Page 2 of The House at Hope Corner
Was it excitement, or was it nerves? Flora wasn’t entirely sure which, but something had woken her. Ned had left their bed hours ago, kissing her on the nose before getting up to milk the cows, and she had rolled into the warm spot he had left, relishing his scent and the memory of him. She had fallen back asleep almost immediately, but now, though, she was wide awake. She wriggled her toes experimentally, feeling the weight of the old eiderdown that covered the huge brass-framed bed, and contemplated the day ahead of her.
They hadn’t arrived at the farm until yesterday evening, and though the house had been a shining beacon of welcoming light, the gardens, the fields, barns, and whatever else surrounded it had been hidden from view in the all-encompassing darkness outside. It was only her second visit but, as the pile of suitcases in the boot of the car attested, this time she wasn’t just visiting, this time she was staying for good, as the future Mrs Ned Jamieson.
The first time she had met Ned’s parents had been every bit as awkward as she had expected. But then, having their son bring home a complete stranger, telling them he was going to marry her, must have come as a huge shock. In fairness, back then, Flora had still been trying to get used to the idea of their engagement herself, so she couldn’t begin to imagine how Hannah and Fraser must have felt. Flora wasn’t absolutely sure that his mum had liked her choice of bright yellow tights either, despite what she’d said.
Yesterday, though, Ned’s parents both seemed more enthusiastic in their welcome and her nerves had finally begun to settle. This was her home now, they had told her, and today she had every intention of exploring it.
She flung the cover back from the bed, wincing at the chill that greeted her, and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. Even so, her feet still dangled several inches from the old oak floorboards beneath her and she had to shuffle forward just to put her feet flat on the floor. She regretted it the minute they made contact with the icy cold surface, and snatched them back up again, staring balefully at the huge expanse of wood around her, not a rug in sight. She lunged for her clothes which, discarded last night, were still hooked around the bedpost, and dragged them into the centre of the bed where she pulled them on hurriedly. She lay on her back and kicked her legs in the air to hitch up her tights, bright orange this time, and then wriggled her dress back down again. The sooner she got up and moving, the better. Slipping an extra pair of thick stripy socks on before her boots, she wasted no more time in the bedroom and headed down the stairs. She was starving.
The farmhouse kitchen was almost as big as her old flat. Back in Birmingham she’d only had a small galley and a tiny adjoining sitting room, but the glass that ran the whole length of one wall afforded a fabulous view over the city where Flora could sit and watch the twinkling lights and dream her dreams. To be fair, before she’d met Ned, those dreams had usually involved her being whisked away to a remote Scottish castle by a dashing Highlander in a kilt rather than by a burly red-headed farmer to an isolated farm in a Shropshire valley, but it was close enough. Flora was thirty-five, by her own admission a little bit weird, and not hugely enamoured by the prospect of being left on the shelf.
Apart from when the fire was lit in the main sitting room, the kitchen was the warmest room in the farmhouse by far. If you weren’t sitting at the enormous well-scrubbed pine table, then you were sprawled on the threadbare sofa which faced the window. A huge dark blue range cooker dominated the middle of one wall, and radiated heat around the room. An elderly chocolate Labrador named Brodie seldom moved from beside it and he thumped a lazy tail at her now as she crossed the room to scratch the top of his head on her way to fill up the kettle.
Tea was normally always the first thing on her agenda, but this morning her attention was caught by the view from the window and, totally distracted, she abandoned her task, the kettle only half full. Stopping only to grab a weather-beaten oilskin from a row of hooks in the scullery, Flora headed out the back door and into the garden.
The view took her breath away; staring down a valley, a sweep of dips and rises on either side stretched into the distance, and the colours – lime, olive, ochre, chestnut, heather, and something approaching teal – all leaped out at her. It was the middle of winter for goodness’ sake, where did all the colour come from? Closer to her, within the confines of the garden, were shades of ruby, verdigris, plum and honey… everywhere she looked, tiny patches of colour glowing in the morning sun. She turned back to look at the house, a solid red-brick building of jumbled rooflines, windows and chimneys. It was like stepping into a scene from a painting. Except it wasn’t, because, instead, this was now her home.
A gust of wind billowed Flora’s dress around her and she clutched the coat tighter, feeling the wild air tug at her hair. A sudden shiver of excitement rippled through her and she dashed back inside the house, letting the door crash behind her as her thoughts tumbled through her head. What did she need to do first? Eat? No, drink… put on some more clothes, grab her sketchbook, or her camera, although both would probably be useful. She gripped the back of one of the kitchen chairs and grinned at Brodie.
‘You didn’t tell me it wasthisgorgeous,’ she said, impulsively rushing over to throw her arms around the dog.
‘Does anyone ever take you for walks?’ she asked, cocking her head to one side. ‘Or maybe that’s supposed to be me? I don’t know… what do you think, Brodie?’
The dog gave her hand a tentative lick and got to his feet, tail swaying gently as he padded across the floor to the door.
‘Ah, so youdowant to go out,’ she said, looking down at her clothes. She shrugged off the oilskin and deposited it on the table. ‘Back in a sec,’ she added.
She ran back up the stairs and into their room, grabbing one of her suitcases and heaving it onto the bed. Inside was an assortment of clothes, jumpers mainly, and Flora pulled several out before finding the one she wanted. It was bright red with pom-poms around the bottom edge and, most importantly, it was warm, which was all Flora really cared about. She pulled it over her head and down to where it reached almost to her knees, and looked around for her coat and hat. Both were slung over a chair in the corner, and she picked them up before leaving the room again, grabbing her phone at the last minute as she passed the dressing table. She looked at her reflection in the mirror for a moment – spiralling black hair, startling green eyes and rosebud mouth – and she grinned. It was definitely excitement, not nerves.
Brodie was back beside the range once more, his eyes following her as she began to systematically open cupboard doors.
‘So there must be some glasses, mugs or something, somewhere,’ she said out loud. ‘Ah ha ha! Found them,’ she added, taking down a glass. ‘And if I could just find something to eat as well then we’re in business, Brodie…’
She continued her search, stopping when she noticed a round tin on the counter top. She pulled it towards her and cranked off the lid, smiling at the sight of a large round fruitcake nestled within. She checked her watch. ‘What do you reckon?’ she asked. ‘Too early for cake?’ She grinned at the dog’s silent face. ‘Nah… that’s what I thought too.’ A further search elicited a plate and a knife and, moments later, Flora was chewing thoughtfully.
She should probably start exploring the house first, but with all that was waiting outside she really didn’t think she would be able to. She had all day, after all; there was plenty of time to see the house later. There was bound to be a huge number of things to do – everyone knew that farmers’ wives were always busy – but Ned had muttered for her to have fun as he had left their bed at the crack of dawn, and in Flora’s world that didn’t equate to spending the day inside dusting… Plenty of time for all that.
There was a carton of orange juice in the fridge and she hesitated for a moment before opening it, carrying it over to stand it beside the plate that held her now half-eaten slice of cake. Presumably the task of buying their groceries would now fall to her, so it surely couldn’t matter if she had some of the juice. Why put it in the fridge if it wasn’t for drinking? She stared at it for a moment longer before decisively wrestling off the top and pouring herself a large glass, which she drank almost straight down before glancing back out the window.
She would take some photos first, she decided; the process would be much quicker that way, and she could still capture some pretty good ones using her phone. The flowers and trees weren’t going anywhere, after all; she could always go back and take some more tomorrow if she needed to. She smiled to herself. She could go any time…
‘Right then, Brodie, let’s go and see what we can find… Are you coming, or what?’ She tipped her head at the dog. ‘I’ve no idea if you’ve been out yet, but it’s a beautiful morning.’ She waited until Brodie had got to his feet before pulling on her coat and, tucking her hair behind her ears, she jammed her red beret over her wild curls. They didn’t always stay put, but it was better than nothing.
Back outside, she stood still for a few seconds getting her bearings. To her left were more buildings and the pale open space of what must be the yard. They had driven past the house when they arrived yesterday and parked in some sort of barn, open on three sides. The road would probably lead on into the yard, she surmised, but for now the buildings could wait. The technicalities of how the farm worked would be something to get to grips with later. At the moment it was the garden and what lay behind that was drawing her forward.
There were no discernible edges to the sides of the garden; it circled the entire house, stretching out in front of her, firstly in a series of paved areas and planted beds, then on to trees, rougher grass, bigger trees and on into the yard which served the farm. The main garden where she was now standing was separated from the fields beyond by a fence at the bottom and it was this view that she had already marvelled at, the valley sloping away in front of her.
Her eye was drawn to a burgeoning holly bush a little distance away, deep darkest green and covered in bright clusters of berries. She pulled her phone from her pocket and, with a glance back at Brodie, made her way a little closer. The dog was busy sniffing the grass, and she reminded herself that he knew perfectly well where he was. It wasshewho was seeing the garden for the first time. She had only caught a few glimpses of it on her first visit to the farm just before Christmas and had been far too nervous then to ask if she could have a proper look around.
The holly bush must be ancient – she couldn’t even see the main branch at its heart – but she touched a finger to one of the glossy leaves, tracing its spine to the prickly tip, before looking up and around her. For there to be berries on this bush there must be male plants close by and, sure enough, she spied several, simply resplendent in their shiny green coats. She moved around the bush until she found a branch with the perfect combination of leaf and berry. Zooming in with her phone, she took several photos, all from slightly different angles.
A cluster of crocuses under a nearby tree drew her on, and she smiled at the sight of the aconites and cyclamens that had also been planted there. Behind her a perfectly manicured bed was bright with heather and skimmias and, up against a small shed, the intense fragrance from a flowering daphne bush was unmistakeable. Without even knowing she was doing it, she let the sing-song Latin names of each plant run through her head as she moved from each new discovery to the next. Moments later, she dropped to her knees as the delicate beauty of some hellebores caught her eye. They were one of her favourite late winter flowers and she had drawn them many times. To find them here, and so many of them, was a wonderful surprise. She’d never even considered that such a beautiful garden was something her new life would bring. It made the pain of leaving her beloved shop behind just that little bit easier.
Was this what had made Ned fall in love with her so quickly? she wondered. As their eyes first met across the counter, her arms full of hydrangea blooms, had she unwittingly reminded him of home, with her flowery apron over a dress covered in bright red tulips? On that dark rainy day in October when they’d met, he’d told her she was like a burst of sunlight on a stormy day. She blushed now, and couldn’t remember half of the things he’d said afterwards, but she did remember every flower in the bouquet she’d made up for him. And the one she’d made the day after, his ‘It was a good excuse to come and see you’ bouquet.
It was two days after that, as she’d sat poring over her accounts in the little back room of her shop, that she’d finally admitted to herself that her business was on its knees. Despite what she’d done, in the end it had made no difference. ‘Daisy Doolittles’, the florist’s shop she had owned and run for over ten years, had served her well, but the pedestrianisation of the street on which it stood had been the beginning of the end for her. Her landlord had hiked up the rent, and then a well-known convenience store opened on the corner and she lost all her passing trade to the lure of a cheap bunch of cellophane-wrapped flowers.
Ned’s phone call two weeks later had beenherburst of sunlight on a stormy day. After a whirlwind romance conducted largely on the phone to one another late at night, Flora had been shocked by his proposal, but delighted – despite what Rowena had said. It wasn’t too soon, or too convenient, although she could understand perfectly why her sister might think that. It was perfect and Flora, who lived her life largely according to her intuition, was determined not to look back. And wasn’t today evidence of just how right she had been? How many other places had a garden like this, full of flowers, even in winter, full of everything that made Flora’s heart sing? She turned her face to the sky and walked on into the morning.
