Chapter Eight
Conversation on the way to the Lloyd residence was non-existent. Jack was too tired to overcome his anger and make an overture, and Phryne didn't want to make matters worse.
Jack drove.
Thinking to remind him that she was still a useful member of society, Phryne leaped out of the car as soon as it stopped and stalked to the front door to yank the bell. There was, however, no response.
"Can I help you?"
She swung round, and saw a man getting up from his work attending to one of the borders of the luxuriant garden.
"I'm sorry – we were looking for Mr Lloyd?" she asked politely.
"Oh, he's not in the house just now. You'll need to come back later," said the gardener. Apparently declaring the matter closed, he turned his back and knelt down once more. A slight grimace accompanying the action was the only hint that perhaps his career might be time-limited.
"Er … how much later?" asked Jack.
"Couldn't say" was the unhelpful response.
The sleuths exchanged glances, and Phryne decided to have one more go.
"These are lovely – what are they?"
A cursory glance was afforded to the shrub she was indicating – delicate pinkish-white flowers emerged from the ends of its branches.
"Lomatia. Lomatia myricoides." He straightened up and came to join her in admiration of it. "Long leaved lomatia to you. Here, have a sniff." He guided one of the branches towards her with a gentle hand. She sniffed obediently and smiled at him.
"Delicious," she commented.
He nodded. "One of my favourites. Very forgiving, and very rewarding." He set his hands on his hips and surveyed his workplace. "But then, so much of a garden is."
"Have you worked here long?"
"As long as the Lloyds have been here," he confirmed, his frozen demeanour thawing in face of Phryne's inexorable charm. Jack decided to leave her to it, and took a seat on a nearby bench to simply enjoy the verdant surroundings.
"Oh, is there a Mrs Lloyd? I hadn't realised," remarked Phryne chattily.
The shutters came down again.
"Not any more. She died."
He turned back to his work, the interview apparently over.
They were about to give up and get back into the Hispano when a delivery bicycle came up the drive. The lad riding it saw the occupants of the garden and steered towards them. Hailing the gardener, he shouted cheerily,
"I've got your order, Mr Lloyd – you want it round at the kitchen door?"
The gardener straightened again and called back an affirmative to the lad, who took himself off.
"Mr Lloyd." Jack said quietly. "Any particular reason why you didn't identify yourself to us?"
The old man regarded them woodenly, and sighed.
"You'd better come in."