He sniffed and raised his hand to his cheek.
“So what became of the other sister then?”
His face closed off.
“Mr. Wilkes, do you know what happened to her?”
He shook his head and a solitary tear slid down his cheek. He brushed it away and sighed. “I thought you wanted to know what I did there, not get family information out of me. If you don’t want to know about my job or the gardens, I think you should leave.”
Billie paused before smiling sympathetically at him. “I really would love your input into this, Mr. Wilkes. Your roses are absolutely beautiful and they’d make such a stunning photo for my souvenir pull-out. I’ve never so much as had a slightly green tinge to my thumb.” Billie gave a small embarrassed laugh. “Tell me how you do it, please. I’m sure you must have a few secrets up your sleeve that make those blooms so beautiful.”
He stared at her so long she thought he was going to refuse, but eventually he started to speak. What transpired in the next hour gave her the background to the gardens at Foxborough and more information about the family than he realised.
Billie closed her notebook, slid her pen into her bag and gave him her focus. “I can’t thank you enough for this. My story is going to be so full of colour thanks to you.” She closed her eyes and then glanced at him with a smile. “I have an idea. How about tomorrow I check and see how the rose gardens have fared in your absence. Would you like to go out to the house for a drive? I’d love to get some shots of you amongst your blooms for my pull-out section. We’re talking a souvenir publication for people to keep, Mr. Wilkes. Glossy pages and loads of photos. Wouldn’t you like to be in it?
His lined cheeks dimpled as his mouth curved into a bashful smile. It gave her the answer she wanted. “Well, if you’re sure you want to include an old bloke like me, I suppose I can find the time. Might need to get a haircut and have a shave first though. Besides, wouldn’t mind seeing the gardens again once again. See if they still look the same as I remember them.” A shadow passed over his face and he frowned. “Wonder if anyone’s been looking after them or have they gone to ruin as well? Ah well, guess we’ll see tomorrow then, won’t we?” After agreeing to a time to call and arrange a visit to the estate, Billie left to head to her next appointment. She was eager to see Miss Curtis, the maid from Foxborough Hall. Hopefully she would have more personal stories to share.
Billie drove through town, pulled over once to check her map and found the nursing home. Following the sign to the car park, she got out of her car and followed the path to the reception area.
“Hello, I’m Billie Stanford. I rang earlier and spoke to Elaine about meeting Miss Curtis.”
“Ah yes, so you did.” The woman stood and held out her hand. “I’m Elaine. Lovely to meet you.” She stared at Billie for a moment. “She’s down the hall to the right, near the end of the corridor. Let me take you.” Elaine checked her name in the visitor’s book, had Billie sign in and together they ambled down the sunny hall toward the resident’s rooms. The smell of pine disinfectant tried but failed to override the lingering smell of old age. As they passed each room, Billie got a slight waft of either mustiness or old-lady perfume with the occasional hint of pipe tobacco.
“She’s been so excited, telling anyone that will listen that a famous American reporter is coming to talk to her about ‘that’ house. Worked there until the old man died she did and we’ve had her ever since.” She smiled at Billie. “Poor thing was ready for a break at the end. Doctor said she had to move into care facilities, not that she had anywhere else to go, mind you. Don’t know how she managed to look after him for so long. By all accounts he was hard work in his later years” She tsked. “Lovely wee thing she is, still spritely in her mind but her arthritis is playing up a bit. Slows her down some days more than others.” Elaine paused at an open door. “If she gets too excited or upset, ring the bell on the wall and someone will come and help out.”
“I will, thanks.” Billie preceded her into the room and smiled when the tiny Aboriginal woman clapped her hands.
“My, my, I can’t believe it’s you.” The lines around her face deepened as she cackled and slapped her hand down on the arm of her chair. “Told you, Elaine, she was famous and coming to see me. I read all her stuff in the magazines, I do.” Her skinny fingers clasped in front of her, the old lady beamed.
Billie glanced at Elaine. “We get them from all over the world here. One of our residents is a bit of a magazine buff and they eventually find their way to Primrose’s room. She keeps us all amused with your stories. She loves a good bit of suspense.”
Primrose? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “It’s an unusual name.”
The old lady waved her hand, brushing aside the comment. “And you one of the best, I told ’em all.” Her snowy curls bobbed as she nodded her head.
“Thank you, Primrose. That’s very kind of you.” Billie put her bag down beside the chair positioned beside the tiny old lady. She pulled out her notebook and put it on
