Page 99 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
Stan shakes his head. ‘No, and this is the second part of the story. Stick with me, Poppy, I said it was long. As I mentioned earlier, in my day I had my fair share of female attention from the ladies of the town – your grandmother included.’
I open my eyes wide. I hadn’t expected to hear that, but then my grandmother always did seem to have a soft spot for Stan.
‘After your grandfather passed, Rose and I spent a great deal of time together, and during our time, as a sign of my affection, I gave her one of the embroidered pictures – the one of a purple rose.’
‘Oh yes!’ I exclaim, remembering. ‘We found it in one of the old boxes that were stored away in the shop. That would explain why it had the initials VR stitched into it – Victoria Regina! Once you know about the Queen Victoria connection, it all makes sense.’
‘Rose kept her picture then?’ Stan asks, looking pleased. ‘I hoped she might. Do you know what purple roses mean, Poppy?’
‘I do, as a matter of fact; Amber used them as one of the wedding flowers. They mean enchantment.’
‘Exactly. Your grandmother was always utterly enchanting, which is why I gave her that particular picture.’
‘How lovely, but I don’t see…’
‘Patience, Poppy, I’m getting there, give me time. You’ll remember there were four pictures in this set. The second, I gave to another lady friend of mine, who I think you also know – Lou.’
‘Stan, you old devil! Lou, too?’
Stan smiles sheepishly. ‘What can I say? There were a lot of lovely ladies in St Felix back then, it was the seventies, it was all about free love. Lou’s picture was of a sweet pea – it means delicate pleasures, and Lou was —’
‘No, Stan! Enough information, thank you,’ I tell him, but I’m smiling when I say it. Who would have thought old Stan was such a ladies’ man! ‘Lou still has hers too,’ I tell him. ‘It’s hung up in her hall. I noticed it in a cluster of pictures the day Basil’s puppies were born.’
‘Good old Lou,’ Stan says. ‘It was such a joy when I heard she’d returned to St Felix. I’d missed seeing her.’
‘So you had Rose, Lou, and who else on the go?’
‘Oh no, only one lady at a time, Poppy, give me some credit.’ He raises his white brows at me. ‘There were only ever three ladies in my life I cared about, that’s why I gave them each a picture. The last was Isabelle. She wasn’t in St Felix long though, her family took her away shortly after we got to know each other. Her gift was the embroidered picture of a pink carnation, it means I will never forget you – and I didn’t, Poppy, I still remember her as if it was yesterday.’ He looks wistfully across the Camberley gardens as he remembers, and I let him sit with his memories for a few moments.
‘I wasn’t promiscuous, Poppy,’ Stan insists, coming back to the present day once more. ‘I don’t want you to think that. I held these ladies in great esteem, that’s why I gave them each a gift as a sign of my deep affection. Valuable gifts.’
‘It really is a lovely story, Stan, but why are you telling me all this?’
‘Love comes wrapped in many different packages, Poppy. Sometimes it’s fleeting – like Lord Harrington’s affairs – sometimes much of it comes around at once – like my ladies of St Felix. And sometimes,’ he swallows, ‘sometimes, you fall in love with someone who can’t be yours, but you never forget them – like Isabelle.’
‘Oh, Stan.’
‘No, no, I’m not telling you this so you can feel sorry for me, Poppy. I’m telling you so you understand that, whatever sort of love it is, it’s always for a reason. Love is too powerful an emotion for us to feel it otherwise. You mark my words; your feelings for Jake will be for a reason. Just you wait and see.’
Thirty-four
Heliotrope – Devoted Affection
It’s the evening of Jake’s fortieth birthday party, and Amber, Ash and I walk up the hill to Trecarlan Castle.
Amber is wearing a beautiful, long, rainbow-coloured dress with gladiator sandals. Having been through my entire wardrobe and not found a single thing suitable to wear, I’ve borrowed another of Amber’s dresses: a gorgeous gown in duck-egg blue – a colour I don’t think I’ve ever worn in my life, and would certainly never have chosen for myself if Amber hadn’t encouraged me into it. The dress has embroidery all over the fitted bust and thin straps, with a loose, flowing, gossamer-soft skirt below.
It’s a good job Amber and I are a similar size or I don’t know what I’d have done. Amber seems able to create endless different outfits, some of which she brought with her from New York, and some she’s made up from items she picks up in the charity shops of St Felix and the surrounding area.
Bronte, Charlie and myself have instructed all the guests to get to the castle fifteen minutes before the birthday boy is due to arrive at 7.30 p.m., and Woody has been put in charge of getting Jake to the party. None of us have a clue how Woody’s going to get him there, but Bronte and Charlie have told me not to worry, it’s all in hand.
When we arrive at the castle we are ushered inside by Charlie and told where to go and hide. Ash and Amber seem quite excited by all the subversive behaviour, but I can’t help wondering just how much Jake will enjoy being surprised like this. Jake has always struck me as being very down-to-earth and practical, I’m not sure surprise parties are really his idea of fun. On the other hand, Jake’s kids mean the world to him, and knowing they were the ones who’d organised this bash, he would make damn sure he enjoyed it.
As we arrive in the ballroom, I realise just how popular Jake is in St Felix. The place is already packed out with people holding glasses of fizz, eagerly waiting to congratulate him. There is a huge birthday banner hanging over one wall, leaving no one in any doubt as to what age Jake is turning today, and the white tablecloths that had looked so serene and elegant at the wedding are decorated with colourful helium-filled balloons and confetti 40s.
At the appointed time we all squeeze into a tiny room behind the main ballroom. Stan had once told me it was for ladies to powder their faces during the huge balls that were held at the castle in the last century. But as we all squeeze together in the dark like sardines, it’s hard to imagine an elegant powder room with ladies gossiping about their beaux.
‘Ssh,’ someone hisses, ‘he’s here.’
