After the meeting with my solicitor, I had to go to work as a landscape gardener. I'd moved this appointment from its usual morning slot to the afternoon. It was amazing how different the garden felt later in the day.

As I walked around the gardens of my long-term client Mrs. Whitman, I was thinking about gran's bed-and-breakfast. As a child, I went there during summers, but never imagined it would be mine.

I never saw myself as a landlady. But there was something about the idea I found exciting, but it also daunted me.

"Morning, Evie!" said Mrs. Whitman, disturbing my reverie. She was an energetic 70-year-old with a passion for gardening, but unfortunately, old age had crept in and she could no longer manage the gardens by herself.

"Morning, Mrs. Whitman." I smiled at her and decided my job today was to prune the rose bushes, which were growing lanky.

I worked my fingers into the plants, trimming and shaping the roses. The plants seemed to respond to my touch, as if they enjoyed the feel of my fingers caressing them. The closed buds of the roses opened up, revealing their colourful petals. Mum always told me I had green fingers. I really missed her when I had big decisions to make, and up heaving our lives was a huge one.

It wasn't just the roses that seemed to thrive under my care, all of Mrs. Whitman's garden flourished. The marigolds seemed to shine more brightly, the lavender gave off a stronger scent, and even the cacti, which were normally quite prickly, seemed less hostile somehow. Though I was still wondering why a quintessential English lady would want to create an American desert landscape in one corner of her garden.

My clients often asked about the reason for my success. The truth wasn't any special fertiliser or watering schedule. It was simply that I talked to the plants. I would whisper words of encouragement to each plant as I touched them, telling them how strong and beautiful they were. Apologising when I needed to prune them, knowing I was hurting them to help them grow stronger.

"Evie," said Mrs. Whitman, joining me by the roses. "I'm sure these plants are smiling when they hear your voice."

I laughed.

"There's something on your mind," she observed. "Is it about that appointment you had this morning?"

"The reading of gran's will."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. It's such a hard time when someone we love passes."

"I don't know who I thought my gran would leave Willow Grove to, but I assumed it would be someone else. I kinda thought they would find some distant relative who would inherit it."

"I will miss you when you go," Mrs Whitman said.

"I'm not planning anything," I said, surprised she already assumed I would want the property.

Mrs. Whitman looked at me curiously. It wasn't until that moment I realised I'd decided what I wanted.

I could imagine the bed-and-breakfast. How I would make each room homely and welcoming to visitors, but with a modern twist. I imagined the garden I would grow with fruit trees and flower beds. The more I thought about it, I fell in love with the idea of having a peaceful place of my own.

Maybe running a bed-and-breakfast wouldn't be so bad. It would be a big change from my normal routine. My biggest challenge would be Marcus and getting him to agree to spend time there. Why did the future always have to be arranged around his plans and not mine?

I didn't notice Mrs. Whitman leave. She left alone with my thoughts and the roses. I closed my eyes and took in the garden's scent. The sound of the leaves rustling and the bees humming was like a lullaby. It was so peaceful.

The warm sun played on my skin as I whispered to the roses. I promised them I would give them plenty of sunshine and take care of them.

Mrs. Whitman's voice caught my attention as I gently touched the roses. There was a grey-haired man with her, standing stiffly on the lawn. He was wearing a dark suit, which looked odd against the greens and pinks of the garden. From a distance, I could discern the hardness and stern expression on his face.

I couldn't make out their words over the rustling leaves, but their angry harsh tones carried on the wind.

"this is madness," I heard Mrs. Whitman say.

The man replied in an indistinct murmur. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was making big gestures with his hands. "investment opportunity," I thought I heard him say as I caught his words in snatches.

"not in a million years, over my dead body," said Mrs. Whitman, her hands on her hips as she faced him.

A sparrow chirping nearby stopped me hearing what he said next. I knew I was eavesdropping on a private conversation, but I couldn't help listening.

The argument peaked and then died away. Mrs. Whitman paused as the man left. I watched her take a few deep breaths and then compose herself before turning back towards me.

As I stood, brushing debris from my hands, Mrs. Whitman approached, her agitation with the man softened to a weary slump of her shoulders.

"That was a complete idiot," she said, nodding towards the retreating figure in the suit. "He's been hounding me to sell a patch of my garden for one of his development projects for years now."

"Are you thinking of selling?" I asked, surprised Mrs Whitman would even consider it.

"Goodness, no!" She waved a dismissive hand. "This garden is my life's work. He is persistent and doesn't easily accept 'no' as an answer."

Just as I was about to return to the roses, I noticed the man in the suit walking back towards us. He didn't look pleased.

"Mrs. Whitman," he said.

"I thought I made myself clear, Mr. Davies," said Mrs. Whitman.

"You did," he said, "but I always get my way when I am making rational business decisions, and you are the irrational one in this situation."

I stepped forward, placing myself between Mrs. Whitman and Davies. "You've had your answer, Davies," I said, meeting his gaze.

The man laughed. It was a bitter sound. "And who are you to butt in?" he said, assessing me.

"I'm someone who cares about this garden and the woman who made it," I said. I was trying to keep my voice level, although fear was nibbling at the corner of my mind. He took a step closer. It felt like a dark cloud appeared over us.

"Well then," he said, dropping his voice to a dangerous whisper, "maybe you should care about your own well-being as well."

I met Davies's gaze. My heart was pounding. I could hear his threat in my ears, but I would not back down. "I won't let you intimidate us," I said.

For a moment, he looked taken aback. His eyes narrowed. Before I could react, his fist connected with my face.

The pain was immediate and intense. I could feel blood on my cheek. I stumbled backwards, almost falling into the roses behind me.

He stepped back, a cruel smile on his lips. I touched my cheek. It was sore. I could taste blood in my mouth.

I looked up. My vision slightly blurred as I looked up. He looked shocked. Maybe he hadn't expected me to still be standing.

"You're a real piece of work," I said. My cheek was throbbing, my voice steady.

"May be, but you will not forget me and you will give me what I want," he said before leisurely strolling away.

***

Cant wait for the next episode? Join use at https://reamstories.com/mariadean to continue Evie's journey

***