WARNING TO READERS - This is a long, rambling, multi-part story and VERY British. The individual chapters will make more sense if read in sequence.
Chapter 4: A Ride Home for Annabelle
Autumn at the garden centre was a lot slower than the spring or summer. There were fewer customers and most of the work that we needed to do was inside, either in the greenhouses or growing sheds, which was fortunate as winter that year came early and October and November were cold and wet; just bloody miserable.
Maggie had big plans for the business and the centre was getting a major refit and re-build over the winter months. The land on which the garden centre stood had originally been a farm and there was an old farm house, with brick outhouses and a large barn laid out in a giant C with a cobbled yard in front. A few years before, the farm house had been converted so that the ground floor housed the shop and staff room with the offices and stock room on the floor above. The outhouses and barn were just used for storage but Maggie had decided to have them fixed up and converted into small covered units for displaying plants and equipment and the barn was to become a snack and coffee bar. We had all spent most of October clearing the accumulated rubbish out of the buildings so that the builders would have a clear start in January.
Maggie had started to involve me much more in both the day to day management of the business, and the long term planning and finances. She seemed to value my input and the two of us spend a lot of time in the office planning planting and growing schedules, discussing the best and most viable use of the available greenhouse space, and studying catalogues for next season's purchases or going over the architect's drawings for the new buildings.
Maggie was my mother's twin. They were not identical twins but were enough alike to see they were twin sisters even though their respective life styles were reflected in their appearance; whilst Mum looked every day of her 40 years, Maggie appeared a lot younger and could probably pass for early thirties. There was a third sister, Aunt Susan who was a few years older and lived in York. Mum and Aunt Susan had fallen out over her marriage to my father twenty years ago, so Emma and I really only knew her through Christmas and birthday cards and presents which arrived by post.
I suppose that having a heap of money, no real worries, a career and access to the best beauty salons gave Maggie a running start, whilst Mum had had to cope with a life full of disappointments, a lousy, no good, husband, constant money problems and no real time for her self between working and bringing up two kids. For as long as I could remember, Maggie had always helped us out, supported Mum, helped with the bills when things were really dire had been a real friend to me over the past few years.
The last couple of years since we had been working together, Maggie and I had become very close, both personally and professionally. She had never treated me as a know nothing boy, always as a man and an equal and I think we both regarded each other as friends rather than aunt and nephew. The trouble was that the more time I spent with Maggie the more I liked her as a person and the more I saw her as an attractive woman rather than my aunt. I adored Maggie and would have done anything for her.
I remembered the joke that Debbie had made about Maggie being attracted to me but did not believe for a minute that it was in any way true.
I, however, did have the hots for her!
Like Mum, Maggie was small, about 5' 2" in height with what I thought was a really pretty face, she had good skin and sharp blue eyes and always wore good quality make-up, but for most of the summer months was suntanned from working outside. Her hair was honey blonde and always smelt of herbal shampoo and she usually wore it pulled back in a short pony tail, a style which I always found incredibly sexy on women. Her figure was neat, with a small waist, well shaped legs, a really tight arse, and small but well formed tits with pointy nipples that you could see through her shirts when she wore soft bras. Her clothes were always good quality and although she favoured tight jeans and a t-shirt or sweater about the garden centre she always looked an absolute knock out when she put on a dress to go out in the evening or to a business meeting.
I had to be careful because just looking at Maggie and letting my imagination run riot could give me a hard-on. I think that she sometimes noticed the bulge in my jeans, but was discreet enough not to say anything, and I don't think that she realised that she was the cause of my arousal.
It was the 31st of October and we were getting ready for the Guy Fawkes bonfire party on Saturday, which Maggie always held for the local kids in the back field behind the garden centre. The little tradition had started when her daughters were children and Mum would bring Emma and me over after school for the fireworks. There were sausages and baked potatoes and beans to eat and fizzy drinks and every one always had a lot of fun. After the twins got older and went away to boarding school, Maggie still did the event but now invited children from the surrounding area. It was always popular and could attract up to 30 kids and their parents, probably because it was free. This year we had lots of rubbish that had been cleared out of the outbuildings and the fire stack was already huge.
That afternoon I came out of the barn and glanced up towards the back field. Maggie was standing in the middle of the field, just standing, doing nothing. It was bloody freezing for the time of year and I was all bundled up in boots, corduroy trousers, a thick wool sweater all under working dungarees but Maggie just stood there in jeans and a denim shirt, I could see faint puffs of frozen breath floating away from her face. I ducked into the staff room and grabbed her Barbour wax coat and a scarf then pounded up to the field.
As a got closer I could see that she was looking up towards the big house. Her hands were thrust into her pockets and she was obviously cold as I could see her shivering as I approached. She heard me coming and turned her head to glance back but didn't move. I stepped round in front of her and looped the scarf over her head, knotted it around her throat and thrust out the coat. "For God's sake put this on, "I ordered, "it's bleeding arctic out here, you'll freeze to bloody death!" She shrugged on the jacket and zipped it up without saying anything, she just kept looking at the house.
