The gardener was pulling up a particularly stubborn thistle. Julia turned her head on the lounger to watch. Clara braced her legs either side of the thistle, gripped it firmly in her gloved hands and pulled. The muscles on her upper arms flexed.
It was a boiling hot afternoon and the back of Clara's vest was dark with sweat. She re-set her legs and pulled again, grunting with exertion. Suddenly, the thistle came free and Clara stumbled backwards a few paces.
She made a satisfied noise and threw the thistle onto the pile of weeds and wiped her arm across her forehead. She bent down to dig out the roots and Julia watched the material of her shorts tighten across her backside.
Julia shifted, moving her gaze away from Clara and up to the overhanging branches of the apple tree above her. She was pleasantly surprised to find herself aroused. Clara had been their gardener for well over a year now and Julia had never really given her a second glance.
It was Roger who had decided they needed a gardener, of course. Julia had felt awkward about employing someone but Roger had scoffed at this, saying
"Well, who else is going to keep the garden in order? I don't have the time and you're not going to do it, are you?"
He was right -- Julia couldn't seem to summon up the energy to do much at all. She'd watched Roger escorting Clara around the garden, giving orders about what should be planted where. He insisted on referring to Clara as a 'girl', despite that fact Clara was a grown woman in her thirties.
Roger knew nothing about plants but that didn't stop him holding forth as if he was the world expert. A few times, she had overhead Clara gently correct his assertions that this or that flower would be perfect for that corner.
Thereafter, Clara came once a week. Julia had never paid her much attention before but noted with pleasure the colour and vibrancy that had been brought to the garden.
When Roger left, Julia wondered whether she should let Clara go. But Roger was still paying his half of the mortgage and bills and so she could afford to keep Clara on. It was worth it to have the garden as a place of sanctuary, a haven where Julia could lie and think things over. She had a sense that she ought to try and reflect, to contemplate how her life had got to where it was. But every time she tried, lethargy seemed to overtake her. It was all too difficult.
Julia put her sunglasses on, closed her eyes and listened to the birdsong and the gentle rustling of the gardener hard at work. At some point she must have dozed off. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Clara hovering uncertainly by the side of the lounger, still clutching her trowel in one hand.
Julia was about to speak when she noticed Clara's gaze moving to her legs. Julia's halter neck dress had ridden up slightly above her knees, exposing part of her thighs. Clara looked at Julia's thighs, her face very still. Then her eyes travelled slowly up Julia's torso and lingered on her breasts. Julia's skin tingled as if Clara's gaze was a touch.
She shifted slightly and Clara started, her eyes flicking straight to Julia's face.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"That's all right. I was only dozing."
"I've finished weeding this bed. I was going to ask what you'd like me to do next."
Julia rose from the sun lounger and walked with Clara to the edge of the flower bed.
"I've got all the thistles out," Clara said. "And now there's some space over on that side. Is there anything you'd like planted there for next spring?"
"What would you recommend?"
Julia was a good three inches shorter than Clara and had to look up into her face. Clara frowned as she considered the question.
"Well, it depends what you like. There's plenty of flowers that would give you a nice burst of colour in the spring: marigolds or pansies for example. Or you might prefer to have a shrub in there. Hydrangeas or rhododendron perhaps. Though they have to kept in check or they take over very quickly."
A fine sheen of sweat covered Clara's brow and Julia became aware of the heat of her own body; of the slight stickiness between her breasts and on her lower back.
"Maybe flowers would be better then," she said.
"Any particular colours you like?"
"I like red," Julia said, gesturing at the red pattern of her dress.
"Ok. Maybe some hollyhocks or perhaps lupin. I feel that something with a bit of a height would work well there."
"I'm sure you're right."
"And then," Clara continued, moving past the sun lounger to stand by the trunk of the apple tree, "I wanted to ask you about this tree. Roger told me that he wanted it cut down because of the apples dropping onto the lawn. Is that still what you would like?"
Julia looked up into the leaves of the tree. Although she was not much of a gardener, she had noticed how much the tree had grown since she and Roger had first moved into the house. It had been a tiny sapling then, that looked as if it would never have the strength to bear fruit. But now it produced a bumper crop of large green apples every few years.
Julia had always had vague thoughts of doing something with the apples but had never quite got around to it, so they had mostly rotted on the grass where they fell. That had been the recurring theme of marriage to Roger, she thought. Ideas and plans she had that had somehow never come to fruition.
Clara cleared her throat and Julia turned to look at her. Clara had the face of someone who spent all their time outdoors, spent their time doing things. Julia laid her hand against the trunk of the tree.
"I'm rather fond of this tree," she said. "This year, I will make something with the apples. To make up for all the years of rotted fruit."
Clara smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing.
"Good. I wouldn't have liked to cut it down." She cleared her throat again and said, "It was...er...Roger who told me what should be done in the garden. But obviously I can check all of that with you now as...as...Roger..."
"Is gone," Julia finished.
"Yes. I'm...I'm sorry about that."
Julia sighed and leaned back against the trunk. The shade was a welcome relief from the intensity of the sun. She lifted one of her bare feet to rest against the tree, enjoying the roughness of the bark against her skin.
"It's all right," she said. "It's for the best."
"Yes." Clara looked down at her feet for a moment, as if deciding whether to speak or not. "To be honest...I thought he was a knob."
This was so unexpected that Julia laughed out loud, prompting startled twitters from the birds nearby.
"Did you really?"
"Yes. I never liked the way he spoke to you. But still. It must be difficult."
