Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

J ackson

I go back to the pub to shower and change before heading back to the house, as we want to work on the plans for opening the gardens. Luca suggests I shower there, but I have no clean clothes on me. I take a few back with me for future days—it seems logical.

I've finally told Darla I'm working up at the house. She already knows of course—there are no secrets kept in a small village.

Luca has cooked dinner, which surprises me, given how uninterested he is in food. But I've noticed him eating more recently. I hope it's the effect of the fresh air and work he's doing. It's certainly a very pleasant stir fry, and he looks pleased that I like it. I'd love to cook for him and Anna, and the offer is accepted for tomorrow night.

We're brainstorming ideas and creating a list of tasks for the garden.

"Are there plans for the garden?" I ask.

"Plans?" Luca looks thoughtful.

"As a horticulturist, I'm sure your aunt would have had plans of the garden—not only the design, but also what was planted where. If she had them, where would they be?"

"Probably the study." Anna leads the way. I'm struck again by Luca's sketches—by how talented he is. I can't take my eyes off them. Which is good, as otherwise I'd be staring at the desk, remembering the feeling of leaning against it with Luca's mouth round my cock. Then I realise I am staring at the desk. I glance at Luca and he's watching me. He smiles. I'm sure I blush.

"When you boys have stopped making cow eyes at each other, can you help me look?" Anna sighs. She has her back to us, she hasn't even turned around. How does she do that?

Eventually, we track down the plans, rolled up into cylinders and in the bureau on the back wall. We turn the dining room into a workroom, rolling out the plans on the large table, holding them down with candlesticks and ornaments.

Standing back, we observe them. I'm used to looking at garden plans, but Luca and Anna are artists, so they can see the forms and understand the plans.

"So, do we restore it back to these plans?" I ask. "Or do you want to put your own stamp on it?"

"Do we have time to make any changes?" Luca asks. "If we want to open this year?"

"Not major changes, no. But you could start planning some for future years, which would affect how much restoration we do."

We look over the plans. The walled garden is shown, the sunken garden, the meandering paths, and the folly.

"Is there anything you suggest?" Luca casually asks. I think for a minute.

"There is actually something we could do this year. On the sweep up to the folly, we could keep the wildflower meadow and make the path meander through it. It helps that everything has been left for a few years, as it's given the plants a chance to self-seed and the land to become more natural. There are a range of insects and butterflies already buzzing around the flowers, and dragonflies down by the water."

I wait for them to respond.

"So we do nothing?" Luca states.

"Conservation is an important part of horticulture. It needs a bit of tidying up, but it is essentially ready to go. I think it'll be popular. Traditional meadows are making a comeback, and they're very pretty."

"Okay." Luca shrugs.

"Okay," Anna echoes. I'm pleased, as I really don't want to mow the beautiful flowers that have seeded there. Formal gardens are all very well, but wildflowers are also important.

We go over the plans area by area. I say what needs doing for each, and Anna takes notes.

"What about visitor parking?" Anna asks. "Where did your aunt put them when it was open before?"

"There was an area just off the drive."

"That's completely overgrown now. It's full of brambles that'll take some clearing. We might need help for that," I say, and Anna makes a note. I realise it's getting late and I ought to go.

Luca sees me to the door.

It feels like we're teenagers, gawkily trying to say something and yet saying nothing at all—unsure of what the next stage should be. I've never been in this situation before. In the end, it's Luca who makes the decision and kisses me.

"Goodnight," he whispers.

It isn't enough—it was never going to be enough—and now I have an uncomfortable drive back to the pub.