Love Is the Answer. Tracy Madden

      ‘Phil… Phil Hunter.’ Walking towards me, he offered a decisive handshake and a brief smile, reminding me once again of his dazzling white teeth. Although he was friendly, I felt the smile did not make it as far as his eyes. It was as if he was holding back and was unsure of what happiness felt like. There was something there, a huge sadness, perhaps a troubled past.

      ‘Peach Riding,’ I smiled. ‘Phil would you like a coffee?’ I caught him checking the time once again. ‘You can have it while you finish your tour?’ It was the least I could do after he had brought those photos for me, which I still hadn’t had the time to look at.

      He looked indecisive for a moment. ‘Sure.’

      ‘Come in and I’ll show you the kitchen garden.’ I caught his look as he saw my furniture piled in one of the front rooms with drop sheets covering it. ‘I haven’t been here long,’ I explained. ‘I’m still adjusting.’

      He paused at the doorway to the room. ‘Change takes time. This is a special place. You will be very happy here.’ He spoke as if he was predicting my future. Although he seemed a man of few words, he said what had to be said and that was that.

      ‘You’ll have to excuse my make do kitchen, the new one is being manufactured as we speak.’

      As a work station was required, the Louis desk Papa had left to me, took pride of place, although I continuously draped an old pink floral flannelette sheet over it, to protect it from building debris and dust. This had become my favourite place to sit. At night, I loved being able to look across the water to the view and the reflections. By day, I loved seeing the garden below.

      Phil glanced around and appeared to be studying the renovations to date. ‘Very wise,’ he said nodding his head. ‘Brings the garden in.’

      I poured coffee into a mug and handed it to him, pushing the glass sugar bowl his way. ‘What do you do Phil?’

      He hesitated, while he tentatively sipped at the hot brew. Then he looked steadily and replied, ‘I’m between things at the moment.’

      ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been frantically looking for someone to help with the garden, and I saw you from the window, you appear to know your stuff. You’re not… I mean… you wouldn’t consider…?’

      ‘I don’t think I’d have the time.’ He took another sip, glancing down at his coffee.

      ‘Of course. If you happen to know of anyone…’ Uncomfortable now, I drifted off. ‘Anyway, come this way.’ I was keen to show him the kitchen garden. I led the way through the laundry, but the door was jammed. I pushed as hard as I could but it didn’t budge. ‘The rain we’ve had lately,’ I explained.

      ‘Let me,’ he suggested. Phil put his shoulder into it and the door freely opened out. I saw the reaction on his face and his eyes lit up at the sight of the garden. ‘I remember now.’ He walked around, hands on his hips, touching the leaves of different species. ‘Much to do, eh?’ But he looked thrilled.

      He continued exploring and I stood watching. His obvious enjoyment intrigued me. And then he shared a memory. ‘Frank had a distinct style of dividing larger gardens into a series of garden rooms, creating mystery and enticement.’ And then as an afterthought he added. ‘In here your plantings should be staggered. Plant little and often, that will be the key. You’ll need pea straw mulch around the basses of all the plants to suppress weeds, provide nutrition and retain moisture. And don’t forget the worm castings.’ For a minute he paused, his eyes narrowing as if remembering something. And then without looking at me he continued in a quieter voice. ‘Gardens certainly have a spiritual value. Flowers, herbs and vegetables nourish the soul as well as the body.’

      Before I had a chance to respond, he glanced at his watch yet again, and looked startled. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve lost track of time.’

      He appeared hurried and I walked him back to the front door. ‘I meant to say,’ he said, turning to me, as if an afterthought. ‘There was another photo but I couldn’t seem to put my hand on it. It had my father and Frank Carmody standing together in the garden. I’ll keep looking.’

      ‘That’s very kind, thank you. Perhaps when you find it, you’ll finish off your tour of the garden,’ I said stepping out onto the front veranda. The heat of the day was still coming out of the ground in waves, the scent from the roses and jasmine hung heavily in the air.

      I needed to shower. Marty was taking me to dinner.