Mum’s the Word. Kate Lawson
doing a lot of corporate work and he thought they might be keen to get involved with something like this. I’ve got a name –’ Susie pulled a notebook out of her bag. ‘Usual stuff, from their point of view we’d give them publicity for their new venture, lots of people would see it, mention it in the press, etc., etc. And I thought we could maybe beef up their bit in the catalogue as they’ve also provided twice as many placements in their business this year as last.’
Austin nodded. ‘Good plan. Front foyer and that grey bit outside, with the sliding glass doors and the prevailing sense of doom, always reminds me of an abattoir. Who’s your contact there? I’ll give them a ring if you like, no point in having a fancy title if you don’t get to flaunt it once in a while.’
‘Do you mind?’
Austin shook his head. ‘Not at all.’
Susie flicked through the pages of her notebook till she got to one with a slim, winding, detailed doodle of a rambling rose that made its way up the side of the page, winding its way through a shopping list and a dental appointment till it got to, ‘Saskia Hill, events and conference coordinator, Hill’s Nurseries.’
Colin nodded appreciatively. ‘Boss’s daughter?’
‘Or his wife, or maybe it’s even, incredibly, her business,’ Susie said coolly.
‘And the number?’ asked Austin.
Susie slid the pad over. ‘There are two there.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll try and sort it out. Now – in terms of content, how are we doing?’
‘Well,’ said Nina, glancing down at her list. ‘We’ve got some great paintings of Electric Mickey’s arse.’
The rest of the meeting was done and dusted inside half an hour. Susie’s first class rolled in at ten; she and Nina got down to working with the second-year child-care students, finishing off their project on printing. After lunch it was collage and calligraphy with some special-needs kids, and at three there was a life class with a group of mature students on the Arts Access course. In between times, students wandered in to pick things up, ask advice, work on their own projects or sit at the back, gossip and drink coffee. One thing about working in college was that life was never dull.
And the good thing for Susie about being so caught up in what she was doing was that it pushed Robert out to the margins of her mind.
Just as she was leaving for the day, Austin appeared. ‘Susie?’
She swung round.
‘I managed to speak to the nursery this afternoon and Saskia Hill suggested you pop in to discuss what you have in mind. She sounds very up for getting involved with the college. Lots of noises about wanting to develop partnerships with education and local industry – anyway, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could pop in on your way home, is there? She said she’d be there till around six thirty.’
‘Okay.’
‘Great.’ He grinned and then added, ‘So how are things?’
Susie pasted on a big cheery smile. ‘Things? Things are not bad. How about you?’
Austin’s expression softened. ‘I’ve known you a lot of years, Susie, and you’re a lousy liar. Neen said there was trouble at t’mill.’
‘How very kind of her. Is there anyone who doesn’t know about me and Robert splitting up?’ Susie said crossly, and then paused and waved the words away. ‘Sorry, that was horribly rude, Austin. Thanks for asking, but I’m okay and it’s nothing I can’t work my way through.’
‘Well, if you need anything –’ He left the sentence and the sentiment open.
‘A bigger studio?’ Susie picked up her bag and headed for the door. ‘A pay rise?’
He pulled a face.
‘World peace –’
‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Are you in tomorrow?’
‘Certainly am. We’ll be going through stuff for the exhibition and then mounting work tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give Ms Hill a quick ring on my mobile and try to catch her on the way home tonight.’
Austin grinned. ‘You’re a star.’
Hill’s Nurseries was on the edge of town on the coast road, ten minutes’ drive from the college and around thirty-five minutes from Susie’s cottage. Easing into the long, slow stream of people making their way home, Susie crept along the road to the bypass, radio on, windows open, enjoying the sunshine, Radio Four, and the promise of summer.
As a business Hill’s Nurseries had fared really well in terms of position. Tucked just off the main drag, once upon a time it had been surrounded by open farmland, but over the last ten years or so an executive housing estate had slowly sneaked up to surround it, and on the other side of the road, sheltered from the hoi polloi by mature trees and thick hedges, stood a hamlet of elegant detached family houses, bought by the affluent and the upwardly mobile since they’d been built at the turn of the twentieth century, an elegant suburb of the busy market town with its fisher fleet and port.
It was a perfect place for the business to be. The family nursery had blossomed and embraced the trend towards more stylish, flamboyant, sexier gardening. On the kerbside, beside the immaculate, weed-free gravelled driveway, signage announced it had been on local and national TV, won national recognition and acclaim for its plants and had an award-winning garden designer on the staff. Even at six on a weekday evening the beautifully coiffured car park was well over half-full with an assortment of Discoverys, SUVs and smart little town cars. Framed on three sides by neat glass houses and bays of plants fenced off by trellis and low, stylish fencing the whole place could have stepped fully fledged out of a Sunday Times colour supplement. Susie imagined it was heaving at the weekends with the Barbour army filling up on olive trees and pots of wild rocket and organic coriander.
She pulled in behind a big shiny black 4x4, locked up, and headed across towards the main shop, where the man behind the counter rang through to Saskia’s office. A few minutes later a tall blonde girl in her early twenties came over to meet her.
It had to be said that Saskia Hill didn’t look like your average horticulturalist; she certainly didn’t look as if she’d be much use humping bags of compost around or slapping down a patio. She was immaculately made up, wore tailored black trousers with high-heeled black boots, a matching collarless edge-to-edge jacket and a jade-green shirt, all of which owed far more to a designer label than any trade catalogue. As she walked, Saskia flashed perfect dentition – although the smile appeared to be more of a professional tool than revealing any genuine warmth – before holding out a slim, cool hand in greeting. ‘You must be Susie, how nice to meet you, why don’t you come through to my office.’
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.’
The girl waved the words away. ‘Not at all. I’ve got another appointment this evening. No rest for the wicked.’
She exuded a cool confidence that Susie found disconcerting; it had to be business school and the effects of lots of cold hard cash.
Saskia directed Susie into a small office overlooking a paved area set with shrubs and a little pool, the perfect example of how to style a small town garden. ‘Now, how can we help you?’ she said as she slipped behind her desk and indicated a seat.
‘It must be wonderful working with plants,’ Susie said, looking out at the display. ‘The terrace out there is very nice.’
Saskia smiled again, although Susie noticed it still didn’t quite make it to her eyes. ‘Thank you. We regularly remodel all the exhibition gardens on a rota basis. Some people prefer to buy a complete look – we can provide the whole thing as a kit. Plans, plants, hard landscaping. It’s the kind of service busy people appreciate; it was one of my ideas to improve turnover, bring the family firm up-to-date – take the guesswork out of gardening.’
It