Orchid House

Jane Sheridan

Description

The Orchid House' is a stunning and unforgettable novel about the relationships of three friends, Ginny, Bella and Leila, and climatic developments in their personal lives that change everything.Ginny and David Sinclair, aware their marriage is now on the rocks, visit the moors of Devon to try to recapture the feelings of their earlier years. Instead of peace and resolution, extraordinary events take place where David rescues a young girl trapped in a fast-flowing river. Meanwhile Bella Boswell, back home in Sandwich in Kent, is trying to escape her tyrannical husband, Steve. Befriended by Ginny and by Ginny's friend Leila Mistry, a legal advocate for women, Bella at last finds the courage to speak out. However, no one could have foreseen the disastrous consequences to follow. Leila herself is faced with an unwanted arranged marriage, and is made to choose between her family and the man she loves.

Informations

• Publié par: The Conrad Press
• Date de parution: 02 mars 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781913227944
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Orchid House
Jane Sheridan


The Orchid House
Published by The Conrad Press in the United2 Kingdom 2020
Tel: [phone] www.theconradpress.com 
 [e-mail]
ISBN 978-1-9132279-4-4
Copyright © Jane Sheridan, 2020
The moral right of Jane Sheridan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk
The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.


1
I t was a mid-March morning, and winter still held the east coast of Kent in its grip. Determined winds streamed across the English Channel, clutching rain-laden clouds. The people of Kent shivered, and waited for spring to arrive.
Ginny caught sight of her reflection in the bedroom mirror; she didn’t like what she saw - not one bit.
Tall and graceful, with a dancer’s figure, Ginny wore her clothes well. Today she had unintentionally dressed to match her mood - grey. Grabbing a red scarf from the top drawer of her dressing table, and swapping her comfortable black boots for stylish tan brogues - she looked again. Her black hair, curls tamed for the moment, lay at her shoulders. With a flick of her wrist, Ginny knotted her hair in place with her favourite tortoiseshell clip. Looking in the mirror again Ginny was satisfied that now at least, she looked a bit more cheerful.
Doubts about their weekend away in Devon had plagued her since she’d woken up. The idea of a romantic weekend with her husband, had morphed in her mind into what could possibly be the weekend from hell with David in his present grumpy and uncooperative mood. But there was no turning back now, she decided.
Ginny decided to walk the couple of miles to her mother Ellen’s house, to drop off Bertie, a spaniel-poodle crossbreed, for the weekend. The path to her mother’s cottage lying on the outskirts of Sandwich on the Kent coast, would take her through the town and out into the fields skirting the River Stour. Bertie twirled uncontrollably in excitement as soon as he saw Ginny picking up his lead,
‘For goodness’ sake Bertie, calm down - in fact be a good boy and sit,’ she said in mock anger, a command Ginny knew would be totally ignored. She smiled to herself remembering David’s words declaring him the most disobedient dog he’d ever had the misfortune to own.
By the time Ginny was ready to set off she was cheered to see the sun peeping through the heavy grey clouds. She threaded her way through the narrow streets of Sandwich town centre and along King Street. Walking briskly to fend off the morning chill, and then on to Strand Street, through the Barbican and finally out onto the quay.
The sight of the river never failed to lift her spirits, and today, as usual, a boat sat moored, beckoning prospective seal watchers. Ginny shivered at the thought of the cold winds out to sea, and began to wish she had put another warm layer on. Following the river along the towpath until she reached open fields, she let Bertie, who’d been straining to be free, off his lead. The banks of the river, now mudflats after years of silting, were home to wading birds, their scrawny footprints temporarily etched in the soft alluvium. Reeds lined the river, their roots easily embedding in the soft silty mud, their summer’s feathery flowers now a delicate tracery atop slowly rotting stems.
Bertie, thrilled at being free at last, cavorted around Ginny’s legs with abandoned joy, creating mayhem with every dog they met. Ducks circled in the dingy water, feet busy paddling against the tide getting nowhere. The annual mating ritual had begun; a startlingly violent affair. Ginny watched a female duck being set upon by six determined amorous drakes. Bertie thought the frantic flurry of wings hugely exciting, and tried to join in with a mating call all of his own.
The footpath meandered by the side of the river following its gentle curves through farmland and eventually out to sea. An elderly couple stopped to admire Bertie and to chat about the vagaries of the British weather. There was something about the silly, hairy exuberance of the dog that made everyone smile. She turned to watch as they walked away, hand in hand, and wondered if she and David would be like that in twenty years time? She hoped so; if only they could get over this… but what exactly was this ?
The sight of her mother’s flint cottage tucked away, down a little-used lane, cheered her, as it always did. She knew tea homemade cake and conversation would be waiting for her.
‘Are you OK, darling? You’re a bit quiet,’ Ellen probed with all the instincts of a terrior. Ginny settled in the wicker chair, in the tiny kitchen, surrounded by plants on every surface. Her mother, she knew, didn’t miss much, but Ginny wasn’t ready yet to voice her… her worries.
‘Is David all right?’ Ellen said, bang on target.
She summoned up a bright smile, making sure she didn’t catch her mother’s eye. ‘Yes he’s fine. Busy at work. You know what he’s like, Mum, always busy.’
‘Yes I do,’ Ellen replied, cryptically.
Ginny didn’t miss the flash of annoyance on her mother’s face. The last thing Ginny wanted was a discussion about David’s shortcomings. Quickly changing the subject she asked her mother about the latest plant in her collection; a striking pansy of the deepest, darkest purple. The subject of David was soon forgotten.
After an hour of chat, tea and cake Ginny decided she’d better get home and finish off her packing. David she hoped would be home just after lunch, as he promised. Ellen’s effortless hospitality had made her reluctant to leave the cosy warmth of her mother’s cottage and face what could turn out to be a disastrous weekend ahead.
Opening and closing drawers and cupboards, hoping to find some inspiration for what to take with her, Ginny decided on something warm, and remembering her mother’s earlier advice - something waterproof for the Devon rain. Throwing jeans and woolly pullovers into her bag, followed by a handful of underwear, and finally a silk nightdress; the red one, she knew David liked. Would he notice? Of course he would - wouldn’t he?
David had already packed. Ginny had heard him that morning, stumbling around the bedroom in the semi-darkness of the commuter’s world.
‘See you at lunchtime, David?’ Ginny had said, sleepily, ‘you won’t be late, will you?’ She heard what sounded like a grunt of agreement from him. ‘It’ll take about five hours to get there, and we’re expected for dinner.’ Ginny added, ‘and the later we leave the worse the traffic will be.’ Another grunt followed.
Ginny lay thinking in the not-quite-dawn gloom, of the weekend ahead. She was hoping this trip to Devon would remind David of their happier times together; of holidays with their three boys, before they all went off to boarding school. She smiled as the memories came flooding back of their tramps over the moors - the boys fighting and laughing in equal measure, leaving her and David free to hold hands, and wonder at the landscape. The boys were too old now to come with them – too independent, more interested in sport and their friends. She knew boarding school was supposed to teach them – independence, but… No I’m not going to think about my boys - not now.
Unnerved by his recent quietness, and the growing realisation that he didn’t seem to want to talk to her much anymore, Ginny was more than surprised when David agreed to go to Devon for a weekend. She had expected to have to use some persuasive arguments. She decided it was best not to mention she was hoping it would be a romantic weekend. The recent silence of their home had started to give her a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her plans to kick-start their marriage again in Devon suddenly felt doomed to failure.
Glancing at her watch, Ginny saw David should be home any minute - if he kept to his promise, that is, she thought. Zipping up her leather holdall, and applying a slick of ruby-red lipstick, Ginny went downstairs, leaving her bag by the front door.
Too restless to sit, she decided to wait for David in the Orchid House, a glass conservatory leading off the kitchen. Checking her watch after making a final walk around her precious orchids to see that they had enough water and warmth for the weekend, she saw with impatience that it was two-thirty and David was already late.
‘David,’ Ginny asked, the reception on his mobile really poor. ‘Where are you?’ She could barely hear him over the noise of the train on its tracks, drowning out his words. She just about heard half an hour and Rochester .
Hearing at last David’s car turn onto the gravel drive she went to open the front door for him.
‘It’s getting on for three, David,’ she fumed trying without any success to hide her irritation. ‘You promised you’d be home by one at the latest. We’re probably going to miss dinner. What’s kept you? You promised,’ her voice trailed off, as the words thudded between them.
‘Ginny, it’ll be fine,’ he said, turning to cross the hall to the stairs.
‘You promised me, though,’ she tried to stifle her anger that accompanied the accusation. Why didn’t he seem to care anymore?
‘Stop being so… impatient,’ David said, ‘I couldn’t get away.’ He stood at the bottom of the stairs, running his hand through his hair.
In that one gesture seen so often, Ginny could gauge his impatience with her. It was high. Deciding it wouldn’t help anything to have an argument, ‘I’ll put my things in the car and wait for you there.’
‘I need to change. I can’t go like this,’ he called after her, gesturing to his formal suit and tie. ‘I won’t be long.’
They left in quivering silence. Making a huge effort to calm down, Ginny loosened her tight hold on the steering wheel taking a deep steadying breath.