"I would like to Apologize for the very late update, i was sick the last time i tried to make an update. 

CHAPTER SEVEN:

'Good night, Clair.'

'Good night, my pet.' Claire kissed her on the cheek. 

'You haven't forgotten that we're going to start on the waste tomorrow?'

'No, Dear.'

'And when it's finished will it be my very own?'

'It will.'

'A garden of my own. . .' Lindy yawned sleepily.

'I think I know a poem about it. . . .'

The 'waste' a narrow strip of land which at one time had been a swamp, was now a dumping ground for every kind of rubbish, from rusty iron bedsteads to  old dolly tubs. Claire suspected that most of this came from the farm cottages and felt sure that Simon knew nothing about it.

The ground was long way from the house and hidden from the field and road by thick rhododendron bushes and young fir trees, so that Claire knew nothing of its existence until Lindy, having several times expressed a desire for a garden of her own, had said that she was sure they could make one out of the waste. Unable to ignore her pleading for long, Claire had rashly promised to help her, without even taking a look at the waste. She was more than a little horrified when she did see it, but having once made the promise she obviously couldn't break it. Lindy would have begun right away, but Claire said it would be better to wait until sunday, when they could perhaps get one of the farm men to give a hand in removing the rubbish. She mentioned it to one of the young men on saturday morning.

'I'd willingly remove it for you, miss,' he said, 

'But there's nowhere to put.'

The man did not srike Claire as eager for a little extra money, but on examining the waste more thoroughly and discovering just now much rubbish had been tipped there, she had to agree with him.

'can't we put it all at one end and plant something in front of it?' Lindy suggested, kicking at some nettles and squealing when her legs were stung.

'I'm afraid we'll have to.' Idiot, Claire told herself. What on earth would Simon say when he knew? Lindy's dress was already filthy, and 'pulled' from contact with the brambles and wild roses. Her doeskin sandals werecaked in wet soil and if she went on like this there would be no toes left in them at all. 

'Lindy dear, don't you think this is rather too much for us?'

'I knew your were going to say that.' Lindy's lips quivered and she half turned away. 'Uncle Simon used to promise things and then say he hadn't time. But i never thought you'd break a promise.'

'I haven't broken my promise, Lindy. If you want to carry on with the garden, we'll do so.' what a mess she'd plunged herself into through her rashness: this was an almost impossible task. Claire hadn't the vanguest idea where they would start. 

'But of course I want to. Will you really help me, Claire?'

'Yes,' she sighed. 'But first we must find you some old clothes and shoes.'

An hour later Lindy was on her knees, making an heroic effort with the weeds and saying that, as all her spare time would now be spent in her garden, she had better have some trousers and a shirt like Claire's.

'You look lovely in white, Claire do you think it will suit me as well? I'm much fairer, aren't i?

'Perhaps another colour would be better. My favorite colour is blue, so i think i'll have a blue shirt. Oh, you do look funny! You've just made a big black smudge on your nose!' 

'Look who's talking!' Claire retorted. 'You, young lady, are going in the bath before lunch!'

Lindy Chuckled.

'Am i dirty, too? It's a good thing Uncle Simon Can't see me------ Oh!' 

'Serves you right, you should go and find some old gloves. I've warned you about the nettles.'

'It--- isn't the nettles, Claire.'

Claire, also on her knees, struggling with some old bricks embedded in the soil, scrambled to her feet and hastily brushed herself down.

'Mr. Condliffe ! I-----we-------'

'Don't let me interrupt you,' Simon commented, eyeing them both in some amusement. 'I like to see people working. Er---may I inquire what this is all about?' He smiled down at his niece. 'What are you doing?' 

'Gardening,' Lindy said, and for the first time Claire could have shaken her. No need for that silky tone, or for her to turn away, almost snubbing her Uncle.

Simon looked at Claire, obviously perplexed. 

'Lindy wanted a garden of her own,' explained Claire, feeling extremely foolish. No one with any sense would try to make a garden out of this. 'We thought this place might do----cleared, of course.'

Looking around, he realized what a state the plot of ground was in, and frowned at Claire, as though the reponsibility were all hers. 

'Who's put all this stuff here? where has it come from?' 

'I don't know,' replied Claire, feeling thankful that his concern with the rubbish had diverted his attention from Lindy's exceedingly grubby appearance. After saying he would see Richardson the bailiff, in the morning, he called Lindy over to him.

'Why didn't you tell me you wanted a garden of your own?' The emphasis on the 'me' was almost imperceptible, but Claire detected the hint of jealousy in his tone.

'I don't know,' Lindy twisted her neck, looking for Claire.

'Wouldn't you like one nearer the house?'

She shook her head. 

'It wouldn't be private.'

Simon and Claire laughed together: the tension eased, and Lindy's face broke into a difficult smile.

'I came to find you,' Simon told her. 'We're almost strangers, these days.'

'You're always busy, Uncle Simon.'

'I won't be---not after next week. My work is fairly well in hand-- for a while, at least. What are you going to plant in your garden?'

Lindy's eyes opened wide.

'Do you think it ever will be a garden?'

'Don't you?'

'Oh yes,' she replied confidently. But i didn't think you would. You don't think we're silly, then, to cry and move all this, I mean?'

'I do,' he replied, throwing Claire a glance of good humoured deprecation. 'And I'm afraid i can't allow Miss Harris to take such a heavy burden upon herself.'

'I don't mind at all, Mr. Condliffe,' she put in quickly as Lindy's face fell. 'I shall only move it up to that end.'

'If you'll allow me to finish?' His glance, though still good-humoured, held reproof, and Claire apologized. Then he went on to say that he would have the rubbish removed by the council and then have several loads of topsoil. 

'After that you can take over. Make a list of what you want and I'll order it from the nursery.' He turned to Lindy. 'Have you decided what flowers you would like?'

'Are you really going to do all that?' Lindy's blue eyes widened as she stared up her uncle in surprise and disbelief.

'Haven't I always given you what you wanted?'

'Yes. . . but things to wear and toys aren't like gardens.'

Talking to him about what flowers she liked best Lindy seemed to relax even more, and Claire, hearing him invite her to come a little nearer and tell him what she had been doing with herself for the past fortnight, moved away and began to collect up the wheels and put them into the wheelbarrow. For the first few minutes she did not listen to their conversation, but on hearing the words, 'Uncle Ken,' she could not help pricking up her ears.

'Who is she?' Simon inquired with a new interest. 

'Claire's friend. He's staying in Melhurst for a little while: that's why he was able to come with us on the picnic. He gave me a piggyback all the way home because I hurt my foot on a thorn and it bled. His other name is Mr. Rayner but he said I could call him Uncle Ken because when he comes to live here we shall have lots of picnics together.

Claire's then heard Simon's voice, suddenly cold and deliberate, sending a prickle of apprehension down her spine.

'And is Mr. Rayner coming to live here?

'Oh yes, he's going to be our new vicar.'

Claire spun round, her face colouring hotly with embarrastment.

'Lindy has it all wrong, Mr. Condliffe, I---we---weren't counting------ Oh dear, I didn't mean that.' 

with every word Ken's chances were slipping away.

'Please don't think that we . . . '

'That you were counting your chickens before they were hatched?' There was a lift to his brow and an odd inflection in his voice. 

'I said i didn't mean that.' She looked up miserably.

'We only talked of the possibility of his obtaining the living here.'

'I presume that this---Mr. Rayner is the gentleman Miss Corwell mentioned?'

'Yes. . . . . He's writen  you.'

'I believe he has.'

An unbearable silence followed, Claire wanting desperately to explain, to ask him not to allow Lindy's words to prejudice him: Simon impersonal,aloof and quite unapproachable. He broke the silence, asking her what arrangements they had come to regarding her free time.

'I seem to have forgotten,' he added.

'You said I could have every evening and every saturday.' she informed him, wondering what was coming next.

'I see; so yesterday was your day off?'

'Yes.'

'There will be no need for you to encumber youself with Lindy on your day off, Miss Harris. You may leave her with Tilda in future.

Claire began to tell him that she didn't mind at all having her, and that Lindy was thrilled at the prospect of a picnic, but then she tailed off, suddenly enlightened.

'I prefer you to leave her at home, Simon told her curtly.

'Yes, Mr. Condliffe. I---- I won't take her again.'

Simon turned to speak to his niece, and a moment later, as she watched him striding away towards the house, Claire knew that Ken's chances of being appointed to the living were nil. What a disastrous thing for Lindy to say! Yet it was useless to blame the child. Noticing Lindy's appearance again Claire felt she herself had come off lightly. There were quite a few other things about  which her employer could have complained.