October in Toronto was unseasonally warm. Daisy stood for a long time at Immigration, fanning her face with a magazine, watching the queue lessen at an agonizingly slow pace. She couldn’t wait to see Taran who had promised to come and pick her up. She pictured his face and smiled to herself. His longish hair, swept off his forehead but always falling over it, the short beard her grandmother disapproved of and those penetrating green eyes which were often lit up by a humorous twinkle, or occasionally dimmed with sorrow when he remembered his father. That she could have thought him heartless and unfeeling was unbelievable now.
She collected her suitcase at Baggage Claim, then pushed her trolley hastily through Customs, impatient to see him. When she emerged into the Arrivals Hall she spotted him immediately. He was a head taller than everyone else. She smiled broadly and quickened her pace. Taran threaded swiftly through the crowd and gathered her into his arms.
He kissed her ardently. ‘God, I missed you!’ he murmured.
‘I missed you too,’ she replied, inhaling the familiar scent of him with delight.
He put an arm around her shoulders and pushed the trolley with his free hand. ‘Let’s hurry back so I can show you just how much I’ve missed you!’ He pulled her against him and kissed her on the head. ‘Mmm,’ he sighed, drawing in the scent of her hair. ‘You smell of home.’
Daisy had not expected Taran’s condo to be so luxurious. It was a modern loft conversion in an old factory in Trinity Bellwoods, which was downtown Toronto and, according to Taran, the hippest neighbourhood in the city. It was within walking distance of the park, he assured her, so she’d get her fix of green. Outside, the sky was dark. Toronto glittered with thousands of lights against the rumble of traffic and the wailing of sirens. The air was cool now and vibrated with the restlessness of a city forever in the grip of insomnia.
As soon as they arrived, Taran kissed her passionately. Daisy felt the vigour of his body as he pressed it against her and the strength in his hands as he touched her. The thrill of being in Toronto with this dynamic man was revitalizing and she felt as if a great weight was being lifted from her shoulders. The weight of responsibility, of a potentially traumatic future. The constant weight of dread. As Taran took her to his bed she felt liberated.
They went out for dinner in a French restaurant on the Ossington Strip nearby. The lights were dim, the atmosphere Parisian, the Mojito strong. ‘I want to show you how I live,’ he told her, taking her hand across the table and looking at her steadily.
‘I already like the way you live,’ she replied, sighing with pleasure.
‘You’ve seen nothing yet. We have a whole week.’
‘Don’t you have to work?’
He grinned. ‘Sure, but I’m the boss. I can pretty much choose when I work.’
Daisy frowned. For some reason she hadn’t expected him to own his own business. ‘Really?’
‘It’s a small company, but we’re quite successful,’ he added. ‘I might surprise you.’
‘You’ve never told me about it.’
‘You’ve never asked.’ He grinned. ‘You’re much more concerned with trees and flowers to care much for buildings.’
‘Oh, I can see the beauty in buildings. You don’t get more magnificent buildings than in Italy.’
‘Most people only see beauty in old architecture, but I’m going to show you that modern architecture can be beautiful too.’
‘I’d love to see what you’ve designed.’
He nodded, withdrawing his hand as the waiter brought their food. ‘You shall. I’ll take you to my office tomorrow. I’ll show you what I do. It’s not so very different to what you do.’
The following morning they breakfasted at a café round the corner from Taran’s apartment. Taran introduced Daisy to the old man who owned it. He had a full head of curly grey hair, vivacious blue eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, which belied his bristly face that seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. ‘This is Mr Schulz,’ said Taran.
‘Nothing to do with Snoopy,’ said Mr Schulz in a weary tone. Until he mentioned it Daisy hadn’t made the connection.
‘He makes the best coffee in Toronto,’ Taran continued. ‘It’ll put your Italian coffee in the shade.’
‘And your coffee, I presume,’ Daisy teased.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Taran agreed. ‘Mr Schulz is in a class of his own.’
Mr Schulz nodded. ‘I’ve made coffee in this town for fifty years. I haven’t changed my methods, in spite of all those fancy machines they keep bringing out. If you want to make good coffee, it’s got to be real coffee, the old-fashioned way.’
‘We’ll have a couple of espressos, the old-fashioned way,’ said Taran.
‘Coming up,’ said Mr Schulz, and Daisy thought he was probably happiest making his coffee for he turned with a little bounce before disappearing behind the counter.
Taran led Daisy outside and took a table on the pavement in the shade. Sitting at one of the other tables was an elderly woman in a bright pink-and-yellow sweater with a pair of large dogs sleeping beside her chair. A couple of young men in jackets and ties sat at another table, reading newspapers. Taran greeted them all and asked the woman about her dog, who was recovering from a minor operation. He ordered coffee and smoked salmon bagels, insisting Daisy eat a proper Toronto breakfast. People came and went and Taran seemed to know most of them. ‘It’s a real neighbourhood,’ he told her. Then he ducked his head and grimaced. ‘Here comes pushy Milly Hesketh. Don’t catch her eye or you’ll turn to stone. She’s been trying to set me up with her daughter for months and she won’t be at all happy to see me with you!’
Daisy reached across the table and took his hand. She laughed. ‘Just putting a stop to her plans once and for all, darling.’
Taran’s office was in the historic core of Toronto, near the St Lawrence Market where red brick Victorian houses rubbed shoulders uneasily with modern glass and steel structures, like disapproving grandparents unsure of the new, faster generations growing up around them. Situated on the fourth floor of a converted brewery Taran’s studio was one giant open-plan room with white walls, big glass windows and shiny oak floorboards. Daisy wandered around while Taran talked to one of his colleagues, gazing at the large framed photographs of the buildings he had designed which hung on the walls. There were apartment refurbishments in Toronto, wooden beach houses by the sea and modern, geometric-shaped homes in the hills. They were impressive. Beautiful, just as Taran had said, and Daisy realized that he was right: there wasn’t a great deal of difference between what she did and what he did. They were both artists.
She also realized, with a pang of anxiety, that he couldn’t leave all this to go and live in the middle of the English countryside. She had been a dreamer to think that he could.
‘You’re so gifted,’ she told him when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
‘Thank you.’
‘There are some really stunning properties here.’
‘I love what I do,’ he said.
‘Did you ever show your father?’
He nuzzled her neck. ‘He wasn’t very interested in what I did.’
‘Why? Why wouldn’t he be interested in this?’
‘Because to him architecture had to be over a hundred years old to be beautiful. To him these were unforgivable assaults on the landscape.’
She gazed at a photograph of a glass-fronted, flat-roofed poolside house. It was clean, harmonious and light. ‘He can’t have thought that. Not if he’d seen them.’
‘Darling Daisy, you see the best in everyone. My father was a good man. Everyone said so. But he was also a narrowminded one. He thought proper writers were people who sat in leaking attics, scratching on parchment with quills. He hated computers, the internet, mobile phones. He should have been born in Victorian times. He was not made for the modern world. He only bought a combine because he had to. If he’d had his way he’d have hired workers to stook the sheaves by hand.’
‘I don’t even know what that means.’
‘Because you’re a modern girl.’ He turned her round. ‘You shouldn’t be living in a quiet village full of old people, Daisy. Not yet anyway. You should be drawing here in Toronto with me.’
She looked into his eyes and knew he really meant it. ‘You promised you wouldn’t ask me. That was the deal.’
‘I never intended to keep my promise.’
‘Taran!’
‘I want you to come and live with me. What can I say? I lied!’
‘Look, I have nothing against a city. You know that. I lived in Milan for six years and I loved it, at the time. It’s Mum. I can’t desert her now when she needs me.’
Taran nodded slowly and she wondered whether he was thinking about his own mother and feeling guilty. ‘Toronto isn’t that far away, you know.’
‘I know. I just can’t leave Mum, or Dad for that matter. I just can’t.’ She moved away and went to the window. It looked out over a quiet, leafy street with a coffee shop, an Italian restaurant and a few boutiques in the line of low-rise buildings opposite.
Taran stood next to her. ‘You need to live for you too, Daisy,’ he said.
‘You mean selfishly?’
‘No, it doesn’t mean you’re selfish to live a little for yourself. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re talented and you’re smart.’
She smiled sadly. ‘And those are qualities that don’t belong in a little provincial village full of old people?’
‘Oh, they belong, all right. They belong anywhere. The thing is, I want them to belong here, with me.’
She looked at him and sighed. ‘And I want them to belong with you, too.’
‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘There’s no rush. But I’m here, you’re in England and there’s a great big ocean between us. We can’t live like this for ever.’
The word ‘for ever’ hung between them and Daisy wondered whether he realized what he had said. In all the years she had been with Luca he had never uttered that word. Not in English or in Italian. Did Taran really see them in the for ever?
Taran seemed to read her mind. He put his hand on her shoulder and drew her against him, pressing his chin to her head. ‘At our age there’s no point playing games,’ he said softly. ‘I know what I want.’
In the days that followed, Taran took the time off to show her the sights of Toronto, which he must have seen a thousand times. They went jogging in the park, dined in the most fashionable restaurants and wandered around the city’s famous Royal Ontario Museum. They went to the top of the CN Tower and visited Ripley’s Aquarium, which boasted sixteen thousand aquatic animals. Taran insisted they buy tickets for a boat tour, which Daisy thought hilarious. That was one thing Taran had never done either and the two of them sat on the deck while tourists took photographs and a woman with a microphone pointed out all the sights in a twangy, nasal voice which Taran spent the rest of the day imitating.
Daisy imagined living there, in Taran’s apartment. There was certainly enough space for her to draw, for the condo was big with high ceilings and lots of light, not unlike the Sherwoods’ barn back at home. She could picture her easel and see herself drawing there, pausing every now and then to look out over the Victorian building with the fire escape that stood on the opposite side of the street. Perhaps she’d try and draw people as well as animals, she mused, expand her range. She no longer doubted she could.
It was easy to envisage herself making a home in his. Her clothes in the cupboards, her toiletries in the bathroom. She could see herself pottering about the kitchen, chopping vegetables on the island, boiling pasta on the hob. She would add a feminine touch to the apartment: long-stemmed roses by the sink, scented candles in the bathroom, geraniums on the windowsill, perhaps some brightly coloured cushions on the sofa. It wasn’t hard to imagine herself in Taran’s condo. It wasn’t hard at all.
One morning, while Taran was busy on the telephone, sorting out a sudden problem that had arisen in the office, Daisy went out on her own to explore the neighbourhood. She wandered up the streets, browsing in shop windows, venturing into the deli, which was her favourite type of shop, and pausing to enjoy the flowers in the flower shop. Eventually, she sat on a bench and watched this foreign world saunter by. It was vibrant and colourful with everything one could possibly need, and it had charm, lots of charm. She had made a home for herself in a foreign city once already, she knew she could do it again. Besides, she realized that there was something envigorating about starting over in a new city. She thought of her parents who had lived in the same village all their lives and considered herself lucky to have the opportunity to experience different cultures, to gain a wider perspective of the world. She had learned Italian in Milan, at least here in Toronto she wouldn’t have to learn a new language.
Daisy was curious to meet Taran’s friends and cousins, and was pleasantly surprised at how welcome they made her feel when they met for dinner one night towards the end of her stay. But the moments she treasured most were the ones when it was just the two of them, in his sumptuous and airy apartment, lying entwined on the bed and talking about nothing, or making love long into the night, to the distant roar of the city that Taran called home. Being together was the most precious thing of all.
On the last morning, Daisy awoke to the murmur of Taran’s voice in the room next door, talking on the phone. She got up and stretched, then went to brush her teeth and have a quick shower. She put on his dressing gown and padded into the kitchen to help herself to some orange juice from the fridge. The room was open-plan with tall windows letting in the light. The rumble of a truck in the street below drowned out his voice for a moment. Daisy poured herself a glass of juice. Besides orange juice and cheese there was little in the fridge. Daisy wanted to fill it with salad and vegetables and fresh meat and cook a delicious dinner. She longed to make herself at home. But that wouldn’t be possible. As long as her mother was unwell and her father needed her help, for ever was not going to happen.
Taran was pacing the room in nothing but a pair of stripy pyjama bottoms, one hand on his head, the other holding the telephone to his ear. When Daisy heard the words ‘land’ and ‘sell’, her ears pricked up. She stood behind the marbletopped island and listened. ‘How far do you think we are from getting planning permission?’ There was a long pause while the person on the other end of the line replied. It was clearly not a simple thing to answer. ‘I’m going to take on the project myself,’ he continued. ‘It’s what I do. I’ll relish the challenge.’ Again, another pause. Taran’s face darkened. ‘Those bloody highway people!’ he snapped. ‘They’re going to hold everything up. English councils are so slow. You’d have thought they’d be desperate for houses. The last time I heard, there was a housing crisis in the UK!’ He noticed Daisy and his face softened. He smiled at her. How could he smile, she thought, knowing how much that land meant to her family? She stood frozen to the spot as he discussed selling and developing the land he had inherited from his father, the land that bordered her parents’ garden; the land her mother loved so much.
At last he hung up. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, and approached her.
She looked at him in confusion. ‘What’s this about developing land?’
He didn’t seem to notice how upset she was. ‘Oh, boring stuff.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’
‘No, wait. You said you weren’t going to sell your land.’
Taran frowned. A shadow of irritation swept across his face as he registered her fury and was confused by it. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The farm.’ Her eyes filled with tears. Taran had lied to her. In her heart she had believed him when he had said ‘for ever’.
‘I’m not selling the farm.’
‘But you said—’
‘You’ve picked up a fag-end, and you know what happens to people who pick up fag-ends?’
‘Taran, this is not a joke.’
He looked down at her and put his hands on his hips. ‘I am selling a farm, but not the farm you think.’
‘Is there another one?’
‘Dad also had a farm in the Midlands. It never made much, in fact, most of the time it made a loss. He had already started the process of developing it before he died. Anyhow, it’s mine now and I’m going to develop it myself. I don’t want to live up there and neither does Mum.’ He grinned at her. ‘But of course, if you want to live there . . .’
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’
‘It would be your business if I was considering selling the land that your parents’ house looks out onto. But I would never do that.’
‘You really wouldn’t? Do you promise?’
‘My darling Daisy, my father loved that land more than anything in the world. He probably loved it more than he loved people. It was his life and his passion and it’s my home. I don’t want to live there now, but one day I will.’ He took her face in his hands and gazed down at her with affection. ‘And you love it too.’
‘Yes, I do,’ she said, holding on to his casual allusion to eventually moving back and hoping that he meant it.
‘Game, set and match, then. I’ll guard it with my life.’
She laughed as he swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. ‘Now, what was I saying? Ah yes, do you know what happens to people who eavesdrop?’
Daisy left for England with a heavy heart. She felt she was leaving sunshine and going back to fog. The images of cooking pasta in Taran’s apartment, placing flowers by the sink, nipping into the deli to buy supper evaporated like dreams eclipsed by the reality of her mother’s failing health and her unwavering sense of duty. On the plane, her worries returned to her in flurries and her heart pined for Taran. She was in an impossible situation. Why was it that the only two men she had lost her heart to in her life lived abroad? Why couldn’t she find a man who lived close to home, like Suze? She was in her mid-thirties and living at home. Having spent a week with Taran, she longed for her independence again. She yearned to have her own house – her own fridge, her own oven, her own space, so that she could make a home with the man she loved. Yet, she was tied to her parents. Dennis needed her support. Marigold was fading fast. Suze was little help. Daisy felt that she was indispensable. Indispensable to them all and their need suffocated her.
Having thought she could never abide living in a city again, she began to wonder whether Taran was right. That she needed to live for herself. That she was too young to settle down in a sleepy village full of old people. Had she forgotten so quickly the fun she had had in Milan?
She arrived home in time for dinner, exhausted. Her family were pleased to have her home. Marigold had roasted a chicken and invited Suze and Batty to join them. They sat around the kitchen table, eager to hear how her trip had gone. Daisy noticed the notes all over the kitchen, reminding Marigold how to cook the chicken, from the simplest tasks like switching on the oven to taking the potatoes out of the larder. She felt sad, because as time went by her mother relied more and more on these little notes, and her notebook, of course, which she always kept in her pocket, but often forgot to consult. Taran had shown her another life in a glittering city and her heart suddenly ached for it.
She settled back into her routine. She walked across the fields every morning to Lady Sherwood’s barn to paint the jigsaw puzzle. She had turned down numerous requests to draw people’s pets, putting them off until after Christmas. Right now her priority had to be the puzzle. There was no way she’d get it finished otherwise.
She joined Lady Sherwood for coffee in the kitchen on the first morning back to tell her about her son. ‘I had no idea what an accomplished and successful architect he is,’ she said.
Lady Sherwood picked up her espresso cup and smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, he is very talented. But Owen wanted him to learn the ropes here so that one day he could take over the farm. He didn’t realize it would be so soon.’
‘Having seen his life in Toronto, I would say it suits him perfectly. He’s very happy there. Everything’s perfect, right down to his morning coffee.’
‘That’s nice to hear. You know, as a parent, one just wants one’s children to be happy. I’m fortunate that Taran has found his calling. It might not be what his father wanted, but parents have to let their children be themselves. Owen wasn’t very good at that. I miss Taran, of course I do, but I would hate him to feel he has to be here for me. I like to think I’m more generous-spirited than my husband was. And I do have my own life.’
Daisy arched her eyebrows. ‘How’s bridge going with Nan?’
Lady Sherwood laughed and her green eyes came alive. ‘You know, it’s really fun!’
Daisy was surprised. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes, your grandmother is a hoot.’
‘A hoot.’ That didn’t sound like Nan.
‘Oh, yes, she’s extremely funny. I don’t think she means to be funny. She’s a terrible old grumbler, but we all laugh and pull her leg and she rather enjoys it. Her friends are nice. She did lie to me though.’
‘She did?’ said Daisy in alarm.
‘They’re very good.’
Daisy’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Oh, yes, I could have told you that. Nan has played for years.’
While Daisy painted in the barn and Dennis worked in his shed, and Nan watched television and did the crossword, Marigold received visitors. Some popped in for a quick cup of tea, others for longer. Some, like Cedric, brought cakes, others, like Eileen, brought news. Marigold enjoyed the cakes but she never remembered the news. Eileen realized very quickly that she could tell her anything because Marigold always forgot the moment she left. Dolly came to show off her new kitten, Jewel. Mary to tell Marigold that she and Dolly had made up – and Marigold had to pretend that she remembered that they had fallen out.
Whenever Daisy saw any of the locals they asked after the puzzle. They couldn’t wait to see their contributions, but more than that, they couldn’t wait to see Marigold’s face when she laid eyes on it for the first time. They all voiced their desire to be there for that moment. Daisy talked to her father about it and they decided to give her a tea party in the village hall to present her with it, so everyone who had been involved could be present. ‘You don’t think she’ll be offended?’ asked Daisy, worried suddenly that she wouldn’t like everyone discussing her failing memory.
‘I don’t think she’ll be offended at all,’ said Dennis with certainty. ‘I know my Goldie. She’ll appreciate the thought. I’m sure of it.’
Daisy hadn’t thought about Luca in months. Until he turned up at her door a couple of weeks before Christmas.
Daisy stared at him in astonishment. In a heavy coat, felt hat and olive-green scarf, he looked ruggedly handsome. His face was unshaven and his greying hair curled about his ears. He smiled and his chestnut-brown eyes took her in with the intensity of a man who suddenly appreciates the errors of his ways and the value of the woman now standing before him. ‘Luca? What are you doing here?’ she gasped.
‘Getting cold,’ he replied. ‘Can I come in?’
Daisy opened the door and watched him walk past her into the kitchen. Nan was sitting at the table, playing solitaire. When she saw Luca her jaw dropped. ‘Good God,’ she said. ‘It’s Lazarus, risen from the dead!’
‘Hello, Nan,’ he said, and bent down to kiss her as if he being there, in that kitchen, was the most natural thing in the world.
Marigold, who had been in the sitting room, watching old episodes of Frasier, hurried into the kitchen. ‘Luca?’ she gasped. She hadn’t forgotten who he was.
‘Marigold!’ Luca embraced her, nearly lifting her off the ground. ‘It’s so good to see you!’
Marigold was confused. Were he and Daisy married? She couldn’t remember. She decided to say nothing until she was sure.
Daisy walked slowly into the room. She folded her arms. ‘Why didn’t you call?’ she demanded.
‘Because you changed your number,’ he replied, giving her a hard stare.
Marigold sensed the tension and went straight for the kettle. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea,’ she said cheerfully.
‘No,’ Daisy replied. ‘Luca and I are going to go to the pub, aren’t we, Luca? We’ve got lots to talk about and we don’t want to disturb you.’
‘Oh, you’re not disturbing me,’ said Nan quickly. ‘You can say anything in front of us. Marigold won’t remember what you say anyway, and I’m really not interested. Put the kettle on, Marigold. I might lace mine with a little brandy.’ When Daisy looked at her in bewilderment, she added with a grin, ‘Celia does it, so why shouldn’t I?’