We continued our stroll through the garden, slowing at the edge of the woodland to pick our way over the scattered fallen fruit that Ruth told me were greengages. Hundreds more of them hung from the branches overhead, and Ruth and I picked several, passing some to Edwin. They were perfectly ripe, and all three of us exclaimed over their heavenly flavor, spitting the stones away into the undergrowth and wiping our mouths with our hands. The tension in my stomach began to ease.
My early impression of Ruth was of someone self-contained and calm, with a controlled way of moving and speaking. I worried at first that her reserved manner meant she didn’t like me, but as we followed the winding path through the trees, I began to suspect this was her natural personality, and I found myself warming to her. She seemed to forget she was meant to be interviewing me; she complained good-naturedly when she caught cobwebs in her hair, and was gentle in her handling of an earthworm that Edwin presented her with. I examined her in brief sideways glances. Below average height and delicate boned, she was the physical opposite of me. I wondered whether she was always this pale. Perhaps it was due to the difficult time she had mentioned.
They showed me the tall iron gate in the back of the boundary wall, but we didn’t have time to go out to the cliffs and see the sea.
“Next time,” Ruth said. I was returning her smile before the full implication of her words sank in, and then the remaining tension in my stomach melted away.
We toured the vegetable garden and the apple orchard on our circular route back toward the house, and Ruth introduced me to the gardener, Mr. Harris. With his thick white hair and leathery skin, he had the appearance of a person who’d lived outdoors his whole life.
“Mister Michael Harris is Joel’s grandad,” Edwin told me.
“You’ll have passed his cottage in the lane,” Ruth said.
The older man nodded at me, and I smiled back. I used to love helping my aunt in the garden of her little bungalow, before Mum fell out with her and I was banned from visiting. When Michael slid open the greenhouse door for Edwin to pick a handful of sun-warmed tomatoes, I leaned in to inhale the earthy aroma of humid green growth.
The biggest surprise came at the end of our walk. Sheltered by the back wall of the stable block, encircled by faded timber decking and a hedge of lavender, was a glorious turquoise-tiled swimming pool. The water sparkled invitingly in the August sunshine.
“You’re a swimmer, aren’t you?” Ruth asked. “Although the solar heating’s pretty puny, I’m afraid. You have to be fairly tough to bear it.”
I smiled. “I taught myself to swim at a lido when I was ten. It was freezing, but you get used to it.”
“And you swim competitively now?”
“I did, yes. Until—my exams, the last few months.” I squinted at a single green leaf floating on the surface of the pool. “I love it.”
“I’m glad,” Ruth said. “I’d much prefer to have someone who’s a strong swimmer. To keep Edwin safe, you know.”
I looked at the little boy. “What do you reckon, Edwin? Do you think we’re brave enough to swim in a bit of cold water?”
Edwin did a wild dance to show his enthusiasm for the idea, and Ruth laughed.
“Do you have any questions?” Ruth asked me, and then, “Have you had lunch? We had ours before you arrived. Come and sit on the patio, and I’ll bring some tea out.”
The patio furniture was more substantial than Mum’s three-piece suite at home, with sturdy wooden frames and deep cushions. Stone urns brimmed with orange marigolds and blue lobelia. Along with the tea, Ruth carried out a plate laden with squares of chocolate tiffin, cinnamon pastries, and slices of carrot cake with thick lemon frosting. Edwin scampered off to his sandpit with a piece of tiffin cake, and Ruth poured the tea.
“I was very impressed by your references from your school,” she said. “I’d like to offer you the job, Laura. I do hope you’ll say yes. I think you and Edwin would get on extremely well together.”
I fumbled with my saucer. “Yes, please,” I said. “Thank you. That’s brilliant.”
“Lovely,” she said. “Can you start a week from Monday?”
I was finishing my second slice of cake when the peace of the garden was interrupted by sounds drifting over from the front of the house. Tires crunched over gravel, and a door slammed. Ruth made a noise in her throat.
“My mother’s taxi,” she said. She didn’t get up. “Technically, this is her house, and she likes to keep an eye on what goes on. She was angling to meet you. Sorry.” She must have caught my expression, because she added, “Oh, don’t worry, she doesn’t visit that often. She comes down from London once ortwice a month on the train. Anyway, she’ll adore you. I’m sure of it.”
“Granny!” Edwin hurtled toward the woman who stepped out onto the patio, his arms outstretched. Her sleek bob of dark hair was immaculate, her white blouse pristine, but she dropped her handbag and swung the little boy up and hugged him to her chest, laughing.
“Hello, my darling boy.”
I brushed cake crumbs from my lap as I stood.
“Mother, this is Laura Silveira,” Ruth said, remaining seated. “Laura, this is Vera Blackwood, my mother.”
Vera’s handshake was firm, and I braced myself against her appraising expression, struck by an unsettling conviction that she understood more about my personality and my background from that brief greeting than Ruth did after an hour of talking to me. I wondered whether Vera had met the other girl Ruth said she’d interviewed. I found myself scrutinizing Vera in return, wondering how it felt to own a house like this and yet live elsewhere.
Vera’s direct gaze softened when she smiled, and she nodded as she released my hand. She turned to Ruth.
“Sorry to interrupt your interview, darling. How are you getting along?”
