by Jane Linfoot
‘Sorry? You’ll have to give me more clues than that.’
Now he’s the one looking like he’s dealing with an idiot. ‘Your suit. Isn’t that the one you were wearing that night at the pub, when you caught the bouquet, then chucked yourself in the pond?’
Damn. When I asked for clues, I definitely didn’t mean that kind of detail. No idea why, but I’d rather he hadn’t raked up the bouquet. ‘Actually, let’s get this straight. Jess caught those flowers, not me, okay?’ Somehow I can’t go on until it’s clear. ‘And this is a different suit.’
He’s back to the mocking. ‘So many expensive suits, who’s the affluent one round here now? So what did happen to your other one?’ At least he’s moved on from bouquet flinging.
For eff’s sake. ‘When it dried it was a total write off, even though I tried dry cleaning it. It went in the bin, okay?’
The way he’s pursuing this, you’d think he was in dry cleaning not weddings. At least that shuts him up for a few seconds. ‘Ouch, that’s awful. I’m sorry I didn’t catch you sooner. Clothes like that cost an arm and a leg. You should be taking care of them, not trashing them.’
There we go again. Typical of the guy to make it all about him, then turn it into a lecture.
If I had any hope of changing and catching up on some digging in the garden today, while keeping one eye on the sky, I can obviously forget that. But maybe if I get out my laptop and bury my head in more style research, at least it’ll stop Kip’s inane chatter.
I push myself up from my chair. ‘Actually, I think I’ll go and work in the office.’ Losing the sun is a small price to pay for getting away from Kip. ‘Do we know how many more choppers we’re expecting?’
As he shrugs there’s a hint of disappointment on his face. The kind you see on a cat when they’ve had a mouse taken away. ‘There’s already four parked down in the field.’ As he tilts his head and stares up at the sky I try not to notice how vulnerable his neck looks. Or how often he makes me want to metaphorically wring it.
‘Keep a look out, and call me if any more come?’ As I pass him, I see the mark on his jacket shoulder, where he was leaning against the wall earlier. Before I can stop myself, I’m stretching out my hand, and brushing off the dust. ‘Hey, didn’t you say to look after expensive clothes? And stay smart for the customers.’ And waaaaaaaaahhhhh to accidentally touching him when it was the last thing I intended. If this was the other way round, I could be had up for sexual harassment in the work place.
He pulls a face, and swallows. ‘It’s really not attractive being a smart arse, Water Lily.’
Like I care about either of those things. ‘Straight back at you, Kip.’ And if my stomach flipped in complete unison with the lurch of his Adam’s apple there, it’s only because I’m squeamish like that. ‘Not that I give a damn personally, obviously. This is purely on an FYI basis.’ FYI? For your information. Or in this case, for his.
He looks suitably appalled that I just inadvertently implied he claimed an interest in me. ‘And back at you for that last bit Water Lily … with knobs on.’
Okay, we all knew he wasn’t attracted to me from the start anyway, so we just squared the circle. As for handing me ammunition, that’s plain stupid. ‘Knobs? Yes you are, Kip. Thank you for reminding me.’ Shit. I can’t believe I just said that. Scrapping like seven year olds? How embarrassing is that? I drag in a breath, and bolt.
Once I’m in the office I go for the best available seat. Kip’s. Behind the desk. On the basis that he’s the one insisting I stay here. And there’s no point not being comfy, because this is going to be a damned long afternoon. On the up side, not many people have helicopters. And fewer still are worried about them wrecking their wedding flowers. There won’t be a repeat of this. So with any luck I’ll never have to spend this long with Kip ever again.
Chapter 26
Monday, 1st May
At Rose Hill Manor: Irrigation and mistaken identity
‘So, there aren’t any more helicopters coming. There were only ever four.’
Kip doesn’t even have the grace to look apologetic as he delivers the news. As chief liaison guy, it was his job to find this out. The last one arrived hours ago.
Gobsmacked about covers how I feel. ‘So you’re saying I’ve spent the last six hours waiting for helicopters that didn’t exist?’ If there wasn’t a bride in the building, I’d really let rip. As it is, I’m keeping my voice to a low growl. ‘Right now, all that’s saving you is your chair, Kip. Lucky for you, I’ve had a damned comfy afternoon.’ It’s amazing how much work you can get done when you cut out distractions and interruptions. But I’m not about to tell him I’ve got through shedloads of the stuff, even if I have sorted out floral designs and sourced props for four of the off-the-peg style packages he was wanting.
‘The bridal party will be leaving soon. I’m happy for you to stay to see them off with me, but it’s also okay for you to slip away if you’d rather.’ Although he’s got his hands in his jacket pockets, like he’s completely chilled, he’s a lot paler, and gaunt around the cheekbones than he was this morning.
‘Great.’ As I push myself out of the most luxurious swivel chair in the world, I’m thinking more of watering my plants than rushing away. ‘I’ll leave by the terrace then.’ And there’s no reason at all for Kip to stand open mouthed like I’ve left him in the lurch. If he’d been in any way flexible, I’d have done my watering already. Just to show him I don’t give a fig, I get out my phone, and inadvertently flick straight onto Nicole’s pics of bridal lingerie tossed on a silk covered bed.
‘Bleurgh …’ It comes out before I can stop it.
Kip’s sigh is long suffering. ‘What’s wrong this time?’
Although I’m not happy at the drama queen implication, I can’t help smiling as I think what’s coming Kip’s way in August. ‘Nicole’s wedding-night underwear. Want a look?’
‘Hell, no.’ Result. His ‘appalled of Rose Hill’ face is all the compensation I need for my own shudder.
I’m also musing over Nicole’s previous shot. Captioned Bride-to-be shaping up, it’s a selfie with a tape measure pulled tight around her waist with a disgustingly teensy measurement on. And an unnerving similarity to Immie’s shape-up post. That has to be a coincidence. Doesn’t it?
‘If I can’t tempt you to a flash of Nicole’s stockings and suspenders, I’ll be on my way then.’ I grin as he winces again.
A few seconds later, I’m a free woman, hurrying towards the door into the walled garden. I know I’m in my suit, but so long as I’m careful, I can easily do the watering without getting dirty. We all know I detest the digging. And I’m growing seeds under extreme duress. If I’ve spent most of the day wishing I could be in the garden, it’s only a sign of the afternoon from hell. And a double dose of nostalgia due to the flower growing stirring up all my childhood memories. Aside from the astonishing work rate, on a scale of one to ten, where ten is worst, being a prisoner in Kip’s office ranks fifteen at least.
There’s something very calming about a view of seed trays in orderly rows, filled with tiny, bright green plants. When I stop to look across at the cold frames today, I can literally feel my blood pressure easing. As the seedlings get bigger, I’ve been pricking them out into new trays too, to grow them on. Both sorts of marigolds are doing really well. The nasturtiums took ages to get going, but now they’re almost ready to be planted out. As I turn on the tap by the shed, fill the can, and lug it across to the cold frames, the late afternoon sun is golden on the empty borders. Did you ever feel the weight of a full watering can? This is why I’m getting muscles. As for getting excited about cosmos plants, I used to as a seven-year-old. And I remember my dad literally whooping the day his hard to germinate oriental poppy seeds came through. But me, the sensible adult from Bath, who checked the accounts every evening, and always kept the noise down because I lived in a hotel? Well, I can’t understand it either. And thinking about the plants like children really isn’t heal
thy, but that’s another story.
After the sunny day, the soil’s quite dry so the watering takes a while. I work my way along and I’m onto my last few trays. But when I get to my sweet peas, there has to be a mistake, because the soil in the trays is bare, and the plants are gone.
‘If this is Fred’s idea of a joke …’ As I bend down to examine them, I can’t hold in my scream.
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh …’
All that’s left of my four trays of beautiful baby plants are a few stalks. If you’d put in the huge effort I have to get to this point, and found your plants destroyed, I promise you’d be wailing too.
I’m still prodding at the holes in the compost, when I hear running feet on the gravel outside, and the scrape of the garden door.
‘Lily, are you okay?’ A second later Kip arrives at my elbow, breathless, suit flapping.
Damn. I wasn’t expecting an audience. ‘My sweet peas have completely dematerialised. Apart from that, I’ve never been better.’ Gutted doesn’t begin to cover it.
The way he tugs his fingers through his hair, he looks almost as over-wrought as I am. As he slides down beside me, one bent knee arrives right next to mine.
Suit fabric stretched tight over a guy’s thigh? And the scent that’s been tantalising my nose from a distance all day? Both zooming into my personal space, in the equivalent of big screen technicolour close up. If I had any breath left, I’d scream all over again.
He purses his lips. ‘It has to be mice.’
How on earth does he know that? His face is so close I’m not only seeing the slices down his cheeks where he’s starting to smile. I can see every pore too.
‘Mice?’ My voice is so high, I’m squeaking like one.
‘Field mice love any peas. They’re very cute, but they’ll eat the seeds and graze on the leaves every time.’ He doesn’t need to sound so triumphant about it. ‘At least you’ve still got your others. You’ll need to be planting out soon.’
Nothing that chomps my plants is ‘cute’. And when exactly did Kip turn into Monty Don? ‘If it hadn’t been for a wedding dropped on me with zero notice, I’d already have planted out. As you can see, Fred’s been hard at work in the meantime.’
Kip’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Who?’
Sometimes he has so little idea. I remind him. ‘Fred. With the runaway sheep and the blue tractor. Surely you didn’t think I dug all this lot on my own?’
He’s shaking his head, laughing. ‘I obviously overestimated you. In more ways than one.’
I scan the darker soil on the newly dug borders. ‘The amount Fred’s dug since yesterday, he must have been here for hours. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.’ Although Kip’s so self-absorbed, seriously, I doubt he’d notice if Fred dug up the lawn in front of the house. ‘You know what Fred’s like, he plays it down. Apparently digging saves him going to the gym.’
‘Brilliant. No doubt it does.’ When Kip really laughs, like he’s doing now, the corners of his eyes go all crinkly. He’s pushing himself up to standing when the door scrapes again, and he turns.
‘Vee, I’m sorry for dashing away. Lily wasn’t being murdered after all. It was only mice devastating her sweet pea crop.’
Only? I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s typical Kip, to diminish what’s happened.
I stagger to my feet, as the newlyweds make their way down the path towards us, hand in hand. ‘Are you heading off?’
Vee smiles up at Salvador beside her. ‘We’re driving back to London for the night, then we’re flying on to Spain tomorrow.’ She’s changed into a faded cotton midi dress, but she’s still wearing the flower crown in her hair.
‘So exciting.’ I can’t help being infected with the thrill. ‘And so great to think you’ll be getting married all over again.’
As she comes forward and hugs me, her eyes are shining with tears. ‘Thank you both so much for this part. We’ve had the most amazing day, and we’re so proud to be your first wedding. It’s been perfect to be looked after by such a wonderful couple.’
Couple? My eyes bulge. Surely she can’t think …? I’m about to let out a squawk of protest, when Kip’s glare closes me down. A second later his brogue lands squarely on my pump.
‘It’s been our pleasure. Hasn’t it, Lily?’ He’s beaming, and crushing my toes at the same time.
It’s almost a squeal. ‘Absolutely.’ I squirm my foot out from under his.
Vee pushes an envelope into Kip’s hand. ‘Here’s a little extra thank you for going the extra mile to fit us in. Treat yourselves. A mini break somewhere luxurious, or something special for the house. And best of luck to both of you with your fabulous venue.’ She drops a kiss on each of our cheeks, and then she steps back. ‘Okay, we’d better be off.’
As we watch them wandering off hand in hand, my first thought is Eewwwww. If she’s serious about the mini break, that must be some tip she’s left. But even if it was enough to pay for a cruise to New York first class, it couldn’t ever make up for the agony of being mistaken for an item with the awful Kip. How the hell that happened, I’ve no idea.
That’s the thing with walled gardens. You’ve got to be very careful what you say when you’re in them, because you never know who’s on the other side of the wall. From the way we stand in rigid silence, Kip’s clearly as appalled as I am.
Eventually it’s Kip who breaks the silence. ‘All this digging Fred’s doing, you don’t have enough plants to fill it.’
The area of waiting ground is huge. ‘I’ve got even less now.’ Sad but true, and I can’t help pouting.
Kip’s looking thoughtful. ‘How would you feel about planting flower mix seeds in the spare borders? I found them on Google. They give you fast-fix flower fests. I could buy industrial quantities of seed, and you could sow it.’
As I imagine the whole garden filled with flowers, instead of just a corner there’s a flutter of excitement in my chest. As I think of my own very first border I had as a child, but garden-wide, the flutter expands to a wild flapping. ‘A garden bursting with flowers would be amazing for wedding photos too. It’s such a special place, it’s a shame to keep it hidden.’
Kip laughs. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
I have to be honest. ‘Because you still have zero idea about weddings. You’re only interested in the bottom line.’
That makes him smile. ‘Which brings us neatly on to my next suggestion – selling the crop. Home-grown flowers are in great demand for weddings. It’s another win win.’ He’s making it sound feasible. And attractive. Which is the Penryn way every time.
Although realistically, considering my sweet peas failed completely, I can’t be trusted to grow anything. I suspect he’s had one good wedding today, and he’s getting carried away.
‘So what’s the catch?’ Even as I ask, I already know. If using a border in a Penryn garden was bad enough, this is way worse.
That seems to amuse him. ‘No catches. So you’d better tell Fred to hurry up and get that digging finished.’
Beyond the wall, an engine turns over. As Vee and Salvador’s car roars away up the drive, Kip’s grin widens. ‘Great result there for both of us, Water Lily.’ He slides the envelope into his jacket, and taps his pocket. ‘I’ll look after this for now. At least until we book that mini break.’ As he wanders off along the path he’s laughing to himself all the way to the door. And for a second, after today’s performance, I can believe he might have it in him to pull off his wedding business after all.
Although from where I’m standing, with my hard-earned tip disappearing into the distance, I can’t see the funny side at all. As for the flower growing, something tells me this is lots more work for me, with the Penryns reaping the benefit. Same old story there then too.
Chapter 27
Tuesday, 30th May
At Brides by the Sea: Brambles and pricks
The series of tipis and marquees appearing in the fields as I drive past Daisy Hill Farm in the next few weeks
are a sure sign that the wedding season is underway. Summer in the wedding shop is always frantic, and it’s often late by the time I get out to spend a couple of hours in the garden at the Manor. But luckily the days are long, and even though it’s only May, the weather is mild, and the evening air is balmy. Somehow I get all my seedlings planted out into the ground, even though by the end I feel like my body’s aching in places I didn’t know I had. And Kip was good as his word on the flowers. The day after Vee’s wedding he turned up with seeds by the sack load. When the instructions say scatter, and water regularly, it really is that simple. Especially if your soil is already warmed, because it’s in an idyllic and sheltered south facing walled garden, as it is here. A few days later, there were tiny seedlings, pushing their way out into the soil.
Alongside helping with flower orders and dresses in the shop, I’ve also been making the basement every bit as beautiful as Jess ordered. And Jess being Jess, she loses no time in showing it off with a cork popping event.
‘Very Berry Pimp Your Prosecco? What do you recommend?’ Fred’s arrived early, and he’s pouring over the frosted glasses, and dishes of berries. Even though he was mainly involved at the start of the project, he’s happily taking the credit for the entire department. And in his faded chinos and light tweed waistcoat, he’s certainly rocking the style thing.
I push a liqueur bottle towards him. ‘Raspberry and limoncello’s delicious. Or watermelon and mint. Unless with your green fingers, you’d rather go for hibiscus flowers?’
It’s a Tuesday evening, because that’s when wedding business people are most likely to be free. But we’ve also invited brides, and anyone likely to use our styling, or spread the word. And my mum’s pushed the ‘friends and family’ thing to extremes, and invited practically the whole village, on the basis that everyone there knows someone who’s getting married.