Somewhere in the Country

After an unremitting winter, the trees had started to bloom.  This meant that Madame Balchony of Westgreen estate called the gardener from Kenliworth to come and analyse the buds.  She knew exactly how buds grew into leaves and illuminated the brown skeletons of the estate making an enviable display – even better in autumn.  However, every time there was a change in her vast garden (seasonal or otherwise) she insisted on seeing the gardener.

   “My husband always loved the garden this time of year.”  Mrs Balchony looked down at the pansies growing by the path.
   “Indeed, Mam.  Mr Balchony was very proud of his garden.”
   “Which is why I keep it so splendid, Mathew.”  They followed the path which ran adjacent to the house.  Mathew had already surveyed the buds with the lady; gave a long (but not patronising) lecture on their seasonal growth and demise; and then surmised another wonderful turnout this year, as always.

   “I must say that the landscapers have made excellent work of the shrubbery.”  Mrs Balchony nodded and acquiesced.  They said nothing and just walked.  Mathew looked from here to there as if for a distraction: a tiny job needing done, a person he must speak to; there was nothing but the rolling fields beyond the estate and birds chirping somewhere out of sight.  Finally: “Is there anything else that I can do for you, Mam?”

     The lady looked somewhat startled.  She was engrossed in their peaceful stroll.  “No, I suppose not, Mathew,” she said quietly, “I suppose you do have other gardens to furnish.”
   “Indeed I do,” Mathew beamed proudly. “But of course,” he remembered to console her, “you have my number so please do call me at the first thing you need for the grounds.”
   “Thank you, Mathew.”  He bowed and left swiftly.

     She stood for a moment watching her perfect grounds as they were.  She felt a raindrop on her face.  Then another.  The old lady walked slowly into her vast house and the heavy clouds soon followed.