Free The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton

‘Inside were the deeds to another house.’
    ‘Whose house?’
    ‘Nell’s house.’
    ‘Nell doesn’t have another house.’
    ‘It would appear she does, or did. And now it’s yours.’
    Cassandra didn’t like surprises, their suddenness, their randomness.
    Where once she’d known how to surrender herself to the unexpected, now the very suggestion heralded a surge of instant fear, her body’s learned response to change. She picked up a dry leaf lying by her shoe, folded it in half and in half again as she thought.
    Nell hadn’t mentioned another house, not in all the time they’d lived together, while Cassandra was growing up and since she’d been back. Why not? Why would she have kept such a thing secret? And what could she have wanted with it? An investment? Cassandra had heard people in the coffee shops on Latrobe Terrace talking about rising property prices, investment portfolios, but Nell? Nell had always 50
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    poked fun at the inner-city yuppies who shelled out small fortunes for the tiny timber workers’ cottages of Paddington.
    Besides, Nell’d reached retirement age long ago. If this house were an investment, why hadn’t she sold it? Used the money to live on?
    Dealing antiques had its rewards but financial remuneration was not chief among them, not these days. Nell and Cassandra made enough to live on but not much besides. There’d been times when an investment would’ve come in pretty handy, yet Nell had never breathed a word.
    ‘This house,’ Cassandra said finally, ‘where is it? Is it nearby?’
    Ben shook his head, smiled bemusedly. ‘That’s where this whole thing gets really mysterious. The other house is in England.’
    ‘England?’
    ‘The UK, Europe, other side of the world.’
    ‘I know where England is.’
    ‘Cornwall, to be precise, a village called Tregenna. I’ve only got the deeds to go by, but it’s listed as “Cliff Cottage”. From the address, I’d guess it was part of a larger country estate originally. I could find out if you like.’
    ‘But why would she . . . ? How could she . . . ?’ Cassandra exhaled.
    ‘When did she buy it?’
    ‘The deeds are stamped 6 December 1975.’
    She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Nell hasn’t even been to England.’
    It was Ben’s turn to look surprised. ‘Yes she has. She went on a trip to the UK, back in the mid seventies. She never mentioned it?’
    Cassandra shook her head slowly.
    ‘I remember when she went. I hadn’t known her long, it was a few months before you came on the scene, when she still had the little shop near Stafford Street. I’d bought a few pieces from her and we were acquaintances if not yet friends. She was gone just over a month.
    I remember because I’d put a cedar writing desk on lay-by right before she left, a birthday gift for my wife—least it was s’posed to be, didn’t turn out that way in the end. Every time I went to collect it, the shop was closed.
    ‘Don’t have to tell you, I was ropeable. It was Janice’s fiftieth and the desk was perfect. When I paid the deposit Nell didn’t mention that she was going on holidays. In fact, she made a point of outlining her lay-by 51
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    terms, made it clear she was expecting weekly payments and that I’d need to collect the desk within a month. She wasn’t a storage facility, she said, she’d have more stock coming in and needed the room.’
    Cassandra smiled; it sounded just like Nell.
    ‘She was absolutely insistent, that’s what made it so odd when she wasn’t there all that time. After I got over the initial irritation I became quite worried. Even thought about calling the police.’ He waved his hand. ‘Didn’t have to, as it turned out. On my fourth or fifth visit I bumped into the lady next door who was collecting Nell’s mail. She told me Nell was in the UK but became