This George Harrison x gardener!reader fic is turning out to be a hell of an undertaking.
Here’s some more to be going on with, including Olivia being the loveliest queen!
I’m not sure if this is just the rest of Chapter 1, or if it should be a whole new chapter in itself.
Anyway, leaving where we left off…
We’ll be joining a team of eight other gardeners, mostly from our company. They’ve been at this estate for several years already, and my mind is soon busy pondering what the place could possibly be like. But whatever I pictured could not compare with what was appearing in front of me.
Trees. As far as the eye can see. For all I know, we’re driving into a forest and this was all a big joke and Pete’s just gonna dump me here and that’s the end for me.
He’s mumbling to himself and there seems to be something wrong.
“Now, who’zat, I wonder,” he thinks aloud, glaring at something further down the road from us, and soon he’s on his radio. After all these years he still insists on using the radio instead of a mobile phone while he’s working.
The voice on the other end of the radio belongs to Lynda, one of our seasoned teammates. She explains that there’s an oversized lorry occupying the service drive – the entrance we’d typically take – and so we’ll have to go around again and use the main entrance. The long way.
Pete’s eyebrows start dancing.
“That’s a bit o’ luck there, ent it? We don’t norm’ly go in the front way, so don’t get used to this, mate,” he squeaks, clearly aware of something still kept secret from me. We pull back out onto the main road and continue driving past more and more trees that tower over a tall fence.
I think he’s missed it. There’s no way there’s a house here.
We reach an intersection at the top of a sunny hill when Pete quietly points a finger to our left… and suddenly it all makes sense.
We’re greeted by a big iron gate flanked by white stone pillars with stripes of red brick. Behind it, a long red road seems to wind off into the trees and disappear. To the left, tucked behind some huge topiaries, there’s a bizarre Gothic-looking building with the same red and white stripes as the gate. I have no idea what it’s for, but it alone is twice the size of the house I grew up in.
Before I can fully catch my breath, there’s another exchange of words over the radio – this one built into a pillar – and the gate doors part for our trusty old van to rumble through. Was there a name on the gate? Damn, girl, pay attention!
The road takes us past more trees, and I wish Pete would slow down. I’m trying not to show how eager I am, but it’s hard to contain my excitement when, out of the driver’s side window, glimmers and twinkles of morning sunshine reflect off the surface of what appears to be a small lake. Where the hell are we??
I squint hard through the windscreen, spotting a number of spires. As we round the corner, we can see more of building itself and I face the truth: I was not ready.
With more turrets than I can count - all of them different to one another – and probably a few thousand windows, it’s a red and white castle. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a magic goblin wizard lived here. It’s both bonkers and majestic at once.
I finally find the breath to speak:
“This is Friar Park.”
“Ah, y’know the place, do ye?” Pete’s casual tone brings me back to earth as we pull up and park across from an enormous stone doorway. “Well I ‘spect you’ll be familiar with its master, then.”
Before I can exhale another word, two female figures emerge from the shadow of the doorway. One I recognize as Lynda who’d been on the radio earlier, sporting a bucket hat with our company logo on the front. The other woman is wrapped in a housecoat, and her glossy black hair is held back in a clip. They’ve been chatting about something amusing, and soon wave us out of the van.
“So you’ve made it at last! Didn’t fall in the pond after all.” Lynda calls to us as we scramble from the van. Pete matches her wit - his accent now somehow heavier than usual – but their voices fade in favour of songbirds that flit among the treetops above us.
I hang back a few steps, and can’t choose where to look first. It’s as if a spell had been cast over me when we drove through the gate, and I’ve lost all ability to collect myself. I have to tear my upward gaze away from the surroundings in order to take in the countenance of the woman whose face I instantly recognize.
“Hello, I’m Olivia,” she almost sings from her dressing gown and slippers, extending a graceful hand toward me.
I take her hand and introduce myself in the steadiest voice I can muster.
“I’m so glad you’re here to join us,” she says warmly. “And somebody told me it’s your first big house? Is that right?”
“Sure, that. She’s fresh and limber,” laughs Pete. “Unlike some of us old bones, eh?”
He and Lynda share a hearty cackle, clearly one built on years of teamwork, camaraderie, and friendly bickering.
Olivia gently hands me a small brown paper gift bag, and meets my eyes.
“I know how nerve-wracking a first day can be,” she says sincerely, “And this old house can be pretty intimidating, but I want you to know that you’re very welcome here. And we hope you come to love it as much as we do.”
“I really don’t know what to say, I… I’m lost for words,” is about all I can get out, trying to focus on the charming woman in front of me. Her eyes lower to the bag I’m holding, and with a soft smile and nod she directs me to look inside.
I peek in and pull out a sturdy mug patterned with peonies and a filigree print.
Clasping her hands together at her chin, Olivia is the loveliest kind of adorable and sends me the brightest smile I’ve seen yet.
“We were going to put your initials on it but thought maybe that was a bit corny.”
Words have left me again, and all I can manage is an open-mouthed smile.
“It was my husband’s idea,” she continues. “He says no matter where he goes he always feels at home once he’s got a cup of tea.”
“He’s a wise man,” I concur, trying to settle my nerves but knowing very well who we’re referring to.
“Please thank him for me.”
Pete joins our exchange with a confident familiarity,
“Y’ought te thank ‘im yerself.”
What. What??
“Where is the ol’ devil this mornin’? Up in that there tower I ‘spect, hummin away.”
“George is having a lie-in this morning,” Olivia explains. “Early starts don’t come quite so easily to him these days, but he’ll be so glad to know you’re here.”
Me. That I’m here. I can’t imagine he’d spare even half a thought about me, but if what his wife is saying is true…
“Well, let’s crack on, then. That’s enough hangin’ ‘round.” barks Pete, eager to get started with the day’s work.
He and Lynda discuss where best to put me. They can see I’m a bit overwhelmed, especially when she mentions “aquatic features.” I inconspicuously mutter a “dear god, no!” at the thought of venturing so far beyond my capabilities.
I can just about feel my head settling back on my shoulders as reality sets in, and the weight of responsibility lands on top of me.
Olivia saves me with a laugh,
“Maybe something small to start? We won’t throw you in at the deep end! I can show you some spots that need a bit of care, and you tell me what you think. How’s that?”
Her confidence in me is startling as she skates back into the building, and it’s not long before we meet again, she in more sensible outdoor shoes, and me having rearranged my kit in the van. Lynda kindly offers to bring my mug to the gardener’s lodge back at the other entrance, anticipating an imminent First Day tea break.
