The Kissing Garden Read online

  ‘But what is that over there?’ she wondered, when they had come to a pause. She pointed at the top of a hedge she could see beyond the high mound with the long set of stone steps. ‘I do not remember seeing that particular part of the garden before, Amelia. In fact I imagine that is the only place we have not been.’

  ‘That’s because there’s nothing really to see there, Louisa,’ Amelia replied hastily. ‘It’s a corner we haven’t really had the time to do anything with.’

  ‘The hedge is well cultivated none the less.’

  ‘Jethro likes to keep everything trim and neat.’

  ‘All except for the areas round the lake,’ Constance chimed in. ‘He would appear to have lost the battle there.’

  ‘We were hoping to do something with the lake – and in fact George even roped in some expert or other to come and give us his opinion. George thought it might need dredging because the water was so dark, but it appears the reason for that is because the lake is so deep. So until we can afford to attend to it properly, if we ever can, we’ve had it fenced off and declared as No Man’s Land.’

  ‘Very sensible too,’ Lady Dashwood concurred, ‘with two young children. However, I would still like to see over there, Amelia, if I may.’

  ‘There really is nothing to see,’ Amelia called after her mother-in-law, who was already opening the heavy iron gate and making her way towards the steps in the mound.

  ‘That isn’t the reason you don’t want her to go there, Amelia,’ her mother laughed behind her. ‘I can see from the look on your face.’

  ‘Can you?’ Amelia said. ‘Well you’re wrong. The true reason I don’t want her to get in is that it is so boring. There’s nothing to see.’

  ‘Get in?’ Constance echoed. ‘You mean it’s some sort of enclosed garden?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Mama,’ Amelia replied, hurrying on up the stone steps. ‘It’s just a piece of grass enclosed by hedges, just nothing.’

  ‘Magnificent!’ Louisa Dashwood called as she reached the hedge and began to inspect it. ‘And frightfully ancient too, I should imagine!’

  ‘That’s what we too thought,’ Amelia agreed, hurrying on to where her mother-in-law stood. ‘But that’s all it is at the moment. We really haven’t time to do anything to it.’

  ‘Perhaps if I can take a look inside I may have an idea. I may be able to come up with something.’

  ‘You won’t be able to get in,’ Amelia warned as Louisa began to look for an entrance.

  ‘It’s all right, my dear. I have found the entrance here – neat and trim as can be!’

  By the time Amelia and Constance had arrived at the corner of the garden Louisa had disappeared.

  ‘I think I shall take a look inside, too,’ Constance said, peering in through the gap in the hedge. ‘It looks absolutely charming.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Amelia said, without quite knowing why. After all, it was nothing more than a somewhat neglected patch of wild garden laid out between a rectangle of yew hedging. It contained absolutely nothing that Amelia would wish to hide – nothing visible, at least. Yet even so, and inexplicably, Amelia feared the intrusion of strangers within its boundaries.

  ‘What is it, darling?’ her mother wondered, hesitating in the entrance. ‘Something’s the matter?’

  But before Amelia could begin to find an excuse for her reluctance both of them were stopped in their tracks by the sound of someone crying.

  ‘Louisa?’ Constance said in concern. ‘What on earth . . .’

  Amelia hurried after her mother, who was making her way as quickly as she could to Louisa Dashwood’s side.

  ‘Louisa?’ Constance called once more. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  Seeing the older woman within the enclosure Amelia knew that her feelings had been right. She should never have let her into the Kissing Garden. She would spoil everything, take away the magic that Amelia was quite sure was there.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

  ‘I am absolutely fine, Connie dear,’ Louisa assured her, turning her face so that over the handkerchief she was holding to her mouth both Constance and Amelia could see the transparent look of happiness in her eyes. ‘Most assuredly I am.’

  ‘Then whatever is the matter, Louisa?’

  ‘Just look, Connie. Just look – have you ever seen such a beautiful place?’

  Amelia watched as her mother looked around her in astonishment, seeing only what Amelia saw: the rectangle of grass and the four tall and somewhat austere yew hedges. There was nothing else to catch the eye, nothing to make the spirit dance.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Mama,’ Amelia said, taking her mother to one side. ‘If I could just have a moment or two with Louisa alone.’

  ‘Very well, dear. But if you want me I shan’t be very far away. I shall wait at the top of the steps.’

  ‘Of course.’

  After her mother had left the little garden, Amelia took hold of her mother-in-law’s arm. For once Lady Dashwood seemed to take no notice.

  ‘What is it?’ Amelia wondered quietly. ‘What is it you can see exactly?’

  ‘Oh, Amelia dear,’ Louisa whispered back, surprising Amelia by the sudden apparent affection. ‘This surely is the most beautiful place I have ever been?’

  ‘But there’s nothing here—’

  ‘Why did you not want me come to this place, Amelia? It is a place of such peace as well as beauty, dear child.’

  ‘I – I was afraid you might be disappointed, Louisa,’ Amelia said quietly, seeing the look on Louisa’s face. ‘So often when one talks about a place that is special to one, a special place, people are disappointed when they actually see it.’

  ‘You could never exaggerate the beauty of this place, Amelia dear,’ Louisa assured her, taking her daughter-in-law by the hand for the first time ever. ‘Least of all you, the most modest of people. You know, dear child, I have seen some very beautiful sights, and been to some truly remarkable places. When for the first time I stood in front of the Taj Mahal as dawn broke, I actually thought I might die from joy. And the first time Michael and I climbed a mountain in Scotland one summer’s day and seemed to be standing on the very roof of the world – well, words can’t describe the feeling. Yet this place . . .’ Louisa stopped and sighed a sigh of such pure bliss that Amelia herself felt she might weep. ‘Darling girl, this is the most beautiful place of them all.’

  ‘Would you rather I left you alone?’

  ‘Yes, I think I would like that.’

  That evening when Amelia went looking for George before dinner she failed to find him. She had gathered from Clara that the men had returned from hunting well before dark, and she could see from the state of George’s dressing room that he had already bathed and changed out of his hunting clothes.

  Wanting to talk to him about the events of her own afternoon she pursued her search, trying his study in case he had suddenly got lost in a book as was often his habit nowadays, and then the stables in case he had returned with a lame horse and was checking on the welfare of the animal. Thinking he might be with his mother, she asked after both of them, but it emerged that no-one had seen his mother either, not since she had returned by herself from the Kissing Garden to disappear upstairs to her room.

  Giving up, Amelia went and soaked in a long hot bath before getting ready for the last dinner the families would take together that Christmas, both sets of parents being due to go their separate ways the next morning. Mrs Hiscock and Amelia had designed and prepared a special feast for the evening, and given the good mood which everyone seemed to be in for once Amelia found herself looking forward to the gathering without any reservation – until emerging from the bathroom she found George in their bedroom lying flat on his back on the bed staring silently up at the ceiling.

  ‘George?’ she said, coming over to him.

  ‘Hm. Hm hm hm.’

  ‘Don’t start that business, George,’ Amelia warned him, selecting a silver evening gown from her w
ardrobe. ‘And you’d better get into your dinner jacket because you’re going to be late down otherwise.’

  ‘What’s been going on, Amelia?’ George wondered, still lying flat on his back. ‘I don’t know what you said to my mother, I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but she is quite herself again. In fact more so.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Amelia wondered, although suspecting she might already know the answer. ‘I haven’t said or done anything to your mother.’

  ‘You must have done something. She thinks the sun shines out of your two lovely big eyes.’

  ‘Meaning she hasn’t always,’ Amelia said with a smile, sitting on the bed beside him. ‘You look a little bemused. What exactly happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ George replied, turning on one side to look at her. ‘I mean I think something must have happened because I’ve never known her like it. Not recently. Not for a very long time, in fact. Before I joined the army, really. Look – you know my mama. Never use two words when one will do the trick, that’s her motto. I have never known her so talkative. This afternoon when Papa and I got back from hunting – and a rotten day was had by all, you’ll be delighted to hear—’

  ‘Good,’ Amelia teased back. ‘I hope Charlie gave you a good run for your money, you all got lost and he got home safely to his family.’

  ‘More or less the whole day summed up pretty neatly. Anyway – once we were home and bathed and all, Mama summons me to her room. Thinking I’m in more trouble – that some high-up friend of hers or other has taken real umbrage at my latest book – in I go, only to find her in the most benevolent mood I can recall. We talked for hours – for what seemed like hours – and she did most of the talking. But it wasn’t just the fact that we talked. It was what we talked about. What she said. You won’t believe this, but do you know what she said, Amelia? She said she was truly sorry – her exact words – that she was truly sorry for her lack of understanding and compassion. I didn’t quite know what she was referring to, so I sidestepped a bit. Said she had no need to be sorry for anything, et cetera – that she was the best mother anyone could have – but she wasn’t having any of that. She gave a laugh, made me sit in the chair in the window and told me to keep quiet until she had finished. For a moment – for quite a few moments actually – I thought she had been drinking.’

  ‘I can hardly imagine your mother getting even the slightest bit tipsy.’

  ‘If you’d heard what she had to say, the thought would certainly have crossed your mind, too.’

  ‘She was with me in the garden until teatime. And you were back from hunting at what? Only half an hour after I was back in the house, so I heard.’

  ‘Of course she hadn’t been drinking.’ George sat up and shook his head. ‘I was joking. It was just – well. She was in a sort of way intoxicated. That’s the only way I can describe it. I can’t actually remember seeing her in such a – in such a euphoric state. Even though the content of what she had to say was serious. She was smiling the entire time, as if she was happy to talk about it at last. To get it off her chest. That’s why I asked you what you might have said or done with her?’

  ‘As I said, George, nothing, really. Go on. I’m riveted, fascinated in fact.’

  ‘She said she had been completely selfish in the attitude she had taken about me and the direction in which I wanted my life to go. That what she’d been thinking of was not me and you and whatever family we might have and our future together, nor what I’d experienced as a soldier, but simply what people might think and say about her and Papa. As well as about that indefinable and completely ridiculous thing called family history – her words, not mine – a history which she then announced had no proper merit, not in real terms, not in the actual world of the living. You don’t seem very surprised, Amelia.’

  ‘A woman of your mother’s intelligence and character couldn’t seriously live out the rest of her life at loggerheads with her only son. With the son she so obviously loves.’

  ‘She could have done, Amelia. My mother is a stubborn woman. When she sets her mind against something, or someone, I can’t remember her ever changing it.’

  ‘Go on. Because I know you have more to say.’

  ‘I know how difficult love is – not between us, I don’t mean that. I mean that sometimes we simply take it for granted, particularly in families. We don’t feel it’s necessary to express our emotions to each other, especially if we’re British.’ George smiled at her. ‘She’s never been one to express her emotions. Sometimes as you well know it’s as much as you can do to get a smile out of her. But then that’s the way she was brought up. To think that a show of emotion equalled a sign of weakness. That sentiment was sentimentality and that love was something unspoken. Above all the honour of one’s family was paramount. My father really loves my mother and I know that she worships him. Yet I’m sure they have never said as much to each other – at least not until now. But now, my mother is full of – full of the fact that she loves us all. I was quite overcome, I am afraid.’

  ‘Of course you were, my darling.’ Amelia leaned over to kiss George’s cheek. ‘And you have every right to feel the way you did.’

  ‘It wasn’t just that – although that would have been quite enough. She also said she was proud of me. Not for my war record. Not for what I was as a soldier, not for my VC . . . you won’t believe this.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘What she is really proud of is the stand I’ve taken since the armistice. She said she had been terrified for the whole war. Expecting to get a letter or a telegram any moment saying that I’d been killed. How she prayed this might not be so, and how she thought her heart would burst with happiness when she saw me finally get off the train at Midhurst. But because of her upbringing she couldn’t show it, much as she wanted to. It was the same when I resigned my commission and wrote my book. She said she wanted nothing more than to talk to me about it, but because of her friends’ reaction she thought there was something improper about it. Funnily enough it wasn’t that she thought my father would disapprove. It was more she thought I might have caused harm to myself. And to us. Truth is, she found herself in an awful muddle and couldn’t make any sense of it. She had no-one to talk to about it, either.’

  ‘She could have talked to my mother. My mother would have listened and understood.’

  ‘She thought your mother thought her stuck up and starchy.’

  ‘No, she’s always felt most affectionate—’

  But George interrupted her. It seemed that he could not stop talking.

  ‘Oh, Amelia, we’re all so afraid of being made to appear in the wrong that we say things we think we should say, instead of the things that we really feel. And then we all pass away, leaving the things we meant to say still unsaid, and the people we leave behind are never any the wiser.’

  ‘Your mother is right to be proud of you, George, because you have had the courage to stand up and be counted for your beliefs. You’ve been rebuffed, insulted, and vilified, and by people who really should know better, yet you have always stood your ground.’

  ‘I think I may have to stand my ground again. Don’t ask me why – I just have this feeling.’

  ‘Well, if you do, darling, I shall be here by your side. I won’t waver, I promise you.’

  ‘I know you won’t, and I love you for it.’ George leaned over to kiss her. When he had done so, he smiled at her the way she loved him best to smile, then stood up and smiled at her again. ‘I still think it was something you said. Or something you did.’

  ‘No, I promise,’ Amelia replied, getting to her feet and putting her arms round him. ‘It wasn’t anything I said, or anything I did.’

  ‘You’re saying that as though it was someone else’s doing.’

  ‘Not someone’s, George. Something’s.’

  ‘Something’s?’ George pulled a bewildered face and shook his head. ‘How come?’

  ‘This place. That is what did it!’

  It was t
he best party of the whole Christmas celebration. Peter and Gwendolyn were allowed to stay up until it was time to go in to dinner, at which point Peter went round to say good night to each of his grandparents individually while George carried Gwendolyn round on his shoulders for the same purpose.

  To everyone’s astonishment, which they kept concealed, the longest good night came from George’s mother who seemed reluctant to let either of her grandchildren out of her arms.

  ‘Next Christmas Michael and I would like nothing more than for you all to come and spend the holiday with us,’ Louisa announced as the meal drew to its conclusion. ‘We have had such a very happy time here with you both.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ said the general.

  In the drawing room, to round the party off, Amelia sat at the piano and everyone sang a selection of the latest songs, including ‘Button Up Your Overcoat’, ‘You’re the Cream in My Coffee’, ‘Tiptoe Through The Tulips’ and ‘Singing in the Rain’, ending up with ‘Blue Skies’ which to everyone’s delight and astonishment Louisa sang as a solo in really rather a beautiful soprano.

  When George put Amelia’s Jack Russell terrier Tipsy and Burt, his Irish water spaniel, out for their last walk of the day, he noticed that the unseasonably mild spell of weather had changed dramatically. There was a bitter east wind which, judging from its rawness, must have swept in straight from the Urals. In fact it was so cold that before he and Amelia undressed for bed George lit the fire in their grate and fed it logs until the unlit room glowed with the dark red warmth of the burning wood. Once the fire was burning brightly, they buried themselves under a mountain of bedclothes to make love while outside the countryside silently disappeared beneath a mantle of deep snow, a fall which covered every foot of the countryside around them and every single inch of exposed ground – all except the strangely perfect grass in the Kissing Garden, which once again remained like a patch of green carpet in an otherwise totally white landscape.

  But when dawn broke and a weak sun rose on the blanketed countryside, the household learned the tragic news that Michael Dashwood had awoken to discover that during the night his beloved wife Louisa had passed peacefully away in her sleep.