Mum’s the Word

‘Well,’ said Nina, glancing down at her list. ‘We’ve got some great paintings of Electric Mickey’s arse.’

The rest of the meeting was done and dusted inside half an hour. Susie’s first class rolled in at ten; she and Nina got down to working with the second-year child-care students, finishing off their project on printing. After lunch it was collage and calligraphy with some special-needs kids, and at three there was a life class with a group of mature students on the Arts Access course. In between times, students wandered in to pick things up, ask advice, work on their own projects or sit at the back, gossip and drink coffee. One thing about working in college was that life was never dull.

And the good thing for Susie about being so caught up in what she was doing was that it pushed Robert out to the margins of her mind.

Just as she was leaving for the day, Austin appeared. ‘Susie?’

She swung round.

‘I managed to speak to the nursery this afternoon and Saskia Hill suggested you pop in to discuss what you have in mind. She sounds very up for getting involved with the college. Lots of noises about wanting to develop partnerships with education and local industry – anyway, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could pop in on your way home, is there? She said she’d be there till around six thirty.’

‘Okay.’

‘Great.’ He grinned and then added, ‘So how are things?’

Susie pasted on a big cheery smile. ‘Things? Things are not bad. How about you?’

Austin’s expression softened. ‘I’ve known you a lot of years, Susie, and you’re a lousy liar. Neen said there was trouble at t’mill.’

‘How very kind of her. Is there anyone who doesn’t know about me and Robert splitting up?’ Susie said crossly, and then paused and waved the words away. ‘Sorry, that was horribly rude, Austin. Thanks for asking, but I’m okay and it’s nothing I can’t work my way through.’

‘Well, if you need anything –’ He left the sentence and the sentiment open.

‘A bigger studio?’ Susie picked up her bag and headed for the door. ‘A pay rise?’

He pulled a face.

‘World peace –’

‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Are you in tomorrow?’

‘Certainly am. We’ll be going through stuff for the exhibition and then mounting work tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give Ms Hill a quick ring on my mobile and try to catch her on the way home tonight.’

Austin grinned. ‘You’re a star.’

Hill’s Nurseries was on the edge of town on the coast road, ten minutes’ drive from the college and around thirty-five minutes from Susie’s cottage. Easing into the long, slow stream of people making their way home, Susie crept along the road to the bypass, radio on, windows open, enjoying the sunshine, Radio Four, and the promise of summer.

As a business Hill’s Nurseries had fared really well in terms of position. Tucked just off the main drag, once upon a time it had been surrounded by open farmland, but over the last ten years or so an executive housing estate had slowly sneaked up to surround it, and on the other side of the road, sheltered from the hoi polloi by mature trees and thick hedges, stood a hamlet of elegant detached family houses, bought by the affluent and the upwardly mobile since they’d been built at the turn of the twentieth century, an elegant suburb of the busy market town with its fisher fleet and port.

It was a perfect place for the business to be. The family nursery had blossomed and embraced the trend towards more stylish, flamboyant, sexier gardening. On the kerbside, beside the immaculate, weed-free gravelled driveway, signage announced it had been on local and national TV, won national recognition and acclaim for its plants and had an award-winning garden designer on the staff. Even at six on a weekday evening the beautifully coiffured car park was well over half-full with an assortment of Discoverys, SUVs and smart little town cars. Framed on three sides by neat glass houses and bays of plants fenced off by trellis and low, stylish fencing the whole place could have stepped fully fledged out of a Sunday Times colour supplement. Susie imagined it was heaving at the weekends with the Barbour army filling up on olive trees and pots of wild rocket and organic coriander.

She pulled in behind a big shiny black 4x4, locked up, and headed across towards the main shop, where the man behind the counter rang through to Saskia’s office. A few minutes later a tall blonde girl in her early twenties came over to meet her.

It had to be said that Saskia Hill didn’t look like your average horticulturalist; she certainly didn’t look as if she’d be much use humping bags of compost around or slapping down a patio. She was immaculately made up, wore tailored black trousers with high-heeled black boots, a matching collarless edge-to-edge jacket and a jade-green shirt, all of which owed far more to a designer label than any trade catalogue. As she walked, Saskia flashed perfect dentition – although the smile appeared to be more of a professional tool than revealing any genuine warmth – before holding out a slim, cool hand in greeting. ‘You must be Susie, how nice to meet you, why don’t you come through to my office.’

‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.’

The girl waved the words away. ‘Not at all. I’ve got another appointment this evening. No rest for the wicked.’

She exuded a cool confidence that Susie found disconcerting; it had to be business school and the effects of lots of cold hard cash.

Saskia directed Susie into a small office overlooking a paved area set with shrubs and a little pool, the perfect example of how to style a small town garden. ‘Now, how can we help you?’ she said as she slipped behind her desk and indicated a seat.

‘It must be wonderful working with plants,’ Susie said, looking out at the display. ‘The terrace out there is very nice.’

Saskia smiled again, although Susie noticed it still didn’t quite make it to her eyes. ‘Thank you. We regularly remodel all the exhibition gardens on a rota basis. Some people prefer to buy a complete look – we can provide the whole thing as a kit. Plans, plants, hard landscaping. It’s the kind of service busy people appreciate; it was one of my ideas to improve turnover, bring the family firm up-to-date – take the guesswork out of gardening.’

It wasn’t quite the answer Susie had expected so she turned the conversation back to the exhibition. ‘I’m not sure exactly what Austin told you, but what we’re hoping for is a display in the main entrance of the college for our end-of-year art exhibition – something eye-catching.’

Saskia made a noise; it could almost have been a laugh. ‘Something to cover the concrete?’

‘You know Fenborough?’

Saskia coloured very slightly; the first time she had shown any genuine reaction. ‘I did my first business qualifications there. So, concrete covering is a main requirement?’

Susie nodded. ‘That would be wonderful.’

‘Well, you may be in luck. We’ve got a range of planting that we hire out to dress shops, events, various shows –’

‘We haven’t got a budget for this,’ Susie said uncomfortably.

‘Austin did explain that, and it’s fine.’

Susie smiled. ‘In that case it sounds perfect.’

‘We obviously have promotional material that we’d like on display – and …’

The next half hour was spent working out a site visit, and what Saskia might be prepared to offer, and what Susie had to offer in return. By six thirty Susie was on her way back to the car. She slipped in behind the wheel feeling like it was a job well done. Austin and Nina would be delighted, and for the first time in days she felt happy.

When Susie arrived back at the cottage, Milo was basking in the sunshine on the terrace, on his back, paws in the air, looking for all the world as if he was topping up his tan. He opened one eye to acknowledge her arrival and did a wag or two just to let her know that despite appearances he really was pleased to see her, and that he was absolutely on the ball, no one would get by unnoticed on his watch.

As she headed down the path, Susie noticed a peculiar smell in the air. The smell of cooking. She pushed open the back door to find Matt, with a tea towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans, busy doing something extraordinary with a paella pan and a whole mess of seafood.

The table was set, and Jack was opening a bottle of wine. There was a salad and fresh bread and what looked suspiciously like dessert spoons on a clean tablecloth. Susie looked at the two of them. ‘So what did you break?’ she asked, dropping her bag onto the chair.

‘Mum,’ said Jack. ‘As if –’

‘Did you set fire to something?’

‘Hi,’ said Matt, looking up from the cooker. ‘How’s your day been? Jack was just telling me about Deliaing. I was thinking more Rick Stein.’ He swept his hand across the top of the pan with all the finesse of a magician’s assistant. ‘Here we have classic paella – really simple, local ingredients – great served up with a classic green salad and lots of warm, new, crisp bread to sop up all those delectable juices, garnished with lemon wedges and just a sprinkling of chopped parsley.’

‘Fantastic,’ said Susie, unable to keep the merest hint of suspicion out of her voice.

‘You hungry?’

She nodded.

‘Good, should be ready in about five minutes.’