turned to walk away, and then turned back. ‘I might have a few pictures. I’d have to find them.’
‘Thank you,’ was all I said, now, odd for me, saving my own words. Silently, I watched his retreating figure, thinking he had to do more than ride a bike to get those guns. A heck of a lot more.
As I walked back to my car, I glanced down at my shoes and saw the damage the pebbles had done to the heels. Annoyed, I tutted loudly. Smoothing my skirt I climbed back into the car, and suddenly felt rather ridiculous. With my purple patterned silk georgette shirt, this was my corporate wardrobe, and somehow it no longer seemed to fit. I checked my hair in the mirror on the visor. Mmmm, for the first time, I contemplated if the big blow-dry was appropriate for my new life.
And then I thought of Emerald Green, and how she had said perhaps I might find my clothes no longer suited. Out of everything she had said, that was the one thing I had been most disbelieving of. Now, I pondered the fact that perhaps she had been right! But I was always going to love my heels.
*
I held the sketches of the gate out to the blacksmith. ‘I like the curly bits here. And that’s where I’d like the letters spelling Carmody House to begin. I should imagine the pedestrian gate to be just here.’
‘Would you like a remote control?’
‘Of course.’ I nodded. ‘Do you think you can have the quote back to me as soon as possible?’
‘Sure. Do you want flat bar or round steel?’
‘Um… I’m not sure. Can I think about it for a few minutes while you measure up?’ I roamed across the road to visualise it from there. I had on my new rose covered Hunter gumboots, a gift from Steve and Thomas. The boys had said that now I was woman of the land, I needed proper shoe attire to go with it. I wore them with a white shirt, the collar up, and a denim skirt. For the first time in many years, I was leaving my curly hair to do what it wished. I was over the glamorous blow dry. Against his better judgement, Thomas had styled it to a curly bob, which when dry shot up to just below my shoulders. I had insisted on attempting to return it to its former honey chestnut colour. I was beginning to like this more casual me. It gave me a feeling of freedom, one of lightness. And I had surprised myself and taken to gardening.
During my adolescence and early twenties, I had given little thought to gardening. In fact, none at all! My interests had been my career, fashion and travel when I could find the time to squeeze it in. I had taken the gardens surrounding me for granted, and had little understanding of the knowledge, creativity and tireless effort that went into them. Now my evenings were spent pouring over gardening books, earmarking pages with ideas I liked. The garden had become my new best friend.
The infrastructure I was undertaking on the house included plumbing, electrical upgrades plus a security system starting with the gate. The appropriate trucks were lined up opposite.
From my position across the road, I watched as Brownie slowly and methodically mowed the grassy nature strip. I knew I was going to have to come to a decision about him. At the rate he was going, it would be ten years before the garden was in order. I pushed it to the back of my mind.
Thoughtfully, I tapped my upper lip with my fingernail and stared at the place my new gate would go. ‘Flat bar or round? Flat bar or round?’ I repeated out aloud, as I noticed I’d begun to do more and more.
‘Round for the uprights and flat bar for any decorative work,’ a quiet voice said from behind me. I turned quickly to see the cyclist. ‘I do take it you’re talking about a new gate?’ he asked, standing astride his bike, gesturing to the blacksmith’s truck parked opposite.
‘Actually I am,’ I said, almost too stunned to say more, the sound of Brownie’s lawnmower so loud, I hadn’t heard the cyclist approach. It unnerved me. I looked sideways at him. ‘What is this? Are you a mind reader?’ More and more, I had noticed him on his bike and his avid interest in the property, or at least that’s what I hoped, and that he wasn’t casing the joint.
I had found being a woman living on my own encouraged my already vivid imagination to often go into overdrive. Thoughts came to me that would never have entered my head in the past. Just the other night as I prepared for bed, I heard a story on the late night news where a woman came home disturbing an intruder. She was murdered in her own home. I swear I spent the entire night sleeping with one eye open. Although I must say having Wilbur did give me a measure of comfort.
My thoughts were interrupted by the cyclist. ‘You’ve undertaken quite a huge project?
‘Did you know Frank Carmody well?’ I found myself wanting to question him.
‘Yes, in the earlier years when my father was alive… and then,’ he paused, ‘and then our paths crossed quite a few times after that. The last was here about eight years ago when he took me on another tour of the garden. I still remember its magnificence. Frank was a very clever man. He’s left a wonderful legacy behind. That’s the thing with gardens…’ he drifted off.
Intrigued by him, I once again attempted to guess how old he was and when his last visit would have been. Physically, he was in great shape, and his olive skin and dark eyes gave an air of health about him. However, there was something about his eyes that I just couldn’t put my finger on. Usually, I was excellent at reading people. He was a hard one to pick.
He interrupted my reverie, his eyes on the blacksmith opposite. ‘The gate will be galvanised?’
‘Ah… yeah… sure!’ I was pensive for a few minutes and then turned to him, my eyes narrowing. ‘And that is?’
‘A zinc coating to protect the steel from corrosion.’ He nodded at the blacksmith. ‘He should have taken that into consideration, or perhaps your husband has already told him.’
‘No husband, just me,’ I said, without giving it much thought, and then wished I hadn’t. ‘I’ll certainly mention it to the blacksmith. Thank you.’
I took a few steps towards the road when he called out to me. ‘I have some photos.’
I stopped in my tracks, now pleasantly surprised. ‘You do? Of here?’
He held an envelope out to me.
‘Oh… thank you. I’ll take a quick look so you can have them back.’
‘No, keep them. They’re yours. I have copies.’
I looked at this mysterious cyclist, who had kindly taken the time to unearth these photos, and wondered not for the first time, at his lifestyle that he could go bike riding whenever he wished. Although, the day was getting on, most people would still be at work.
My guard down, I offered, ‘You’re welcome to take a look around the garden today if you wish.’
He checked his watch. It went through my mind that perhaps he was a shift worker.
‘Sure, I should have time. Thank you.’ We crossed the broad carpet of neatly mown lawn, and he propped his bike against the front fence as Brownie turned the mower off.
‘I’ll have that cup of tea now Mrs Riding, if you don’t mind?’ Brownie called to me.
‘No problem Brownie.’ Horrified at the Wilbur incident, I was continuously making tea for the old gent, who liked a chat
