Page 33 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘Well, if you ever want to brainstorm ideas,’ Lexie offered.
‘Money.’ Cory waved a hand. ‘I’m not sure I’d even take it. It can’t buy the important things.’
Now he was sounding like her sister. She hoped he wouldn’t hand his over to a commune and cosy into a love quadrangle with a twat called Billy-Bob.
‘If you mean money can’t buy love, then that’s not true for Ben,’ said Lexie. ‘It looks like he can take his pick, beetles and all.’
‘It’ll take a special woman to crack Benedict’s heart. Some days I’m not entirely sure he’s human. He still thinks of this as a business arrangement, poor guy. He’d happily hide from life behind his desk, with his briefcase as his shield.’ Cory laughed, but Lexie could tell it came from a hopeful place. That reminded her.
‘Cornelius, by the way! I had no idea.’
‘That’s our mother for you,’ said Ben.
‘And she doesn’t like names to be shortened,’ Mrs Moon added.
‘Yet another thing I’ll never understand,’ said Cory.
‘A housekeeper never tells.’ Mrs Moon tapped her nose.
Lexie had come to learn that mysteries and oddities were part of the stonework at Nutgrass Hall. They hid in suits of armour. They peeped out through the eyes of creepy paintings. And sometimes they violated your living space and stirred you in all sorts of unexpected ways.
Chapter 17
Lexie needed fresh air. The walls were closing in on her in this big stuffy house and, after having her room invaded by Mrs Carrington-Noble and her godawful matchmaking circus, she was beginning to feel like nowhere was sacred. She was navigating tricky waters, and Captain Aloof was about as much help as a shark with no bite.
So it was time to get back to things she could control. She would do some brainstorming for her social media strategy, and outside was surely the place to find the perfect hidey-hole.
Somehow the world had crept its way into May, and Lexie hadn’t even properly explored the grounds. It had been easy enough to close the curtains and pretend the grandeur didn’t exist when she’d been in the safe haven that had been Penny. But now she’d been thrown into this mayhem, she may as well get welly-deep.
Dressed in her bright flamingo mac, she squeaked her way along the hall, past Ben’s office, and fought with the heavy front door until it finally let her through into the sunlight. She closed it with the least amount of possible clatter, which was still in fact a lot.
Lexie scanned the grounds in front of her. She needed space to think, and to map out some questions to tackle with Ben. Carrington Paints was a family business, and potential clients would want to know more about the people behind the paint pots. But what did she really know about Ben, the antisocial butterfly? Once she’d jotted some thoughts in her notebook, she’d knock on the door of his scary wood-panelled office and extract what she needed. Even if it would be like pulling teeth.
The rest of the house would be occupied with afternoon tea in the kitchen. Ben would be busy working, and she hadn’t heard the peacock fanfare all day. She’d be safe to find a quiet corner. What was that archway in the distance? Still conscious of the peacocks, she tiptoed across the immaculately striped lawns, hoping not to rouse the birds. They were probably tucked up in their spoilt-brat shed, which was largely more impressive than Lexie’s old flat. Other than it was full of scary birds, of course.
Once she’d crossed the first stretch of lawn, Lexie dipped under the archway into a more enclosed area of the gardens. It was less exposed and she breathed a sigh of relief, letting her shoulders melt downwards. She followed the neat pathway through Tom’s green-fingered handiwork. Although the peacocks were off duty, the place still prickled with Mrs Carrington-Noble’s presence. The flowers were a battalion of ivory, all orderly and funereal. The fussy white hyacinths were lined up with military precision and even the birdsong could have been piped.
The garden was doubtless a thing of beauty, but Lexie couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. It was being suffocated. Why did Mrs Carrington-Noble cling on to everything so tightly? What was her obsession with keeping up appearances?
Beyond the part that looked like a bleached version of the Chelsea Flower Show, Lexie stumbled into an orchard. Now this was more like it. The apple trees were in full, fragrant blossom. Their outstretched limbs, costumed in powder-pink petals like ladies at a ball, beckoned her onwards.
There were two small cottages tucked inside the orchard, huddled together for moral support. They were plain but pretty, with neat window boxes and matching green doors. Was this where Tom and Mrs Moon lived, side by side, in defence of chaos? The lights were on in one, and she thought she could hear music. That must be the elusive Mr Moon. But it wasn’t the day to introduce herself.
At the end of the orchard, Lexie found a high wooden gate. It had a rusty old padlock, but it looked as though someone had forgotten to fasten it. Should she really be that nosey?
She whipped her head around. Yes, she was alone. Not that she was snooping, as such. Nobody had mentioned anything being out of bounds. Maybe she’d find something exciting to blog about. Perfect. She was here on business.
Lexie cocked an ear. No footsteps. No peacock cries. So she snuck up to the gate. Her hand wavered over the handle; what if it was something dodgy? Or Mrs C-N’s private nudist escape? She might be in there with her toy boy, their naked bodies being fanned by a poker-faced butler. Maybethatwas what Mr Moon did all day!
Just as Lexie was giggling to herself and starting to turn away, she heard a burst of birdsong. It seemed to be calling her, inviting her in. Well, it would be churlish not to. And she had been looking for a peaceful escape. Before she could change her mind, she pulled open the rickety gate and stepped over the threshold.
What met her on the other side of the boundary couldn’t have been more different to the forced elegance in the rest of the grounds. This was the great outdoors in all its riotous beauty. Wildflowers sprouted from every inch of space; colours clashing, stems intertwining, vibrant petals clambering excitedly for headroom. Bushes bustled from cracked terracotta pots and plants poured over the sides of a mossy old wheelbarrow. Lexie’s heart swelled. This was how a garden ought to look. It reminded her of one of her late Aunt Jasmine’s canvases: a fresco of unkempt blooms, unbridled and exciting. She’d never seen this garden before, but already it felt like part of her. A streak of colour in a painfully plain kingdom.
In a far corner she spied a greenhouse, the odd cracked pane patched up with heavy tape. Falling apart at the seams, but pulled back together with determination and love. Was it Tom’s? She expected he was from a time of ‘waste not want not’, which was unlikely to tie in with Mrs Carrington-Noble’s quest for superficial perfection. Hmm. So the padlock was probably to keep the boss woman out rather than to deter the likes of Lexie. There. She needn’t feel too ashamed about exploring. She made her way to the shiny structure, interested to know what else Tom might be nursing back to life.
As she eased back the reluctant door, the warmth flew out to greet her, carrying a tempting herbal fragrance on its wings. She inched her way inside, trying to make out the delicate plants sheltering within. There were all sorts of potted vegetation in varying shades of green. Some with long whiskery tendrils, others with tiny budding flowers. Each had its own distinctive texture and aroma. She couldn’t help brushing her fingers against them to encourage up the scents. What were they for? Mrs Moon ordered her herbs from the supermarket – Lexie had seen them on the list.
Then, as if to remind her of her small intrusion, a bee buzzed at her ear.
