Page 52 of The House at Hope Corner
‘I think you’d better tell me,’ said Ned, a frown wrinkling his brow.
‘Flowers,’ she said, opening her eyes and turning to him. ‘I saw rows and rows of flowers, in the field between our garden and the bottom of Grace’s. It was where I walked the very first morning I was here. Oh, I knew it was special, Ned.’ A sudden welling of emotion threatened to overcome her.
‘Flowers?’ he queried. ‘What kind of flowers?’
‘Every kind,’ she breathed. ‘We were growing them. It was that day I went over to visit Grace, when I took my prints for her to see,’ she added. ‘We talked about art and she took me into her garden, and then after we’d looked at the bees, she told me never to give up being creative and as I looked out at the view…’ She stopped, aware that she was talking in one long sentence, hardly drawing breath. ‘I had a vision of the field, you couldn’t really call it anything else, Ned. It felt like it was real, like it was our future…’ She lifted her hands from her lap and then let them fall again in a helpless gesture.
He took her fingers. ‘Then what did you see?’
‘Well, nothing, it was just the flowers, but I knew they were ours and that we’d planted them.’ She looked up into his face, blushing from the absurdity of what she’d just said.
To give him his due, Ned didn’t laugh. Instead he entwined his fingers tighter with hers. ‘So what did it mean?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been buying flowers from wholesale florists for a huge chunk of my life, Ned, but I’ve never before thought of becoming one. But that’s what we were, I’m sure of it; a flower farm.’
He sat back, holding her look. ‘I rather like flowers,’ he said eventually. ‘Did I ever tell you that?’ He swiped a hand across his face, grimacing, drawing in a deep breath before visibly pulling himself together. ‘And if it hadn’t been for that one single spur-of-the-moment visit to your shop with your beautiful flowers, I would never have met you.’ He kissed the back of her hand. ‘And on that day my life blossomed into something I never ever thought I’d have. I am such an idiot, Flora,’ he said. ‘And what I hate more than anything is that I can’t give you the kind of life I want to, the kind of life you deserve.’
‘Oh, Ned…’ She leant forward to kiss him. ‘You are an idiot… but only because I’d be happy with any kind of life, just as long as I get to spend it by your side.’
She looked up into his gentle face, still full of anxiety, and realised just how true her words were, how much she loved him. Ned couldn’t know it, of course, but she knew exactly how he was feeling. And time had taught her that, however hard it was, there was always a way around debt. She might have learnt that the hard way but she had learnt it, and now it meant that they could sort this out together because, as long as they had each other, nothing else really mattered.
‘Ned, there’s something—’
He pulled her into a kiss that silenced her words and left her in no doubt how he was feeling.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ he said, his fingers still stroking the side of her face. ‘I tell you what a monumental mess I’ve made of things and you calmly come up with a brilliant idea. You should be angry at me or something… I don’t know…’ And then his face split wide into the lopsided grin she would never tire of seeing. ‘Do you really think your idea would work?’ he asked. ‘Here, I mean. Could we actually start a business selling flowers?’
‘Well, there’s really only one way to find out,’ she replied.
Ned eyed the two mugs that were still on the desk where he had put them what felt to Flora like a lifetime ago. Their contents were stone cold. ‘Shall I go and make some more tea?’ he asked.
* * *
An hour later Ned had reluctantly returned to work, but, before he did, between them they had filled the air with an excited babble and Flora had filled two pages of her notebook with scribbled ideas, thoughts, and a vague to-do list that seemed both thrilling and insurmountable at the same time.
It was a reversal of what she’d been doing for years, thinking as a florist buying from a wholesaler, whereas now she needed to think as a wholesaler selling to a florist. Her thought processes were working backwards. She knew flowers. She knew when they were in season, at their best, lead times for ordering, the key celebrations throughout the year traditionally marked with flowers, and which flowers were popular for each. Now, she had to think about how long those flowers took to grow, when they would need to be planted, what conditions they would need, and who would be buying them from her. How, how, how… She underscored the word several times in her notebook. Her list of questions was getting longer by the minute, but that was okay, because Flora knew where she could find the answers.
She practically ran up the stairs and yanked open the bottom drawer of the big chest beside the window. She had stashed all her old books there, never thinking for one minute that she would need them again, but loath to throw them away. It had been a huge part of her life, and one that she thought had died. Perhaps, after all, it had simply been sleeping. She hugged the thought to her as she lifted out the topmost book. It was her bible; her florist’s guide to flowers, growers, and associations. And within its pages would be the starting places for all the help she needed.
Ducking her head into the kitchen, she was relieved to see that Hannah was nowhere in sight. With the door to the dining room closed it was likely that she and Fraser were taking an afternoon nap, and so, grabbing a slice of cake from the tin, Flora returned to the study and switched on the computer. Ned had given her the password and with any luck she would have a few hours of uninterrupted research.
The first thing she did was google a list of florists in the local area, and then a list of hotels; big posh places, the type that made a huge fuss over weddings. Ten minutes and a phone call later and she had an appointment with the wedding planner at The Castle, or rather Ravenswick Hall as she must remember to call it. Tomorrow morning at ten sharp, by which time she would need to know exactly what they were offering.
Chapter Nineteen
Ravenswick Hall was only a fifteen-minute drive away, but Flora made sure she got there twenty minutes early. As a prospective bride looking for a wedding venue she would have wanted to do a little research on her own, but as a prospective supplier it was even more important.
The hotel’s website had given her a fair idea of what to expect. The building was its obvious selling point, looking like something out of a Walt Disney film and set in lush parkland. A majestic, sweeping drive led up to a grand entrance complete with stone portico atop a flight of steps which would provide the most wonderful posing place for photographs. No flowers though, Flora noticed, as she passed through.
Inside, the entrance hall was a sumptuous mix of polished wood and marble, with huge chandeliers hanging from an impressively high ceiling, but whether original to the building or by some clever alteration, the space was divided into a series of smaller areas and was cosy and intimate. The reception desk was ahead of her to the right, but Flora ignored it and walked through into a series of three interconnecting lounge rooms. She counted a total of four arrangements of flowers, which, including the two at either end of the reception desk, made six in total.
She sat for a moment in a window seat, trying to collect herself. She probably wouldn’t get the opportunity to talk in any detail today, but she might, if luck was on her side, get a further appointment. She caught the eye of a businessman sitting a little distance away enjoying a cup of coffee. He seemed determined to extract every ounce of creamy froth from his cappuccino by swiping his finger around the inside of the mug and transferring its contents to his mouth. She smiled as she caught his eye, and dipped her head as she acknowledged his embarrassment. She would have done exactly the same.
The sun was shining at least and, after a few more moments, Flora got up and walked to the reception desk to find out if the bright spring morning had put the wedding planner in an amenable mood.
She had been standing waiting for a few moments when she became aware that there were anxious voices coming from behind the desk. An impossibly tall, thin young woman had appeared and was deep in conversation with the receptionist, who inclined her head towards Flora on more than one occasion. The tall woman had glossy chestnut hair pulled high into a ponytail that added at least another three inches to her height. It swung as she gestured, mesmerising Flora to such an extent that she scarcely realised that the woman was now coming towards her.
‘Flora?’ she asked, hand outstretched, a broad smile welcoming her to the hotel.
