The Lavender Garden (39 page)

The day was bright and Emilie decided to take another trip around the garden to see how she could make a start. It was important she keep busy and do something useful with her time while she was here. Walking
out into the garden, she realized that most of the work needed was well beyond her physical capacity. The lengths of flowerbeds needed weeding, pruning, and fertilizing. It would be spring before she knew what could be salvaged out of years of neglect, she thought, as she moved into the orchard and looked at the chaos there.

Feeling disheartened at the enormity of the job, Emilie walked back inside to make some more coffee and decided the most she could do was to try to make something of the pretty terrace that sat outside the kitchen and caught the morning sun. The old paving stones had moss covering each crack like green snail trails. She made a list of supplies she would need to buy from the local garden center, which she had spotted a few miles down the road. She was sure that, with a little bit of elbow grease and some new planting, she could make the small area a pleasant outside space to sit in.

•  •  •

Back from the garden center and the supermarket, Emilie knew she must check on Alex. Her feelings toward him were a mass of confusion. She liked him very much, but every time she saw him, although he said nothing negative about Sebastian, the unspoken undercurrent unsettled her. Having just managed to get her relationship with her husband back on track, she didn’t want to risk destabilizing it.

At seven that evening, she knocked on Alex’s door.

“Come in.”

Alex was in the kitchen, eating supper. He looked up at her and smiled. “Hello, stranger.”

“Hello.” Emilie felt uncomfortable and embarrassed. “I came to make sure you were well.”

“Very well, thank you. You?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Would you like to join me?” Alex indicated the shepherd’s pie sitting on the stove. “I always make far too much.”

“No thank you. I’ve prepared my own supper next door. Is there anything you need?”

“No thanks.”

“Right. I’ll leave you in peace to eat. Any problems, please call me on my mobile.”

“Yes.”

“Good night, Alex.” She threw him a forced smile as she turned to leave.

“Good night, Emilie,” Alex replied sadly.

•  •  •

For the next few days, Emilie busied herself clearing the small terrace and cleaning up the moss-covered pots filled with dead remnants of past flowers. For now, she filled them with winter pansies, but in a few weeks’ time she could add petunias and impatiens and plant sweet-smelling lavender in the beds.

Jean had called to say Jacques was back at home and eager to continue telling his story, so Emilie booked a flight to France for the following week. She also cornered Jo, the young girl she had employed as Alex’s cleaner, and asked her how she was settling in to her job.

“Oh, I love it, Mrs. Carruthers,” she said as they walked together toward Jo’s bicycle. “Alex is such a nice man. And so clever. I’m studying Russian next year at uni and he’s been helping me.”

“He speaks Russian?” Emilie replied in surprise.

“Yes. And Japanese and a little Chinese and Spanish. And French, of course.” Jo sighed. “It’s such a shame he’s stuck in that chair and not able to get out much. He never complains though, Mrs. Carruthers. I would, if I was Alex.”

“Yes,” agreed Emilie. Waving to Jo as she cycled off down the drive, Emilie felt even more churlish for steering clear of her brother-in-law.

•  •  •

Emilie was glad when Friday arrived. Sebastian had phoned in once, but she was beginning to accept that when he was away, he was too wrapped up in work to contact her. He arrived home in a good mood, saying he’d managed to sell a painting by one of his new artists and received a healthy commission. Emilie suggested he come with her to France next week to hear the rest of Jacques’s story, but he said he’d be too busy. As for Alex, Emilie assured Sebastian he was fine and she’d hardly seen him.

“He really is self-sufficient, Sebastian.”

“Well, seems you were right and I was wrong,” he commented brusquely.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

They were sitting outside on her newly renovated terrace at the back of the house. She shivered as the tiny slice of Yorkshire sun disappeared behind a cloud, then stood up. “I’ll go and make supper.”

“By the way, it may be that I need to go to Geneva in Switzerland for a few days, and I might not be home next weekend.”

Emilie nodded thoughtfully. “Then maybe I could join you there from France? I could drive across to Geneva. It isn’t far.”

“I’d love you to, but really, this isn’t a trip for pleasure—I’ll be in meetings all the time.”

“Okay.” She sighed, not wanting to argue, and went inside to begin supper.

•  •  •

Sebastian left again on Monday morning and Emilie lay in bed feeling genuinely disgruntled. Even though she was doing her best not to complain and to be supportive about Sebastian’s dedication to resolving his business and not be demanding of his time, she was seeing less and less of him. What was she meant to do with her life here in Yorkshire all by herself? Filling her days painting over the cracks of a house that might be sold and wasn’t hers anyway, suddenly seemed completely pointless.

Her decision to avoid Alex meant that she was spending all her time here alone. Emilie sighed as she got up and dressed. She could stay in her nightshirt all day if she wished, as no one would be coming to see her. It was a depressing thought.

Taking the bicycle down to the village to buy milk and bread—or what masqueraded as bread in England—Emilie cycled off past the shop until she reached the last cottage on the left-hand side. Parking her bicycle against the rough Yorkshire stone of the exterior, she walked to the front door and knocked. If Mrs. Erskine wasn’t there, she would simply go away. But the woman had invited her to pop in, and it was about time she gleaned some more information on the brothers and their relationship.

The door was opened after a second knock, and Norma Erskine’s warm smile of welcome made Emilie feel comfortable that she wasn’t intruding.

“Hello, love, I was wondering when you’d be along to see me.” She led Emilie down the narrow hallway. “Come in, I were just putting the kettle on, any road. Sit yourself down at the table.”

“Thank you.” Emilie saw an old-fashioned but immaculately kept kitchen. The melamine, yellow cabinets, Baby Belling cooker, and Electrolux fridge with its hallmark rounded corners were all remnants of the sixties.

“So, love, how are those two boys of mine treating you?” Norma smiled at Emilie.

“Fine, thank you,” she said politely.

“That’s good to hear. Not fighting amongst themselves as usual, then? Maybe you’re having a good influence on them.” Norma placed a coffee in front of Emilie and sat down herself on the other side of the small table. “Though I’d be surprised if anyone could sort those two out.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” said Emilie neutrally.

“Well, you must have noticed the tension that hangs between them. You would have thought with them being grown men, they’d have got past it. But I say there’s nothing that will ever change them now.”

“I agree they’re not close.”

“And that’s an understatement.” Norma sighed. She reached over and patted Emilie’s hand. “And I understand you’re married to one of them, love, and you don’t want to be disloyal.”

“No, but you’re right, the atmosphere in the house is difficult. As I don’t know the history behind it, it’s hard for me to understand. So I’ve come to ask you if you would explain things to me. If I know what causes the problem between them, then it might be easier for me to cope.”

Norma paused and studied her for a while. “The problem is, love, it would mean saying some pretty unpleasant things about the man you’ve just gone and married. And I’m not sure you’d want to hear them. Because once I start, I’d have to tell the truth as it is. I wouldn’t be able to lie to you, Mrs. Carruthers. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“No, of course not,” Emilie replied honestly, “but it would be better than guessing.”

“I suppose Master Alex has said nothing about it?”

“Nothing. He refuses to talk of his brother or the past to me.”

“He’s a loyal one, I’ll give him that. Right-oh, then.” Norma slapped her sturdy knees. “I can only hope I’m doing the right thing by telling you. But, likewise, remember that it was you that asked in the first place.”

“I will,” Emilie promised.

“Now, I suppose you know that both boys were brought back from America by their mum from the hippie commune she lived in?”

“Yes.” Emilie was concentrating hard to decipher the strong Yorkshire accent.

“Like two peas in a pod they were, only eighteen months between them, and the sweetest little things you’ve ever seen. Of course, even though it was Master Sebastian who was the older lad, right from the start it were obvious the exceptional one of the two was the young’un. Master Alex were reading and writing before his fourth birthday. As a child he were a charmer, he could always manage to wangle a slice of Victoria sponge cake out of me in the kitchen, even before dinner!” Norma chuckled. “He looked like a little angel, he did, with those big brown eyes of his. Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Carruthers, your husband, he were a sweet lad too, but without sounding disrespectful or rude, he hadn’t been given the gifts that his younger brother had in spades. He were bright enough, and not bad-looking, but it was obvious then he could never match up to Alex. Of course, Sebastian competed constantly to be the best, but Alex always won hands down without even breaking sweat.” Norma sighed and shook her head. “And it didn’t help, neither, that little Alex was the apple of his grandmother’s eye.”

“I see. It must have been hard on Sebastian.”

“Oh, it was, love, and as they got older, nothing improved. In fact, it got a great deal worse. Anytime Sebastian could manage to get Alex into trouble, he did it. He had to ‘win’ sometimes, didn’t he? Of course, Sebastian would always say ’twas Alex who’d started the ruck, but there were never a bruise on him.”

“I see,” said Emilie again, shocked but understanding. “Did Alex fight back?”

“No.” Norma grimaced. “Not once. He idolized his older brother, you see, just wanted to please him, and if Sebastian told Alex it was all
his fault, he’d accept it without a murmur. Your husband always did have a gift for convincing others that black is white.” Norma shook her head. “It all calmed down for a while when Sebastian left to go away to boarding school and could come home bragging about his success. But then Alex went and won the academic scholarship at the same school, didn’t he? He left here in a blaze of glory with all of us expecting great things of him. Then Constance—Mrs. Carruthers as was—started getting letters from the school saying Alex were constantly in trouble. None of us understood it here, the boy were one of the most gentle souls I’ve ever met; more interested in a book than a fistfight. Any road, a year later he was expelled and sent home in disgrace. Apparently he’d set fire to the newly built gym.”

“And had he?”

“The school said he had and Alex would never utter a word about it, even though me and his granny tried to get out of him what had happened. I, for one, have my suspicions.” Mrs. Erskine raised her eyebrows and Emilie knew what she was implying.

“The upshot of the expulsion was that Alex was sent to the local secondary school here. Which even I’d admit I’d not have wanted my kids to go to. Rough as old boots, it was, and Alex stuck out like a sore thumb. He hated it, but his examination marks were always exceptional, even with the poor level of teaching, and he were offered a place at Cambridge. His granny was thrilled that her golden boy had still pulled it off. Sebastian, who’d had the best education money could buy, but was a lazy one, had been lucky to get a place studying history of art at Sheffield.”

Norma broke off from her tale to have a sip of her coffee. Emilie sat quietly, waiting for her to continue.

“Now then, that summer before Alex was meant to go up to Cambridge started well, with both boys enjoying a taste of adulthood. Alex had saved up for a car and they used to take themselves off in it to the pub. Alex was as proud as punch of that old Mini.” Norma sighed. “Then one night, it weren’t Alex who arrived home that evening, it was the police. Alex had been involved in a crash. He were blind drunk apparently, and the police had him in the cells sobering up. Thank the Lord no one was seriously hurt, but both his car and the other one were write-offs. Alex was charged with
dangerous driving, and Cambridge refused to accept him because he had a police record.”

“That’s terrible! But then,” Emilie speculated, “Sebastian told me Alex has had a drinking problem. Maybe that was the start of it.”

“Well, love”—Norma shook her head—“before then, if he were driving, I’d never known Alex to touch a drop of alcohol. That proud of his car he was, he wouldn’t have done anything to risk it. He still swears blind to this day he only drank orange juice that night, but all that alcohol got into his system somehow, didn’t it? Anyway, with his university place scuppered, in the autumn he used all the money he’d saved from working in the local shop here in the village and took himself off and away abroad. And that was the last we saw of him for five years.”

“Yes, Sebastian told me he disappeared.”

“We had no idea where he was. His granny was out of her mind with worry, wondering if he were even alive, because he never contacted her. Then we got a call from a hospital in France to say he was there and more or less at death’s door. I’m not up on drugs myself, love, but suffice to say, apparently there wasn’t much that Alex hadn’t tried. Constance got on a plane immediately and went over to sort him out.”

“Constance put him in a private rehab center, didn’t she?”

“She did, and he came home clean, as they say, but it weren’t long after that he disappeared off again and it was another four years until I next saw him. He missed his granny’s funeral.” Tears came to Norma’s eyes. She took a hanky from her sleeve and blew her nose. “Sorry, love, it’s just that Constance kept asking before she passed away if he was coming back. But we didn’t know where he was. So she never did get to say good-bye to her boy. And I don’t think Alex has ever forgiven himself for not being there, either. Whatever he’d got up to on his travels, he still adored his granny.”