THE NEXT DAY, Alice was already waiting by the entrance to the gardens when Hugo got there, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her.
‘Hi.’ He’d said goodbye to her with a kiss, yesterday. Could he say hello with a kiss, too? He was so out of touch with dating, and he didn’t want to get this wrong. It was ridiculous to feel this nervous and awkward; he was thirty-two, not fifteen. But he had a feeling that Alice could really matter to him, and he didn’t want to make a mistake that could take all the possibilities away.
She blushed. ‘Hi.’
Her voice was slightly breathy and shy, and that decided him. He kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘I really thought we’d be heading to see a dome or a staircase,’ she said, and he loved the slightly cheeky, teasing look in her eyes.
He smiled and took her hand. ‘The staircase I want to show you next isn’t open at weekends. Maybe Wednesday lunchtime?’
‘That works for me,’ she said. ‘So why did you pick here?’
‘I used to come here with Rosemary when I was small. I haven’t been for a few years,’ he said, ‘but I wanted to take a look at the glasshouses.’
‘Is that what you meant by mainly a date?’ she asked. ‘Are you in the running to restore the glasshouses or something and you wanted to check them out?’
‘Possibly, but that’s not what I had in mind,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for a wander.’
She handed him a ticket, pre-empting any arguments over who was going to pay for their admission. ‘Seeing as I got here before you,’ she said, ‘and you took me to dinner last night, our admission’s on me.’
‘It’s my idea, so it’s my bill,’ he protested.
‘No. We’re sharing,’ she said firmly.
He sighed. ‘Alice, I’ve apologised for ever thinking you were a gold-digger. I know you’re not like that.’
‘Good. But let’s not fight,’ she said, and tucked her arm into the crook of his.
Strolling round the gardens with her was a delight. She pointed out her favourite flowers, and several different species of butterflies; but, more than that, Hugo just liked being with her. He didn’t have to pretend, with her; he could just be himself. She knew about Emma, and she hadn’t judged him or told him what he should be doing. Not having to fake being a normal, functioning human being was so refreshing; and, in a weird way, taking that pressure off meant that he could actually function normally and focus on things he usually didn’t have the energy to notice because he was too busy trying to get through the day.
When they stopped at the cafe for brunch of coffee and a bacon sandwich, he said, ‘I want to run something by you.’
‘Is this the non-date part?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been looking at your figures for the butterfly house.’
She went very still. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll instruct Philip Hemingford to fulfil my great-aunt’s will.’ He smiled. ‘Though you’ve probably already guessed that.’
‘I hoped you would,’ she said. ‘But you hadn’t actually said you’d build the butterfly house—just that you’d think about it. I’m so glad.’
‘Good. We need to revise our planning application,’ he said. ‘And I can’t guarantee they’ll say yes.’
‘But it’s more likely they’ll say yes if you’ve had a hand in it.’
‘Not because of who I am,’ he reminded her. ‘Just that I’d word it in a different way—I know the guidelines of most planning departments and the words that work for them.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so glad you’re going to do it. But, just to be clear, that isn’t why I agreed to date you.’
‘Good. I was hoping it was because you wanted to see me for me.’
She nodded. ‘It is. But what you’ve just told me—I think you’ve scrambled my brain, because now I’m…’ she spread her hands ‘…speechless.’
He reached across the table, took her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm and folded her fingers over where he’d kissed her. ‘That’s one of the things I value about you. What you see is what you get.’
She didn’t reply, but her eyes sparkled again with unshed tears.
‘I thought maybe I could show you some rough ideas for the butterfly house, later this afternoon.’
‘I’d love that,’ she said.
And he was looking forward to seeing her reaction. He’d spent half the night sketching, and it was the first time he’d felt really inspired since Emma’s death—the first time his designs had flowed instead of feeling mechanical and as if he was simply ticking boxes. It was all because of Alice: without her, he wouldn’t have remembered how much it made his heart sing to work with glass, or discovered how amazing a butterfly house was. It felt like coming back into the spring after a very long, dark winter. New shoots everywhere, green starting to soften the bare branches, birds singing madly in the morning. He was starting to get the joy back in his life, and he wanted more.
After lunch, Alice wanted to visit the shop. She emerged with a recyclable shopping bag slung over her shoulder; she didn’t say what she’d bought, and Hugo didn’t want to be pushy and ask.
‘Do you want me to carry that for you?’ he asked instead.
She smiled. ‘Thank you, but I can manage.’
So instead he held her hand while they crossed the river and walked back through Battersea park, past the rose garden and under the pergola.
‘I know it’s pretty much past its best now, but the wisteria’s still so pretty,’ she said. ‘I love walking through Kensington in wisteria season.’
He’d never really been bothered about wisteria before, but he couldn’t resist kissing her under the pergola, with the lilac blooms hanging down. ‘Works for me,’ he said with a grin.
Back at his house, he opened the glass wall to the garden.
‘Is it OK for me to potter round your garden?’ she asked.
‘Sure. Have a seat on the patio. I’ll make coffee,’ he said.
‘I brought something to go with it.’
When he’d finished making the coffee, she was sitting down, looking at something on her phone. It took him another ten minutes to notice that the bag she’d had slung over her shoulder was missing—and there was something in his garden that definitely hadn’t been there before. ‘There’s a pot of flowers in my garden.’
‘A small pot,’ she said.
‘Flowers.’ That must’ve been what she’d bought from the shop at the Chelsea Physic Gardens. ‘I don’t do flowers.’
‘They’re Leucanthemums—Shasta daisies,’ she said.
Big white ones. Flowers he didn’t have a clue what to do with.
‘They’re beginner flowers. You can neglect them and they’ll still be fine,’ she reassured him, clearly guessing at his concerns. ‘They don’t mind full sun or partial shade, they’re hardy, and they’re not fussy about soil type. The main thing is that they’re great for pollinators.’
He still couldn’t get his head round this. ‘You bought me a plant.’
‘Call it a garden-warming present.’
‘I moved here two years ago.’
‘Late garden-warming, then. Because I didn’t know you two years ago.’
She’d just put flowers into his very plain outdoor area, showing him he didn’t have to be surrounded by plain boxes. Although she’d only moved him a tiny fraction out of his rut, it was enough to make him slightly unnerved. He’d wanted to move on, but now it was happening he wasn’t entirely sure he was quite ready for this.
As if he’d spoken aloud, she put her arms round him and kissed him. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll take it back with me if you really hate it.’
How could she take it with her, when she didn’t have a garden? And he was being ungrateful. The gift had been motivated by kindness. ‘It’s not that I hate it. I’m just not a gardener.’ He knew about buildings, about glass and staircases. Even though Rosemary had talked to him a lot about plants when he was young, and his mother was very fond of her outdoor space, Hugo didn’t have a clue about how to maintain a garden. Alice had pushed him out of his comfort zone.
‘Was Emma the gardener? Because I didn’t mean to trample on a sore spot. I’m sorry.’
‘We didn’t have a garden at our flat,’ he admitted. ‘And, no, she wasn’t really a gardener.’
She looked thoughtful. ‘So technically you’re a garden virgin.’
Just when he thought he’d worked her out, she said something that threw him. ‘Did you just call me…?’
She kissed him again. ‘I apologise. But just watch. I promise this will be worth it.’
Ten minutes later, there was a bee buzzing round the pot of daisies. And, ten minutes after that, there was a butterfly.
‘See?’ she asked softly. ‘The difference one little pot can make. When was the last time you saw a bee or a butterfly out here?’
‘Hmm,’ he said, refusing to be drawn.
‘So now can I see your sketches?’ she asked.
‘They’re indoors.’
She followed him into the kitchen, and he brought out his files and spread the sketches on the table. He’d sketched a cylinder with a domed top, more or less what he’d suggested at Kew. ‘The panels on the sides remind me of the Victorian glasshouses we saw at Kew. The ones from Viola’s era. This is perfect,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty of space for the plants and the butterflies, as well as the heating system and the puparium.’ She looked at him. ‘But what I think isn’t important. What really matters is the planning committee’s view.’
‘I tweaked your application—our application,’ he corrected. ‘Hopefully we can get outline permission now, then work on the detail later. Have a look at what I’ve done. If it sounds right to you, I’ll submit it tomorrow.’
‘OK.’ She took a small box from her handbag. ‘By the way—parkin. I made some this morning. It’ll go nicely with coffee.’
‘From your gran’s recipe?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Which isn’t me trying to fill Emma’s shoes by baking stuff. Just that you said you’d never tried it, and it’s my turn to bring in departmental goodies tomorrow, so I saved you a bit from the batch I made.’
‘Good plan,’ he said. He opened the box and tasted the gingerbread. ‘Now I know why Kit raves about this. Thank you. It’s lovely.’ He pulled up a file on his laptop and passed it across to her. ‘Here’s the revised application. Does this work for you or do you want me to change anything?’
She read through it. ‘You’ve said everything I did, except it sounds slightly different.’
‘Little tweaks in the wording, that’s all.’ He raised his mug of coffee. ‘Here’s to the butterfly house. And may the planners love it.’
‘May the planners love it,’ she echoed.
After dinner, Hugo drove Alice home. He kissed her lingeringly on her doorstep, enjoying the warmth of her mouth against his and the feel of her arms wrapped round him, holding him close. He’d been at such a low ebb; and Alice made him feel as if he were slowly coming towards the light at the end of a very long and lonely tunnel.
‘I’ll see you later in the week,’ he said when he finally broke the kiss.
‘Staircase or butterflies?’ she asked.
‘Both, if you’ve got time,’ he said.
‘Call me. Wednesdays are always good for me,’ she said.
‘I’ll check my diary and move things around, if need be,’ he promised, and kissed her again. ‘Wednesday it is.’
He waited until she was safely indoors before going back to his car and driving home. Funny how she’d made such a difference to his life. Her butterflies and the way she encouraged him to talk about glass and staircases made him feel so much lighter of heart. He actually found himself looking forward to the day when he woke up, now, because he knew he’d talk to Alice at some point—even if it was only a brief text exchange of nerdy facts. And how much better that was than the last three years, when he’d been dragging himself from one dismal minute to the next and the struggle had exhausted him.
Back at his house, Hugo sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, looking out at the garden. That one bright pot of white daisies made the whole space feel different—as if the garden had a focus. Just the way that Alice herself had brought brightness and focus into his life again.
Could it be that his life was finally changing for the better?
* * *
On Wednesday, Hugo took Alice to see the helical staircase at City Hall. ‘This is something I wish I’d built. And just imagine this as a butterfly house,’ he said.
She looked thoughtful. ‘Or the Sky Garden. Thousands and thousands of butterflies. It’d be amazing, like seeing a migration of Monarchs—did you know they sound like a waterfall when they fly on migration because there are so many of them?’
‘No, but I can imagine it. I still haven’t got over that Blue Morpho landing on me. Or seeing the Swallowtail in the fens.’
‘I’d like a mix of butterflies in our house, based on Viola’s journals,’ she said. ‘And I definitely want her drawings of those species on the website. Ruth’s husband is a website designer, so I was hoping he might be able to help us out.’
‘That’d be great,’ he said. ‘I was going to check with my father, in case he has any more family papers or photos that would be useful.’
‘That would be brilliant,’ she said. ‘And maybe tonight I can show you where I’ve got to.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said. ‘We could get a takeaway for dinner.’
‘There’s a really good Chinese near me,’ she said. ‘They do the best dim sum ever.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ Hugo said.’
He kissed her goodbye at the Tube station. ‘See you tonight. I’ve got a late meeting, so would seven be OK?’
‘It’s fine.’ She stole a last kiss. ‘See you then.’
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks, Alice and Hugo were busy at work—Alice with marking and exams, and Hugo with a project—but they managed to see each other a couple of evenings a week and spent the weekends at Rosemary’s house. Hugo made lists of what needed to be done in the house and which contractors to ask for quotes, while Alice worked out what needed to be done in the garden—which plants would go where, how the re-wilding would work, and which plants and species they needed for the butterfly house. In between, Alice continued to work on the journals and Viola’s biography, and Hugo made more detailed plans for the butterfly house, checking sizes and volumes with Alice to make sure it was the right space for the number of butterflies she wanted to keep in the house.
‘Some of this we can do ourselves,’ Hugo said at the end of the second week. ‘Maybe we can talk friends into coming here to wield a paintbrush or do some weeding and planting.’
‘Not until we’ve got the outline planning permission,’ Alice said. ‘I don’t want to jinx anything by starting things too early.’
‘Superstitious?’ He stole a kiss. ‘OK. But maybe we can make a start on tidying the garden. Whatever happens with the planning, that needs to be done.’
‘Says the man who doesn’t garden,’ she reminded him with a smile.
‘Just tell me what’s a weed and what isn’t.’
‘I don’t necessarily want to get rid of the weeds. They’re good host plants for caterpillars.’
‘I can follow directions,’ he said.
She frowned. ‘You’d take directions from me?’
‘Where you have more knowledge and experience than I do, of course.’ He looked surprised. ‘It would be very stupid not to.’
She really, really had to stop assuming he would behave like Barney and want to be in charge all the time. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can ask Ruth and her husband to come and help us at the weekend.’
‘And I could ask Kit and his wife,’ he said.
Meaning they’d be meeting each other’s best friends.
It was another step forward in their relationship, letting each other that tiny bit closer.
Would Kit like her? Would Ruth approve of him? What if they didn’t like each other? If their closest friends didn’t think they were right for each other, there was a good chance that their families wouldn’t, either. And Alice didn’t intend to repeat her mistake of not being accepted by her partner’s friends.
In the end, Hugo arranged for them all to meet at Rosemary’s house to spend the day working on the garden, following up with a barbecue at Hugo’s house in the evening.
Alice was already busy working in the garden when Kit and Jenny arrived.
‘Nice to meet you, my fellow countrywoman,’ Kit said, greeting her with a hug. He reminded Alice of her uncles, with his broad Yorkshire accent and his ready smile, and she warmed to him immediately.
She was just making coffee when Ruth and Andy arrived. Once the introductions were done, Alice asked, ‘So do you all want a tour of the house and the garden before we start work?’
At everyone’s nod, she led them through into the house. ‘We’re moving Rosemary’s study upstairs, and arranging it so it looks like it would’ve done in Viola’s day,’ she said. ‘The other rooms on the upper floor will be teaching areas and a library. Downstairs, we’ll keep the kitchen for making refreshments, though we’ll need to tweak it a bit, and the dining room will be the cafe. Rosemary’s study will be the shop, and the living room will be an exhibition area.’
‘Is that a William Moorcroft tea set on the dresser?’ Ruth asked when they were back down in the kitchen.
‘It is,’ Hugo confirmed. ‘And I’ll make you a cup of tea in it later.’
‘Seriously? You do know it qualifies as artwork in its own right and it’s—’
‘—worth quite a lot of money,’ Hugo finished with a smile. ‘Yes. But my great-aunt believed in using things rather than saving them for best.’
Ruth picked up a cup. ‘This is stunning. I love the colours. I’ve never actually touched any of his work before. This is such a privilege.’ She smiled at Hugo. ‘Thank you.’
In the garden, Alice showed them the areas they were going to tidy up and the bits they were planning to re-wild; Hugo explained where the butterfly house was going to be and showed them the plans.
‘This is going to be amazing,’ Andy said.
‘If we get planning permission,’ Alice said. ‘If we don’t…’
Hugo rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Then we’ll keep submitting plans until we make it work. And we’ll get public opinion on our side—like your crowdfunding thing. Emma’s best friend is in PR, so maybe we can talk her into helping.’
Over the course of the day, Alice thoroughly enjoyed working with Kit and Jenny, chatting to them about what she was trying to achieve with the garden. ‘I want it to help children to connect with nature, and maybe take some of the ideas back to their school or even their home. Although not everyone has access to the garden—I only have plants on the windowsill of my flat—even a plant in the window can help.’
‘I’d like to see more butterflies and bees in our garden,’ Jenny said. ‘Maybe you and Hugo could come for dinner one night and you can give me some advice?’
‘I’d love that,’ Alice said.
‘I’d love that, too. It might distract her from the guerrilla gardening at my house,’ Hugo said.
‘Guerrilla gardening?’ Ruth asked.
‘My neat, square garden seems to sprout a new plant every time Alice visits,’ Hugo explained. ‘She started with these big white daisies, and then…’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘They just seem to pop up from nowhere. Triffids, the lot of them.’
‘He means lavender, salvia and white cosmos. But they’re easy to look after,’ Alice said. ‘Think how many bees and butterflies you’ve seen in your garden since I sneaked the flowers in, Hugo.’ She gave him a hopeful look. ‘It would be even better if you had a tiny wild corner.’
‘Which translates as unrestrained nettles,’ Hugo grumbled.
‘And thistles,’ Alice added cheerfully. ‘Which is why we’ve got them here in Rosemary’s garden. The emerging caterpillars can’t travel far so they need good host plants.’
‘You’re actually making that horrible square of his into a proper garden?’ Jenny asked. At Alice’s nod, she beamed. ‘Good.’
‘You’re all ganging up on me,’ Hugo mock complained. ‘I’m going to make tea. Even though none of you deserve any.’
‘I’ll help,’ Ruth offered.
‘Thank you, Alice,’ Kit said when Hugo left the garden. ‘It’s good to have my best friend back. He’s been struggling for a while and the only place he seemed to function was at the office, and even there he wasn’t happy. Jen and I tried to support him, but nothing we’ve done seemed to help. We tried to fix him up with one of her friends, to stop him being quite so lonely, but that made things worse, and…’ He shook his head sadly. ‘We were idiots. Thank you. You’ve made a huge difference to him.’ He paused. ‘I assume you know about Emma?’
‘I do, and we’re going to call the cafe after her—Emma’s Kitchen,’ Alice confirmed.
Kit looked pleased. ‘That’s so nice.’
‘It must’ve been so hard for him, losing her like that,’ Alice said.
‘It broke him,’ Kit agreed. ‘But I think you’re showing him how to put the pieces back together.’
Just as Hugo was doing for her, Alice thought. He was giving her the confidence in herself that Barney and his cronies had taken away.
At the end of the afternoon, they all headed back to Hugo’s house for the barbecue.
‘That’s another pot for my garden, isn’t it?’ Hugo accused on the train to Battersea, staring at Alice’s recyclable bag.
‘I can’t hear you. It’s too loud on the Tube,’ Alice said with a grin.
‘I can’t see a pot,’ Jenny said, looking around at everything except Alice’s bag.
‘Me, neither,’ Kit said, putting his hands over his eyes.
‘What pot would that be?’ Ruth asked.
Andy looked out of the window. ‘No pots here, my friend.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake. I give in,’ Hugo said, rolling his eyes.
Kit and Alice did a fist bump, and everyone laughed.
Back at Hugo’s place, Alice added the pot of lavender to the collection she’d started at the sunny edge of the patio.
‘That looks amazing—so much better than that boring square of lawn,’ Jenny said. ‘And look! There are butterflies.’
‘Plus the lavender’s from Rosemary’s garden. It belongs with Hugo—a family legacy sort of thing,’ Alice said.
‘Agreed,’ Kit said. ‘Now let’s get this barbecue started.’
Kit and Jenny had organised the wine, Ruth and Andy had brought bread and salads, Alice had sorted out puddings and Hugo had bought meat, fish and veggie options. And it was one of the nicest evenings Alice had spent in a while, getting to know Hugo’s best friends while he got to know hers.
‘I like him a lot,’ Ruth said in the kitchen as they were clearing away and making coffee. ‘He’s one of the good guys. And I like the way he treats you.’ She looked Alice straight in the eye. ‘I never met Barney, but I know his type. Hugo isn’t like that.’
‘I know,’ Alice said.
‘Barney?’ Jenny asked.
‘Ally’s ex from her undergraduate days. Posh, conceited, selfish, and he treated her badly,’ Ruth explained.
Jenny rolled her eyes. ‘I know the type, too. Hugo’s posh, but not the rest of it. He’s a sweetheart. He’s had a rough time—but you’ve made a real difference to him, Alice.’
‘It’s very early days,’ Alice said. ‘There are no guarantees.’ But she was really starting to hope that this would work out. She liked the man Hugo really was—not the uptight, closed-off man she’d met at the solicitor’s, but the architect who loved light and glass and space. The man who understood exactly how she felt about butterflies and listened to her ideas.
They spent the rest of the evening sitting on the patio, drinking coffee and chatting. When the others had left, Hugo walked Alice to the Tube station. ‘I liked Ruth and Andy,’ he said.
‘Good. They liked you, too—and I liked Kit and Jenny.’
He kissed her. ‘I’m glad. You made a hit with them, too.’
She stroked his face. ‘That’s good. I mean, I know dating someone doesn’t mean you’re dating their friends, but it helps if you all get on.’
‘It does indeed.’ He kissed her as the train came in to the station. ‘See you tomorrow.’
* * *
The following weekend, Alice was starting to get antsy. ‘It’s been three weeks now, and we still haven’t heard a thing from the planning people.’
‘It doesn’t necessarily mean bad news,’ Hugo reassured her. ‘Holiday season can slow things down.’
‘What if they don’t give approval?’ Alice asked.
‘Then we look at the reasons why they rejected the plans and tweak our application to take them into account.’ He stole a kiss. ‘You can wait for hours to see a butterfly, right? This is the same sort of thing. Be patient.’
She sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m behaving like a spoiled brat.’
‘No, you just want to get on with things. And we’ve got everything lined up ready for when we finally get a yes. We’ve got local businesses whose apprentices need a project to work on, my friend James will do the survey, and Emma’s best friend Pavani is a PR specialist and she’s getting together a list of possible sponsors to add to the crowdfunding you’ve already done.’ He smiled. ‘Why don’t we do something tomorrow instead of working on the house or the garden?’
‘Such as?’
‘Go to the sea,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe we could go and see a rare butterfly on the South Downs on the way to the beach—the Duke of Burgundy.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Been researching on the Internet, have we?’
He looked pleased with himself. ‘Apparently it’s a real conservation success.’
‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘But unfortunately you’ve just missed the season where the adults fly.’
‘How? It’s only the middle of July.’
‘It’s still too late.’ She smiled. ‘But there are other butterflies we could go and see in Sussex. Marbled Whites, Gatekeepers, maybe a Purple Emperor.’
‘You’re on. I’ll drive,’ he said. ‘We can see the butterflies in the morning, paddle in the sea and eat chips for lunch, and have afternoon tea on the way back to London.’
‘That sounds like the perfect day,’ she said. ‘I’d really like that.’
He stole a kiss. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’
‘Are you sure you want to drive? Wouldn’t you rather nap in the car?’ Just to hammer the point home, she hooted softly at him.
‘Sussex isn’t as far as Norfolk so we don’t have to leave quite so early. I can cope.’
‘You’re on,’ she said. ‘Remember sensible shoes and big socks.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Are you this bossy with your students?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘One of my colleagues was bitten by a tick, some years back. Because she didn’t notice the rash, she didn’t go to the doctor early enough. Even a month of antibiotics didn’t cure Lyme’s disease, and she was really ill for a couple of years. It’s as debilitating as chronic fatigue syndrome. She still can’t work full time, and it’s so frustrating for her.’
‘Point taken,’ he said. ‘Sensible shoes, big socks, and I’ll see you at seven-thirty.’