Yes.’
‘She wants to come?’
‘Not exactly. She doesn’t know anything about it yet.’
‘Then what makes you think—’
‘Look, it’s a long shot, I know, but I think getting out into the