I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Seventeen

At Tillington each morning I'd write in my journal until breakfast arrived, then if it was fair I'd sit outside in one of the gardens and write. If the weather wouldn't allow that then I'd sit in the window in the farthest corner of the library, as it had one of those cushioned seats connected to the window. After lunch I'd have a nap and a stroll around the grounds, sometimes I'd stop by the stables to talk to and brush the horses.

After dinner Alex and I'd take seats in the library and have a go at chess or backgammon, sometimes Scrabble then I'd work in my book journal until bath time after which I read until I fell asleep. It was so peaceful I often found myself wishing I could remain there forever. Then I'd cross paths with Anthony and remember how much I loved Oxfordshire.

On Thursdays Alex and I drove into London and took in a museum or did some other sightseeing and browsed around in her favourite shops. The best part of our outings was her commentary so on our expeditions I tried to be quiet because she'd usually tell me a story about her life if I didn't start blathering on.

Most of those days are a blur of paintings and sculptures or cultivated gardens if we decided to visit a house owned by aristocracy. The day we visited Kew gardens stands out particularly because of the white metal and glass structure of the Palm House. It looked like something from a science fiction film, except filled with plants. Whilst we were walking along a path Alex said, 'We came here when I was a child and I pretended I lived in the Palm House. I imagined hiding out until everyone went home and having the entire place to myself.'

'The birth of a future gardener.'

She chuckled, 'Something like that. It was hereditary, I think. My father was a keen gardener, as well. He designed all of the gardens at Tillington.'

'Would you like acres of flowers to attend?'

'I suppose. Not that I'm not fond of my little Jekyll Mixed.'

'Your what what?'

'That's the name of my garden.'

'You named your garden?'

She laughed, 'No, it's the type of garden at my house. The kind with all sorts of colours and varying heights.'

'Yeah, I like the textures.'

'I hadn't thought of it that way. I'd like a Victorian garden,' at my raised eyebrows, 'they're designed very formally and usually have a fountain and gravel walks.'

I nodded, as we had seen a few of those at country homes. 'What's that thing called with the complicated patterns at Tillington? The one that takes up most of the west side in the back?'

'That's a Renaissance Knot garden.'

'I like the way the coloured flowers are kept in place by low hedgerows rather than by bricks or stones, it makes it look like a big kid's colouring book of Escher designs or something.'

'The borders are boxwood or lavender hedges. Knot gardens were my father's passion as they were beautiful and colourful, but very ordered.'

'Yeah, it looks like a...what's the word for the symbol of five that's laid out like a square with one in the centre? I know there's a word for it.'

'A quincunx.'

'Yeah, it looks like that. It's kind of amazing that someone could make something wild like plants grow in such an organised way.'

'Father was quite the fan of organisation whereas I wanted something less contrived. Wilder. Perhaps that's why the thought of possessing an enormous, rambling garden appealed to me so.'