Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I nod, eternally grateful for the distraction. “You’re very thoughtful. Thank you. Are you responsible for the fairytale garden on the roof?”
Muriel lights up as if the garden itself fills her with life. “I am. It’s one of my passions. I grew up in a squalid council estate in England, but I’ve always loved gardening so when Mr. Ivanovich has been generous enough to give me complete freedom with it, I went for it.”
I arch a brow, genuinely intrigued. “So you’re from England.”
“Yes.”
“Have you known Ivan for a long time?”
Her gaze softens, as if the memories themselves are as fragrant as the flowers she grows so beautifully. “Oh, yes. I’ve been with Mr. Ivanovich for eleven years now. He had just left Russia and was setting up his base in London. I was supposed to be based in his London apartment, but after a while he began to take me everywhere he went.”
“I see,” I say softly. “So he’s a good employer?”
“He is family. I’d trust him with my life,” she says simply.
“Oh!” I exclaim.
Ivan Ivanovich’s housekeeper regards him as family and trusts him with her life. Wow. I’m quiet, trying to reconcile this side of him with the man I’ve encountered. It feels like peeking behind a curtain, seeing a glimpse of a person I never expected. I thought he was just another powerful man who coasted through life, buying his way through everything. There’s more to him than I thought.
A small pang of envy flows into my body. She’s known him for so long, and she seems to have this unspoken bond with him. It’s effortless and pure, untainted by sex and wanting and resentment. It is something I’ll never have with him.
“I’ve always wanted a garden,” I say, more to change the subject than anything else. “But I’m afraid plants don’t like me too much. I tend to kill even the supposedly hardy houseplants I put on the windowsill.”
Muriel’s eyes brighten. “Well, you’re welcome to learn while you’re here. It’s late summer. I’ll be happy to teach you everything I know.”
I feel a buzz of excitement at the prospect “I’d love that. Can we… sorry if I’m being too forward, but can we start today? Like now…”
She grins and it lights up her whole face. “Of course. But after the scones.”
“Deal.”
She waits while I cut a scone in half, butter it, spread a generous amout of clotted cream and jam on it, then eat it in three mouthfuls. It’s delicious. Then I grab my phone off the bedside table and follow her out of the room, feeling a sudden lightness, like I’m breaking free from the weight that’s been sitting on my chest.
We walk down the grand staircase in silence, the soft patter of our steps echoing in the quiet hallways. The afternoon light filters through the windows, casting warm shadows as we head toward the conservatory, the tension I’ve been carrying since Ivan left eases off.
As soon as we enter the conservatory it’s like walking into another world again. This time, I notice the vines that have been skillfully trained to drape the walls. Sunlight pours through the glass ceiling, bathing the sofa where Ivan took me in a golden glow. I turn my head away quickly.
Muriel leads me deeper in. The conservatory is bigger than I first thought. Her steps are quick and confident like she knows every corner, every leaf. The garden stretches out beyond the forest-like plants, and I’m surrounded by a patchwork of flowers and herbs—small clusters of marigolds, basil, rosemary, and rows of tomatoes. I take a deep breath, inhaling the mix of fresh earth, and blooming flowers.
“When I first got my hands on this place,” Muriel says, her voice soft, “it was just sad, you know? They discarded all the gorgeous miniature trees and lovely greenery they had used for the showing and only left behind a few house plants that had seen better days. I had to start from scratch.”
She points at the marigolds, their fiery orange petals almost glowing. “These are my summer fighters. Late bloomers, and they just fill up the space with this burst of color. It makes everything feel alive, even when other flowers are fading.”
Her hands sweep toward the wooden box full of lavender. “Lavender’s my favorite. There are no bees so I pollinate them all myself with a brush. I love their calming scents so much that I use the flowers to make little sachets for the pillows. Keeps things smelling fresh.”
I nod. “Aha! That’s what I was smelling last night.”
She smiles. “Yes.”
“You’ve planned this place like a story,” I say, noticing how everything seems to flow.
There’s a twinkle in her eye. “That’s exactly it. It’s not just a garden; it’s an ecosystem. The basil grows well next to the tomatoes, and the rosemary keeps the pests away. Everything works together, and in return, it all thrives.”