Once Upon an Island

22

Harriet decidestoday is the perfect day for an outing. She’s wide awake, chipper and full of energy after a filling breakfast of eggs, black pudding, toast and tomatoes.

“We’ll go to Vindolanda and Housesteads and wander along Hadrian’s Wall. I’ll put together a picnic.” Vindolanda and Housesteads are excavations of Roman forts. “There are birds, Arya,” Harriet says temptingly.

Arya decides to come. And so we spend the next eight hours tromping around the countryside, climbing up hills, wandering through ancient stone piles, the wind whipping against our cheeks, the blue sky and bright sun trying and failing to warm us. I check my phone every thirty seconds and Arya checks hers every minute.

The late afternoon shadows begin to fall over the walls of the stone fort and I start to fantasize about the cozy down duvet on my creaky bed.

“Dears,” Harriet says, after we’re piled into her car and heading down the road back toward her home.

“Hmmm?” I say. My eyelids drift down as the sun plays over them in a lullaby pattern flickering through the trees.

“I have one more stop. There’s a private estate open to the public one week a year, and today is the final day this year. I’ve wanted to visit for some time. You don’t mind, do you?”

I hear Arya let out a little snore. She’s fallen asleep in the back seat.

“No. I don’t mind,” I say.

“Perfect. I want to poke around to see if I might do a survey of the property. This is a little covert research.” She winks at me then looks back at the road.

I laugh at the devious expression on her face. It’s at complete odds with her tweed jacket and eccentric researcher persona.

After an hour driving through hedge-lined back roads, past old stone churches, and tiny villages we pull down a long, winding gravel drive. Down the drive, over grassy hills, and centered in the middle of a manicured garden is the epitome of the beautiful, historic, English grand estate. The home sprawls over the green grass, with tall bright windows, a dozen chimneys, and sweeping stairs at the wide entrance. The stone walls glitter like a jewel in the low setting sun. The house looks as if it belongs in a period drama, or a fantasy novel.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Harriet asks.

Her hatchback bumps over the drive.

“Gorgeous,” I say.

And I mean it. I’m used to luxurious houses. Kate is a luxury realtor and I’ve tagged along on many, many house tours. But I’ve never seen a home that looks like it was pulled out of a fairy tale.

It’s beautiful.

There’s a hedge maze that’s at least an acre, a walled rose garden not yet in bloom, another garden with a trellised entry. Herbs, maybe? Down the hill to the west is a largish blue-watered pond with a wide-limbed, leafy tree leaning over the water.

Harriet pulls to a stop along the side of the house. “Are you ready? The article said the grounds are open to guests. We won’t bother with the house.”

Arya gives a sleepy moan from the back. “I’ll stay here.” She unbuckles and drops down to the seat.

I smile at Harriet. We step out of the car and I immediately hear birds singing from the gardens nearby.

“I have a hunch there’s something worth seeing at the edge of the property.” She points to a grassy, hilly mound about half a mile away.

“Do you mind if I explore the gardens instead?” I ask.

“Not at all.”

Harriet heads down the hill and I walk along the path through the rose garden and then under the wood trellis. I was right, it’s an herb garden. The scent of lavender greets me. At first, I keep looking back at the house, worried that someone will come out and tell me to leave or ask my business. But, after a few minutes of wandering, I see a gardener digging in the soil. When he notices me, he waves, comments on the weather, and then asks me if I’m enjoying the gardens.

After that, I don’t feel uncomfortable exploring.

The sun spills over my back and the birds sing, making me feel relaxed and sleepy. I pull my phone from my pocket. Still nothing from Kate.

I imagine Harriet will be at least another thirty minutes, so I decide to explore the hedge maze. I’ve always wanted to try one.

The hedges are at least six feet tall, dense green, and spaced about four feet apart. As I walk down the path, I try to watch the location of the sun so that I can steer myself toward the middle of the maze. Finally, after ten minutes of walking I hear a bubbling sound. I follow it and pop out into a small circular area.

It’s amazing.

The dark green hedge surrounds the clearing in a curved circular line. There’s another opening on the opposite side of the clearing. In the center is a large circular stone fountain. The edge of the fountain is surrounded by a wide bench seat. The center is full of water reflecting the blue sky and clouds floating overhead. In the middle of the water is a life-size statue of a man and a woman. They’re holding hands, and from their hands flows a waterfall into the pool. The woman looks down at the water and the man looks at the woman.

I stand and stare for a moment and just listen to the tinkling water and the birds singing. Then I decide to sit down and have a little rest.

I set my phone alarm for twenty minutes and lie down on the bench seat and close my eyes.

The sound of the running water reminds me of Mariposa. My half-asleep mind pulls up images of floating in the bioluminescence. But this time, instead of just touching hands, Declan grabs my hand, pulls me to him and kisses me. I’m too tired to shove the vision away.

“Isla,” he says.

I smile and imagine him kissing me more.

“Isla.”

He shouldn’t be talking. He should be kissing.

“Isla. What are you doing here?”

My eyes fly open and I scramble up on the bench seat.

There’s Declan, looming over me, his arms crossed over his chest, the space between his eyebrows pinched.

“Oh. Ah. Oh.”

I’ve lost the power of speech.

I quickly stand up and pat down my clothes and my hair and try to come back to reality.

“Harriet…” I point in a random direction, decide that isn’t the way she went and point in another. “Harriet wanted to search for Roman…wait a minute, what are you doing here?”

He lifts his eyebrows, then slowly uncrosses his arms. The stand-offish, suspicious expression on his face fades. “Harriet’s poking around?”

I swallow and then nod. Darn it, I’m finally warm again. The sun and all the walking today did nothing, but as soon as I see Declan I’m as toasty as the beach on Mariposa.

“We’ve been doing the Roman tour today,” I say. “It’s nice weather for an outing.” Ugh. This is awkward. Horribly awkward. Painfully awkward.

“Perfect weather,” he agrees.

He puts his hands in his pockets and looks around the clearing.

I break the awkward silence. “Harriet said this place is only open one week a year. She’s been wanting to come for some time. It’s lovely, don’t you think?”

Oh gosh. I’ve descended into small talk purgatory. The politeness of it stretches painfully between us. Should I just launch into my apology? Tell him I’m sorry for misjudging him?

“You like the estate?” he finally asks.

“I do.” I tell him honestly. “Very much. I’ve never seen such a beautiful home.”