Garden of Stars: A gripping novel of hope, family and love across the ages. Rose Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ Inês hadn’t had any children, thought Sarah, pausing as she read. She had smiled at Inês’s mention of her pets, something that showed that, even though she regarded herself as a sophisticated adult, she was really not so very far away from childhood. But now she frowned, wondering as she often had why her great-aunt was childless. It was a subject that had always been untouched and somehow untouchable, as if some hidden force field barred it from being raised. Perhaps the journal would also shed some light on this mystery.

       The Alentejo, 1934

      I chose my wedding dress today! It is so hot now that there is nothing to do but sit out the long afternoons inside with the shutters closed and the stone floors cooling my bare feet. If I can’t be outside then I thought that I might as well put my time to good use by going through the sheaf of magazine cuttings the dressmaker lent me. Looking at all those immaculately coiffured brides in flowing white dresses gave me a headache; I had to keep thinking about John and how proud he would be to see me walking up the aisle towards him in order to concentrate on it. He is so tall and handsome, I need to look my very best so that I make all his hopes and dreams come true. Though I really shouldn’t think like that because I know that John truly loves me and finds me beautiful – he says so often enough, which always, annoyingly, makes me blush.

      It will be so thrilling to be married; apart from anything else, I’ll be free to do whatever I like. I love my family and the cork farm beyond belief but there are so many limitations on what I am allowed to do. Once I become Mrs John Morton next spring, no one will be overseeing my every move; I shall go where I please and do as I wish. Some people have questioned the fact that John is ten years older than me and cautioned that we should wait a while before marrying but I really don’t see why it matters. He says he has been waiting for the perfect woman to come along and now that I have, he wants to get on with it and I agree. At the moment, John lives in Lisbon but he’s changing his job and we’ll be going to Porto straight after the wedding. Porto! I’ve never even been there, in fact I haven’t been anywhere further north than Coimbra. He’ll be working for one of the British port wine companies, a very important job organising the shipping of the port all over the world. I’ll have to learn English so that I can accompany him to social events and dinners; I only learnt French at school but I’m sure English won’t be too much harder.

      I’ve been imagining where we will live – it’ll be completely different to here on the montado. This house is in the middle of nowhere but we’ll live in the city centre in Porto, in an apartment. I think it will have high ceilings, and tall windows that look out onto a square with a splashing fountain, and the sunlight will catch the water in a myriad jewelled droplets. It will be so romantic.

      But back to the dress. I finally found one that I liked. It has a nipped in waist, a beaded bodice and a long train. I will have it made in ivory satin as I think ivory is more sophisticated than pure white and sophistication is what I aspire to. I’m not sure that I’ll ever quite make it – can you be sophisticated when what you really love to do is go to the farmyard and scratch the sow behind her ears so that she grunts with pleasure? Or, in the springtime, spend hours amongst the cork oaks watching the kites hunting and spotting the baby black storks in their nests? I’m not too sure…but perhaps one day I’ll just wake up and find it has happened to me, as if by magic. Let’s hope so.

      My sister Maria is to be my bridesmaid. She’s only eight and very sweet. She has soft brown hair with a fringe that almost covers her eyes because she hates to get it cut and she smells of sun and green olive soap and home. We’re going to miss each other terribly. That is the bad part of growing up and getting married – I will gain so much but leave so much behind.

      Once, Maria got lost. She was already in bed – or supposed to be – as she is so much younger than Jorge, my brother who’s 16, and I. When my mother went to kiss her goodnight, she found her bed empty. There was an awful commotion – we all searched the house from top to bottom, but she was nowhere to be found. We went to the farmyard and left no stone unturned but she wasn’t there either. Finally, once we were all well and truly frantic with worry, Fausto the dog found her curled up and peacefully asleep amongst the roots of a cork tree.

      We were so relieved that she was safe that at first that’s all anyone could think of or talk about. But then it turned out that it was my fault, as I had told Maria that the cork trees get their shape because they jig about all night when no one is watching and then freeze to the spot, mid-dance, at daybreak. So she had gone out to see if it was true and unfortunately, because it was a dark night with hardly any starlight, she got completely lost and eventually became so tired with wandering blindly around the forest that she lay down to sleep, blissfully unaware of how much panic her disappearance had caused. Though pretty cross with me, for making up stories!

      I’ll miss all of this, when I’ve gone to Porto. But I must stop thinking like this. All of my friends are so jealous. They’d give their eye teeth to be marrying a man like John – so good-looking, so successful – and so exotically English.

      To make it up to Maria that I’m leaving, at lunchtime I let her be the one to show the rest of the family the picture of the dress. I think they approved, although my mother reprimanded me for running everywhere, calling me an unbroken pony, if you can believe it! Really, she does exaggerate sometimes. I could hardly stop myself from laughing, especially as I could see Maria biting her lip and trying to keep a straight face whilst I got a scolding.

      Soon, I’ll be in charge of the dining room and the meals, choosing what to serve, planning menus. That’s a scary thought, if I’m honest, because I’m not very domestic. But I’ll learn. People say you can learn anything if you put your mind to it. My family are so happy for me to be making such a good match that I have a lot of expectation to live up to.

      I can’t and I won’t let them down.

       London, 2010

      Sarah was still lost in Inês’s past when she heard the key in the lock that signalled that Hugo was home from work. Instinctively, she looked at her watch and saw that it was much later than his text had said he would be back. She had not noticed the passing of time, so engrossed was she in what she was reading. Hastily, she closed the journal and opened her laptop, on which the email asking her to do the Portuguese story was still open. She had almost forgotten about it, and the decision she had to make, with the distraction of seeing Inês, the encounter with her curious visitor, and the gift of the journal. Now some of Inês’s courage – preparing to leave all that was familiar to her in favour of the man she loved, to move far away from everything she knew – imbued itself in Sarah. She would not let painful memories that she should have left behind years ago define or restrict her.

      She would take the commission. She would go to Portugal.

      She heard the plump of Hugo’s bag on the hall floor and the click of the catch on the door of the downstairs cloakroom. By the time he had entered the kitchen, she was refilling her own glass and pouring one for him.

      “Hi,” she said, handing him the wine. “How was your day?”

      As soon as she’d said it, she knew it was a mistake.

      “Awful. Needy clients, uncooperative software, ridiculous deadlines.”

      Hugo sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. “What’s for supper?”

      “Oh!” cried Sarah, suddenly remembering the casserole in the oven. Snatching up the oven gloves, she tore open the oven door and hauled out the heavy dish. The damage was confirmed as soon as she lifted the lid.

      “I’m sorry, it’s a bit – well, dry.” She peered into the pan, the heat from the СКАЧАТЬ