“Are you sure, my dear?”
“Yes, please.”
“My name is Penelope, Claire, and my husband is Peter.”
She had just only arrived here, but Claire knew deep in her heart that like their nephew, these were very good people. Regaining her feet, she took Penelope’s hand and squeezed it gently. The paper-thin skin felt fragile against her fingers, yet Claire thought that perhaps in Penelope’s case, appearances could be deceiving and that Simon’s aunt had a great deal of strength.
They collected Louis and Peter and opened the glass doors and walked outside into the warm evening. Claire had visited many country homes in her lifetime for house parties or to visit friends of her mother’s, yet none had touched her like this one. This was a home with a heart. She knew the extensive gardens had been planted with love and tended with care, and she was sure Simon’s hands had played their part.
“Through there are the glasshouses, Claire,” Peter said, pointing beyond a neatly trimmed hedge. “It would be of no interest to a small boy, so Penelope and I will take Louis to see the lake.”
“Yes, do go, Claire. The smell is beautiful.”
Peter held out his hand to Louis, who took it without hesitation.
“All right. I shall look and then come and join you.”
Claire walked, enjoying the silence and the now cooling air. She needed to think, but she knew there would be plenty of time during the long night ahead of her to do so. For now, she would enjoy the quiet and the beauty around her. She found a gap in the hedge and slipped through. Two large glasshouses stood a short distance away. She headed for the first, and finding the door, she entered.
Sniffing the air, she smelt more of nature and began to walk. A noise came from up ahead, a muttering that indicated she was not alone. Heart thumping, she drew closer, knowing it would be Simon.
He stood with both hands pushed deep in the potted soil on the opposite side of a tall, narrow table. Head bent, he was inspecting a small green plant.
“Simon, I’m sorry, but your aunt told me to come here. She said I would love the smells.” The words rushed from Claire’s mouth. “I have no wish to intrude, so I will leave at once.”
He didn’t move, just lifted his head and gave her a long, cool look before speaking. “When I have a lot on my mind, I do this.”
She moved to the other side of the table. “Put your hands in soil?”
“It calms me, somehow. The feel of the earth sifting through my fingers gives me clarity.”
Claire slowly pulled off her gloves. “Did you often need to feel calm, Simon?”
He expelled a breath through his teeth at her question.
Claire located a sturdy box and dragged it closer.
“What are you doing?” he questioned as she stood on it.
“Joining you.” Pushing her hands into the earth, her fingers touched the tips of his briefly before she curled them into fists and broke the contact. He watched her as she played with the earth–sifted it, patted it, and dug through it.
“My parents were not easy people and expected perfection in their son.”
Claire didn’t speak, just kept her hands in the soil and her eyes on his face.
“I struggled with perfection, so they pushed me harder, and my failures became bigger and bigger as I strived to achieve the goals they set.”
Pain was there in his eyes as the memories took him back to his youth. Pushing her fingers deeper, she rested them on top of his.
“The only moments I remember that were happy were the rare times my aunt and uncle visited. They would take me to the garden and teach me the names of plants and flowers.”
“What did your parents do to you, Simon? Did they hurt you?”
His laugh was harsh as he turned his palms over and gripped her fingers. “Nothing that caused pain, Claire. They simply locked me in the nursery until I had memorized every task they set me. Sometimes I was to spell. Others, recite Latin. The lists were varied but all were long. I was then to answer their questions as they stood before me, each one directed at me one second after I answered the first. If I failed, they locked me in again until I succeeded.”
Dear lord, they may have not hurt him physically, yet they had hurt him. He carried the scars deep inside. She could see it as his shoulders hunched instinctively to protect himself from the memories. “How old were you?”
“They died when I was a child.”
Too young to have suffered at the hands of the people who should have provided his care, loved and protected him.
He turned his hands over once more, releasing her fingers to dig deeper in the soil. Claire couldn’t keep still. She had to sift, pat, and smooth, now that she was no longer anchored to him. “You must constantly have dirt under your nails,” she said aloud when the silence became uncomfortable. It was a silly thing to say, yet she was nervous in his company. They had spent days together, yet now he seemed like a stranger to her.