‘Mais oui.’ Jonathan took a bite of his spring roll. ‘Hmm, this is très bon or even muy bueno.’
‘You’re bilingual,’ Hilary remarked before taking a slug of her red wine.
‘Tri, actually, Ms Hammond,’ he said smugly. ‘I know Irish as well, ta and spring roll ana mhaith ar fad.’
‘I’m suitably impressed, Monsieur Harpur.’
‘I’m only teasing,’ he joked. ‘I have schoolboy French and the only other Spanish I know is la cuenta, por favor and ningún hombre podría compararse a ti.’
Hilary chuckled. ‘“No other man compares to you!” You charmer.’
‘You have to have the basics when you travel abroad,’ Jonathan declared airily, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the shrub-filled garden. ‘This is lovely and private. When I get a place of my own, privacy will be a huge priority for me. I always think the garden should be an extra room, so to speak. This one works extremely well.’ He studied the verdant lawn edged with curving flowerbeds and an array of blossoming shrubs. The branches of an old apple tree and a damson tree on either side of a winding stone path met in a tender embrace creating a shady emerald archway that drew the eye to another raised seating area with a small water feature and a variety of ferns and bamboo. ‘That’s a charming feature down there,’ he said.
‘That was my baby,’ Hilary said proudly. ‘My Zen garden. That’s where I go for a bit of peace and quiet, and to read whenever I get the chance, which is rare.’
‘You did a great job of it, and the garden.’
‘Well, I can’t take responsibility for the rest of the garden as such,’ she confessed. ‘It was well matured when we bought the house. An elderly couple lived here, the McMillians. They were great gardeners and then the husband died and the wife had to go into a nursing home. She interviewed every person who put in an offer and chose us, because she felt we would look after her garden. She was a very feisty lady. I used to visit her in the home and take photos for her, and we had her visit for tea every now and again until she got too frail. It gave her great happiness to sit and look at the damson tree and apple tree, especially in the spring. Oh Jonathan, it’s absolutely glorious with the arbour of frothy pink and white blossoms. It would be perfect for a wedding,’ she sighed dreamily, feeling deliciously tipsy.
‘You could rent it out as a wedding venue.’
‘Now that’s an idea, I must suggest it to Niall.’
‘He’s dishy,’ Jonathan approved. He’d seen their wedding photo on the mantelpiece in the lounge.
‘Umm, can’t argue with you there.’ She leaned over and topped up his glass before refilling her own.
‘Are you happily married?’ He smiled across at her.
‘Very,’ she nodded. ‘Very, very happy.’
‘You’re lucky. I’d give anything to be in a stable, happy relationship,’ Jonathan confided.
‘It will happen, some day when you’re not looking. He’ll come into your life, and you can have a ceremony under my trees,’ she grinned. ‘But not in the autumn because you might get conked on the head by a windfall.’
‘There’s a good crop budding already.’ He glanced over at the fruit-laden branches.
‘We generally have a good harvest of damsons and apples. The girls love picking them. Every autumn I used to make Mrs McMillian damson jam and apple chutney with her own fruit. She loved it. The girls used to bring it to her in a little basket with a bow on it. She passed away a couple of years ago.’
‘You are a kind person, Ms Hammond,’ Jonathan said, raising his glass to her.
‘Not at all, I’m a grumpy wagon most of the time,’ Hilary retorted, embarrassed.
‘Perhaps that too, but kind nevertheless. And talented. Perhaps we could go into Zen garden design while we’re at it.’
‘Steady on, Harpur, we haven’t got any clients yet.’
‘Oh we will! Never you fear, we will. Today has revitalized me. We are going to go far, missus, you and me, I can feel it in me waters. This is the life.’ He raised his glass to her.
Hilary lifted her face to the last rays of the sun as it began to set. She was feeling completely relaxed. It had been a gift of a day, so unlike her usual run of the mill stuff, and how rare was it for her to have the house to herself and to be able to sit drinking with someone she knew was going to become a dear friend. And tonight she was going to have the luxury of the bed all to herself. What bliss to spreadeagle herself to the four corners and sleep until she awoke of her own accord without the tyranny of the alarm clock or hungry children. She would nip across to the supermarket and get fresh croissants and the paper and sit out on her patio in the morning if it was fine and have a lazy relaxed breakfast before going to collect the girls from her sister’s. She hadn’t had a free night like this since she could remember.
The sharp, intrusive buzz of the doorbell through the patio doors was like a cold shower and Hilary gave an irritable tut, hauling herself out of the chair. ‘Who’s that now, I wonder? Someone selling something or other!’ she grumbled. ‘Excuse me until I put the skids under them.’ She slipped her feet into her espadrilles that she had kicked off under the table and frowned as the doorbell shrilled again.
‘Impatient, aren’t they?’ Jonathan remarked.
‘Not as impatient as I’ll be when I get to them,’ Hilary retorted, hurrying into