The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,130

by fishing out all the photographs and putting them on the table?’

‘Good idea, and when we go through them later, there are a couple of photograph albums on one of the shelves, so we might be able to identify a few of the people in them.’

We worked away, one box each, trying not to let ourselves be distracted when we came across very ancient-looking documents written on parchment, and only stopped to devour our takeaway, duly delivered by Luke’s assistant, Ken.

Ned suggested Ken stay and help us with the sorting, but he just laughed and said he had another delivery to make and then a hot date at nine.

Caspar accepted a couple of prawns from the fried rice, which I hoped wouldn’t upset his delicate tummy, then Ned took the debris through to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of chilled pinot grigio and two glasses, which, if it didn’t help speed up our search, at least cheered us along the way. Caspar, profoundly bored, went to sleep.

It was late before we were sure we’d found all the photographs, which ranged all the way from very early views of family groups, sometimes posed by the river or the waterfall, to hand-tinted portraits and Box Brownie snaps.

A few had names and dates on the back in pencil, but you could date some of them anyway by the clothes, or the vintage cars they were proudly grouped around. In the roaring twenties, there seemed to have been a vogue for people pointing at things in the garden, so the backgrounds of those were interesting – the sundial was in one.

The more recent photos were in the albums but I could already tell that Ned was a true Grace, tall and fair.

‘There’s a contemporary description of Nathaniel Grace as a fair giant,’ Ned said, ‘though in those times you didn’t need to be very tall to be thought one.’

‘You’re pretty tall for now,’ I pointed out, sifting through the heaps of photos on the table, looking for the more relevant ones.

There were some very atmospheric ones of the falls and I came across a whole packet just of the Grace Garden, taken before the lower part had been dug up to grow vegetables for the war effort.

‘There’s loads of material here for the museum display and the next edition of the guidebook,’ I said.

‘I think I’ll have to update that annually anyway, as the restoration of the garden progresses,’ he said. ‘And we’ll have photos of the rose garden in bloom to go in the next one, too.’

I stood up and stretched. ‘I think we’d better call it a night, don’t you? We can start rough-sorting the papers tomorrow.’

Caspar watched me put on my coat and then came to wind himself around my legs.

‘I’d forgotten about Caspar – he probably needs to go out.’

‘He followed me to the kitchen earlier and there’s still a cat flap in the back door there, from my uncle’s day … if he can squeeze through it,’ Ned said. ‘He didn’t show any sign of wanting out then, anyway.’

He unhooked his own coat from the rack as we went out and said, ‘I’ll see you to your door.’

‘There’s no need – it’s only a few yards away and it must be safe enough here!’

‘I’d like to stretch my legs anyway,’ he insisted, and we went back the way I’d come, by the road, which was a lot easier than unlocking every gate through from the back of the Hall to the Lavender Cottage garden.

As usual, a dim light burned at the back of the café and another came on near the side gate as we approached.

‘Goodnight, then,’ Ned said, opening the gate for me, as Caspar shoved through first in his usual mannerless way. ‘It’s been quite fun, hasn’t it?’ he added, as if in surprise and then walked off, whistling as sweetly as a blackbird.

And it had been fun, too. Way too much fun to risk spoiling it by telling Ned who I really was: first cousin to the vile Wayne.

The huge terracotta garden pots arrived early next morning, and Ned and Lex Mariner, who was almost as tall as he was, unloaded them and then moved them into position.

I watched them with Caspar and the peacocks, though Lancelot and Guinevere got quickly bored and wandered off.

The pots looked spectacular when four of them were placed at points around the wide circular gravel path, but they also somehow gave the impression of always having been