Free Hothouse Flower by Lucinda Riley Page A

no mention of it.’ He placed his knife and fork together on the side of his empty plate. ‘Your grandfather had over two hundred different species of orchids growing in his hothouses. I haven’t found this one recorded yet, but I’m going to keep looking.’
    ‘Changing the subject for a moment,’ said Julia, ‘did Alicia mention the diary that Kit Crawford found under the floorboards in their old cottage?’
    ‘Yes, she did, briefly. Apparently, it’s an account of being a prisoner of war in Changi jail. If you’re going to ask me whether Bill was in Changi during the war, I’d have to tell you I’ve no idea,’ said George. ‘The only person who’d know would be Elsie, your grandmother. I had a Christmas card from her and she’s still going strong at eighty-seven. Why don’t you go and visit her?’
    ‘I’m going to, Dad,’ said Julia. ‘Alicia’s given me her number and I intend to give her a call.’
    ‘Good. So what else is new? Apart from perhaps thinking whether you really want to stay for much longer in that depressing cottage of yours.’
    ‘I know,’ Julia agreed. ‘But it’s only in the last couple of days I’ve actually realised how ghastly it is.’
    ‘And no room in it for a piano …’ added George softly.
    ‘I don’t want a piano,’ Julia said vehemently, ‘but if I’m going to be here for a while, then I might get Agnes to ship a few of my things over from France.’
    ‘That’s the spirit, darling. Right,’ George banged the table, ‘I must be off. I’ve a pile of emails to answer and a lecture to write before tomorrow morning.’
    Julia waited for him at the entrance to the pub whilst he paid, and they walked companionably across the road and up the hill to the cottage.
    ‘Darling, this has been an unexpected pleasure.’ George enveloped Julia in his arms and hugged her. ‘Take care and please keep in touch.’
    ‘I will, promise.’
    Her father nodded, then ambled off in the direction of his car.

7
    The following morning, Julia called Elsie. The old lady was delighted to hear from her, making Julia feel further guilt that she hadn’t made the effort to get in touch, and she arranged to drive to Southwold for tea the following Saturday. After that, she dressed, threw on her coat and set off for the hothouses of Wharton Park, glad to have a positive destination rather than face a long day of solitude at the cottage.
    The fact that she was finding the silence at home so much harder than she had up to now, she accepted as a good sign. But if she wasn’t to drive herself mad with empty days, it also meant that it was time to make some plans for the future.
    She turned right into the entrance of Wharton Park, admiring the copper beeches that fringed the edges of the parkland on either side of the drive. And the old oak, under which, legend had it, Anne Boleyn had once kissed Henry VIII.
    Five hundred yards later, she turned right again and drove down the bumpy road that would eventually take her to the Quad. Beyond that lay the kitchen garden, in which the hothouses nestled. Feeling a shadow of the excitement and anticipation she had experienced as a child, she realised it mattered hugely to her that they were still there.
    She parked her car in the Quad and stepped out into the chilly air. She remembered this as a place of high activity; as well as the families who lived around it, the stables were also here. There had been horses clopping in and out, bales of hay constantly being transferred and dumped in the barns from the tractors, narrowly avoiding the workers’ children playing football in the centre of the Quad.
    It had been a world within a world …
    Which now stood silent and deserted.
    Julia left the car and walked along the overgrown path towards the kitchen garden. The blue door was still there, albeit covered in ivy. With effort, she pushed it open and walked through.
    The carefully cultivated long lines of carrots, peas, cabbages and parsnips were no