Eden's Garden (40 page)

 

By the time the short day turned towards dusk, a light sprinkling of snow covered the landscape around Plas Eden. From Nainie’s bench on the ridge behind the house, the Eden estate lay spread out, a network of houses, trees and roads marked in black like a sketch in charcoal amidst the soft gleam of white.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Carys, a little shyly, as she approached the slight figure sitting alone on the bench.

‘Stunning,’ replied Rhiannon. ‘I think I shall never tire of looking at Plas Eden, whatever the season and whatever the light.’ She stuffed a camera deep inside the pocket of her padded walking coat and pulled on her gloves. ‘Are you going to join me?’

‘I don’t want to disturb you.’

‘Not at all.’ A faint smile appeared on Rhiannon’s face. ‘Do I detect a fellow escapee from last-minute Christmas preparations?’

Carys laughed. ‘I suppose so. Plus David said I might find you up here.’

‘Oh?’ enquired Rhiannon as Carys sat down beside her. ‘Nothing wrong, is there?’

‘Oh, no. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. About Eden Cottage, I mean.’

‘Of course,’ replied Rhiannon. ‘It makes perfect sense for you and David to settle in the cottage. I don’t know why anyone didn’t think of that solution before.’

‘But we don’t need to stay there, not once the work on Plas Eden has been done. There will still be room in the east wing, even though most of it is being turned into function rooms and being set up for courses. David and I could still live there. We don’t have to live in the cottage forever.’

‘If I wanted to use Eden Cottage as my home when I’m in the UK, you mean?’

‘Yes. David says you’re fine about it, but I don’t want to feel that I’m throwing you out of your own home. Not after everything.’

Rhiannon let her gaze travel over the winter landscape below them. ‘I will always love Eden,’ she said quietly. ‘It will always be my home. And yes, there’s something very sad about packing away the remains of my life here. But I’m also looking forward. When I leave for America, it will be to a completely new life.’ She smiled. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I feel like a teenager, just about to leave home for college. I’m a bit scared, but I know I have to go.’

‘But you’ll be coming back?’

‘Keep me away! I’ll be back for visits and to see the new Eden. I’ll want to keep up with how the courses and the B&B is coming along. I’m happy to run painting courses, if you and David are still interested.’

‘Yes, of course. That’s what gave us the idea for concentrating on functions and courses in that wing of the house in the first place.’

Rhiannon smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want to see you and David crammed into the new flat in the east wing. At least in the cottage you’ll have space to call your own and a chance at a normal life. It makes much more sense for me to use the flat, or the barn conversion David is talking about as a studio and place to run my painting courses, if they take off.’

Carys hesitated. She didn’t want to start her own new life with a shadow hanging in the background. ‘You know, don’t you, Rhiannon, that I love David with all my heart, and that’s why I want to be with him?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you don’t still think I’ve agreed to marry him just because of Plas Eden?’

Rhiannon, she found, was scrutinising her face. ‘Was that what you thought? When David wanted to marry you, all those years ago, was that what you thought?’

‘I don’t mind. And I understand. In your place I’d probably have thought the same. And anyhow, who is to say it wasn’t true? I just don’t want you to think it’s true now.’

‘Oh, Carys.’ Rhiannon reached out with her gloved hand to touch Carys’ face. ‘I didn’t know you thought that way. I believed you and David marrying so young was a mistake, yes. But I never meant you to take it like that. It wasn’t David I was worried about, it was you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Do you remember what I once told you about me coming to Eden saved me from the worst mistake of my life?’

‘From going with the famous artist to America, you mean?’

‘Exactly. I only understood later that I would never have found my way as a painter and always lived in Jason’s shadow. That’s what I was afraid of for you. You were so young and so bright, and so full of energy and ideas. I saw a girl who could be anything. I was afraid that Eden would suck that life and that energy out of you. That you would live your life in David’s shadow. Or, even worse, in the shadow of Plas Eden. And that one day, when you were much older, perhaps with children, and with so few options open to you, you would see that. Don’t you see, Cari? I saw myself in you. That’s why I was afraid.’

‘Oh.’ Carys attempted to get her head round this. ‘And now?’

Rhiannon chuckled. ‘
Cariad
, I have no worries in the least for you now. Especially not as mistress of Eden Farm. I feel certain you will follow in your grandmother’s footsteps quite magnificently. David is going to have to watch his step from now on.’

‘You make me sound quite terrifying.’

‘Only to those who don’t know you,’ replied Rhiannon, gently. ‘You’re good for David, you know. You always were.’

‘We make a good team,’ said Carys with a smile.

‘I can see that. Believe me, that’s what you’re going to need to make Eden work for you. And you will. I’ve no doubts of that at all. I’m looking forward to watching your progress.’

The last of the light glinted on the distant sea, throwing the shadow of Talarn castle into sharp relief.

Carys glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better get back.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Rhiannon, rising and taking out her torch. ‘It’ll be dark soon, and I’ve still one or two things I need to finish before the carol singing.’

‘Me too.’

As they began to make their way down, swirls of white began to fall. Scarcely perceptible at first, but growing into a sweeping dance around them.

Rhiannon removed her glove and held out her hand to catch the icy softness. ‘It’s going to be a proper white Christmas,’ she said.

 

Snow fell quietly and steadily all evening. As midnight approached, it seemed as if the whole of Pont-ar-Eden had gathered in the village square.

Gwenan and Nia settled Mam in the folding chair brought for the purpose, complete with blankets and an
Arctic-conditions
sleeping bag, while Carys filled up three hot water bottles from the ‘hot water bottles only’ urn simmering gently just inside the Boadicea’s door in the cause of helping the more senior members of Pont-ar-Eden to keep hypothermia at bay.

‘In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone …’ began the crooning voices of Pont-ar-Eden, hushed almost to a whisper, as Carys returned to join the carol singers around the tree. She paused for a moment just outside the cafe, feeling almost like a child again as the scent of hot mince pies and mulled wine spilled out with her into the white, gently swirling world, pristine in the glow of streetlamps.

In front of her, Pont-ar-Eden glistened in the heavy weight of snow, beginning to freeze as the temperature dropped, covering the fluffy surface with a crust of shimmering ice crystals. Under the eaves of shops and houses, white icicle-lights chased each other, as if trying to outdo curtains of brilliant blue hung across the Boadicea’s windows, and the multicoloured baubles wound around the central Christmas tree.

‘It’s times like this, it feels as if nothing ever changes,’ she remarked to Merlin, who was stamping his feet as quietly as he could manage.

He smiled. ‘Funny, I was thinking just that.’

‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ faded away into silence. There was a moment’s coughing and shuffling, following by a rousing rendition of ‘Ding, Dong, Merrily on High’, accompanied by an almost-in-tune school band and buckets being shaken for donations towards the local children’s hospice.

‘Coming to join us?’

He shook his head. ‘It kinda feels weird,’ he said, pulling the folds of his cashmere overcoat closer around him. ‘I sort of became a Buddhist when I gave up the booze,’ he added apologetically.

Carys grinned. ‘I don’t think that matters. Not everyone goes into the church for the service afterwards.’ She nodded towards the young couple in hand-knitted gloves and
bobble-hats
emerging from the new health-food store where the old butchers had once stood. ‘And Pete and Saffron are definitely New Age and unashamedly pagan. I’m not sure Pont-ar-Eden will ever recover from that one.’

‘Mmm.’ He was still hesitating. Carys glanced back to where she could just make out Buddug putting the finishing touches to the Boadicea’s tables, ready for the frozen hoards to descend the moment the carols ended.

‘You could always join her,’ she remarked.

Merlin grunted. ‘She’s had enough trouble, if you ask me. Last thing she needs is another alcoholic in her life knocking her around every Friday night.’

Carys watched him thoughtfully. ‘When did you last have a drink?’

‘April fifth, two-thousand-five,’ he replied automatically.

‘And when did you last hit a woman?’

‘I have never in my life…’ he began, indignantly. ‘Ah,’ he said, meeting her eyes. ‘I see what you mean.’ He swallowed. A look of blind terror overtook his face. ‘I’ve never done this without half a bottle of Jack Daniels inside me,’ he muttered.

Carys kissed him firmly on the cheek. ‘Take it slowly. Play it by ear. You’ll be fine.’

Merlin smiled. ‘David Meredith’s a lucky man.’

‘And I’m a lucky woman,’ she returned.

‘
Tawel nos, dros y byd
…’ began the gentle lilt of ‘Silent Night’ in Welsh, humming in the snow around them.

‘Well, go on, then,’ said Carys, steering him around so that he was facing the Boadicea’s door, and giving him a gently encouraging push on his way.

She waited just long enough to see him make his way inside, then hurried to take the hot water bottles to Gwenan, who was hovering on the edges of the carol singers, wondering what had kept her.

‘
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Alles schlaft, einsam wacht
…’ came the murmur as ‘Silent Night’ transformed itself into the original German.

As Gwenan shot back towards Mam, the crowd closed behind her, forming a tight, perfect circle around the Christmas tree. Carys hesitated, not wanting to disturb the unity, as ‘Silent Night’ was sung in English, before returning back for a final time in Welsh.

But then she spotted it. The place that had been left for her. The place that would always be hers.

Quietly, Carys made her way to join David, as the midnight bells rang out across the roofs of Pont-ar-Eden.

 In the trees of Plas Eden a wind stirred, sending the shadows rustling amongst the leaves and over the still features of Eden’s ghosts.

David Meredith pulled the last of the brambles from the shield of King Arthur and sat back on his heels to view his handiwork. He glanced over to where Carys was kneeling, planting yellow primroses where the figure of Blodeuwedd rose out of her carved sheaf of willow and meadow flowers.

‘There, that’s looking better,’ he said.

Carys looked up and smiled. ‘Much better. Much more like a garden again.’

Over the past year, the overgrown branches of the trees had been thinned and neatened, leaving a larger circle of sky above them. Encouraged by the increased light, daffodils were already springing up amongst a swathe of snowdrops, with the first stirrings of bluebells amongst the longer grass. The creamy flowers of hawthorn were coming into bloom next to Ceridwen’s cauldron, while a bank of bright yellow celandines and pink-tinged wood anemones nestled at the feet of the small child beneath.

Spring flowers completed, Carys settled down to trays of lavenders and purple sage she had brought from her greenhouses at Eden Farm. Pots of honeysuckle and clematis lay waiting to be trained up and around the benches that had been placed strategically at the edges of the little glade, interspersed with clumps of oriental poppies promising an exotic touch of large scarlet blooms in a few months’ time.

All of her plants, Carys was proud to see, looked green and healthy and all ready to burst into new growth. Over the past year, while Rhiannon had been in America and the scaffolding had enclosed Plas Eden within a ring of steel, the gardens at Eden Farm had come on in leaps and bounds.

Although, she had to admit it, if she’d known just how hard the work would be, Carys would have thought anyone mad to start it. But last summer the polytunnels had been full to bursting with tomatoes and chillies, and the ramblings of squashes of all shapes and sizes. The beds had yielded potatoes and broccoli and enough peas and green beans to feed her and David, and keep the Boadicea Café and the thriving little health shop on Pont-ar-Eden high street supplied. This year, by the time the cookery courses got underway in early summer, there would be enough veg and salad leaves for the students to pick their own each morning. It still gave her a buzz each time she thought about it.

Last year, Carys had only made brief experiments with plums and raspberries, while most of the bilberries and blackberries she had harvested had simply gone straight into the freezer. They had enjoyed the delicious bursts of fresh fruit in pies and crumbles all winter and supplied the first home baking course with a tasty selection of fillings that had sent their first clients home in a state of ecstasy. Word had clearly got about, as even before their marketing plan went into full swing the second baking course was almost fully booked. This year, alongside growing for the courses and their own use, she was determined to begin making jams and preserves in earnest.

The breeze stirred once more. Between the slowly unfurling leaves, Plas Eden gleamed pristine white, every window shining, the roof mended and cleaned of moss.

‘I suppose we’d better go,’ said David, a little regretfully. He had finished tidying the empty pots into the wheelbarrow, and was engaged in watering each newly placed plant, filling the watering can from the stream running alongside the statues. He eyed the little glade with a smile. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘Not exactly perfect.’ Carys eyed her planting critically. ‘It all seems horribly last minute. I should have done these weeks ago.’

‘They look fine,’ he replied. ‘Last minute, isn’t that what weddings are about?’

‘So I’ve heard,’ she returned with a smile. ‘I suppose we should have known when we said we wanted something small and quiet that it would just grow and grow.’

‘Doomed from the start,’ he agreed, laughing. ‘I’m still not sure we’ll all fit in here tomorrow morning.’

‘I expect we’ll manage,’ she returned, with a grin.

With Buddug currently in full charge of Plas Eden’s shining new kitchen, Karenza having driven up that morning from Cornwall with a carful of flowers, and Poppy due to arrive at any minute, this had been their last chance to get everything ready. And only just in time, it seemed. Footsteps were making their way down the steps towards them, accompanied by the murmur of voices.

The next moment Gwynfor and Rhiannon appeared, with Hodge trotting in full adoring attentiveness at Rhiannon’s side.

‘I’m afraid we’ve been sent as a delegation from Huw,’ said Rhiannon.

‘He’s worried you’ve forgotten that David is staying with Rhiannon in Plas Eden tonight,’ added Gwynfor.

‘He isn’t still trying to get me out to the Taliesin, is he?’ demanded David, in alarm.

Gwynfor chuckled. ‘I did suggest the full Pont-ar-Eden stag night might get out of hand and end up in the local paper, however hard you tried. That seemed to do the trick. And I did point out you’d probably prefer a cup of tea and Rhiannon all to yourself for the evening, in any case.’

David let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks.’

‘So Angela’s arranging tea and cake for us all before Carys goes back to the cottage,’ said Rhiannon, with a smile. Her eyes travelled around the little glade. ‘That is so beautiful. You’ve transformed this place; this must have been how it was when they were first made. You can really see the statues clearly now.’

‘Stunning,’ agreed Gwynfor, wholeheartedly. He patted the newly cleaned staff of Merlin the magician that appeared to positively gleam with contained magic. ‘No one who could make these could possibly have been in the slightest bit insane.’

David looked up at his tone. Gwynfor was gazing at the face of the statue, deep in contemplation.

‘It was you,’ said David. ‘
You
phoned Ketterford Museum, asking questions about statues.’

‘Ah,’ replied Gwynfor, turning back to face them. He cleared his throat. ‘I wondered if they might have mentioned it.’

David frowned at him. ‘So you knew all along. About Ketterford Asylum?’

‘Oh, good heavens, no. Well, not exactly. There were always rumours in the village about Nainie’s mother, when I was young. She was such an extraordinary person, and didn’t seem to come from anywhere or be of any family.’

‘So the private detective Sara Jones and the others were talking about had found out about Ketterford?’ said Carys.

Gwynfor shook his head. ‘No, no. Not at all. That private detective was paid to uncover the trail of a missing heiress, not a woman who had been declared dead many years before.’

‘Oh,’ said Carys. ‘Grandmother Judith, you mean.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So who…’ began David. He met Gwynfor’s eyes. ‘Don’t tell me: Edmund Jnr.’

Gwynfor coughed. ‘He did contact you, then. He swore to me he hadn’t, but then his father always had a cavalier attitude to the truth. I should have known the son would be the same. I take it you haven’t heard from him recently?’

‘Not since he failed to turn up for a meeting we’d arranged last year.’

‘Good.’ Gwynfor looked smug.

‘So how…?’

‘Well, there were, shall we say, a few little things Edmund failed to mention to his offspring.

‘Such as?’

‘Fraud. Embezzlement. Attempted blackmail. The family gave Edmund the option of emigrating permanently to South America or facing the police here.’

‘But I didn’t find anything about that when I looked.’

Gwynfor’s eyebrows bristled. ‘Oh, don’t worry, the papers are safe.’ He smiled. ‘I might have mentioned to Edmund Jnr that his father got himself entangled with some pretty unpleasant low-lifes. The kind that have long memories and might not be too fussy about how they got their money back and when. Besides, with all the detective work you two did and the drawings and the statues creating such a stir already, everyone knows there is nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing whatsoever to hide. I very much doubt you’ll have any trouble again.’

There was a moment’s silence.

‘Come on,’ said Rhiannon at last. ‘We’ve given our message, and I think we can trust these two to follow us in their own time.’

‘Ready?’ said David, as Rhiannon and Gwynfor disappeared once more, Hodge trotting cheerfully behind, fulfilling the promise of his collie ancestor as he made sure no one went missing along the way.

‘Just these two,’ replied Carys, heeling in the final clematis and turning her attention to the last of the lavender. ‘They won’t take a minute.’

‘Okay,’ said David, sitting down to clean his spade. Carys bent again, trowelling amongst the slate-filled earth to settle the little plants in position at the base of Ceridwen’s cauldron. High above, a line of swans flapped noisily, landing a few minutes later on the lake with much honking and rushing of water. Then it was silent again.

She would never be afraid here, Carys thought, pressing the last plant into position and wiping her trowel on the grass. A plaintive meow came out of the dark of the undergrowth, followed by the silky blackness of Tash stalking out to join them. Absently, Carys pulled off her gardening gloves and stroked the warm fur, which promptly wound itself around her, purr rumbling gently against her legs.

And suddenly it was very still. She could feel the statues near her, almost as if they were bending towards her, listening to the very beat of her heart.

She lifted her head towards them: The people who had lived and died within the lands of Eden. The people who had worked the earth and raised their children, and whose hopes and dreams, joys and sorrows of lives richly led, lay silently in the earth around them. Lives captured for a moment by the photographs of her grandfather and celebrated in stone for all to see by Hermione Meredith.

Carys looked at the faces above her. She gazed at Ceridwen, in reality a widow who had raised a family of nine on her own, taking in washing and scrubbing the floors of Plas Eden to ensure they survived and made better lives for themselves. And whose granddaughter had brought life back to Pont-ar-Eden within the bustling walls of the Boadicea Cafe.

She smiled at Merlin, the old gardener who had raised melons and pineapples and any fruit you cared to mention, for the delight and envy of visitors to Eden. She smiled at the forlorn lovers, released from their ivy, who had not parted forever like Tristan and Isolde, but had lived together in their snug little cottage below Eden’s walls for the best part of sixty years, with only the occasional pot or pan seen flying through the window of a Friday night.

She let her hand rest on the head of the giant Bendigeidfran, the stable lad who had died with his horses amongst the mud of Flanders, and let her eyes travel past the seamstress, who never went further than Talarn in her entire life, riding away on her uncatchable horse, trailing moons and stars in her skirts.

Finally, her eyes rested on the figure of Blodeuwedd, the young woman poised beneath the arch of honeysuckle, eager for life to begin. In amongst the leaves, the figure of a bronze owl gleamed; every feather of its flower-like face picked out in exquisite detail. For, as Rhiannon said, if you looked, really looked, an owl had an untamed beauty all of its own. And an owl was a symbol of wisdom – or at least of wisdom gained – after all.

In the shift of shadows across the stone faces, Carys could have sworn the blank eyes were watching her, bending close in a protective circle around her and David. As if they were trying to tell her something.

Her head was spinning. She closed her eyes to force back the giddiness. She could smell the green newness of the leaves, and the distant exotic richness of the yellow azalea by the lake, and the world pulsating to the slow beat of new life.

She opened her eyes again, and found herself gazing into the face of Little Gwion Bach. The child with the face of the little boy of the photograph with Nainie’s mother. It was only recently, looking through Mam’s photographs again, that it had dawned on her that the familiarity in the mischievous little face was her own. It was Dad’s face as a child, just as much as it was Grandmother Judith’s. And it was her own.

Carys smiled at the child with the face full of such eagerness and promise. A child who held the future, and could become anything they chose.

The rustle amongst the leaves was a warmth on her cheek, almost like the soft breath of a kiss. In her ears was the sound of laughter. Small figures seemed to flit in and out between the statues, turning now and again towards her with eager children’s faces. One moment they were the mischievous features of Grandmother Judith, the next the loving seriousness of Hermione Meredith, until they blended together so completely she could no longer tell which was which.

And the suspicion that had been growing in the back of her mind over the past couple of months was back again: this time a complete and utter certainty.

‘David,’ she whispered.

He put his arms around her, as he bent to touch the softness at the base of her neck with his lips. ‘Yes?’

She turned to meet his kiss. ‘We’d better get going. I can hear more cars arriving, and we don’t want them sending another search party out.’