My heart sprang high in my chest, then crashed down just as quickly. "The Cornish bouquet?" I said. The one you hated?
"Donald will love it. It's so traditional," she said. "Such a perfect complement to the wedding's theme, don't you think? Now that there's no possibility of the London florists sending the one I selected." There was a smile on Petal's face, but I was fairly sure the only thing holding its serenity in place was the thought of scoring a few points with Donald due to his recent Cornwall obsession.
"I do," I answered. But my voice didn't reflect the confidence I had felt when I first suggested this. The flowers I had chosen — the manor hothouse might not have enough of them left, to begin with. And at this short notice, where would I ever find enough orchids that resembled the heath-spotted ones along the coast? The only thing that would be easy to find would be actual heath — if I raided Matthew's beloved patches of it, that is.
Matthew. He was the only one who could find half of these things easily, much less pull together a bouquet filled with elegant blossoms and the colors of Cornwall's native flowers. How could I possibly ask him to do it now, given what I knew about him and Petal?
"I'll see what I can do," I said, with my brightest smile. "By tomorrow morning, I'll have a bouquet for you assembled from the best that Cliffs House's gardens can offer." That much of the promise I could keep, although I couldn't promise it would be what Petal envisioned for her wedding day.
As soon as the door closed behind us, I looked at Lady Amanda. "What am I going to do?" I asked her. "She waited until it's nearly impossible — how will I ever find what we need?" I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "Do you have numbers for all the florists around Ceffylgwyn?"
"I do — and ones in Truro, too," answered Lady Amanda. "Let's hope they have the answer." We hurried off to her desk, where the 'master list' of South Cornwall businesses was stashed in a drawer beside her telephone book.
The garden could provide some flowers the color of heath's blooms, Lord William assured me — not protected flowers, but domestic varieties in a few shades of pink and purple. Maybe not the brightest or most colorful blossoms at this stage, but that was the least of my problems. Cliffs House's greenhouse had only a couple of orchids, only one of them in bloom — and it wasn't the same color as the wild orchid's purple and pink blush. All the other blossoms had been showcased this past week as centerpieces at an afternoon charity tea.
"Hi, Flowers by the Sea? I was wondering if you could provide me with a dozen purple and white orchids..." After I finished explaining all the details, I listened with disappointment as florist after florist told me they had too few blossoms, or the wrong type of orchid. Several of them were handling big orders for other weddings or special occasions, and couldn't meet a request this last minute, not for orchids or for daisies in pink, white, or magenta.
I sighed as I hung up. All I had were lilies, a few white roses, and maybe six orchids if the two florists I had spoken with truly had those in stock. I had no painted daisies to fill the bouquet — there were none planted at Cliffs House currently, I learned, not in any color, much less what I needed. Just a few cultivated wildflower blossoms whose shades might pass as Cornish native ones.
I was sunk — just like a boat ramming against a rock wall, my first big assignment had rammed against the fickle rock of Petal Borroway's wedding tastes. I would have to find a way around this crisis, and the only choice left was to assemble a bouquet from the hothouse's best flowers and give my apologies to Petal tomorrow.
***
The day of the wedding dawned with a morning drizzle of rain. I watched it through the windows, holding my breath as I waited for it to stop. The arbor in the main garden needed its protective tarp removed and its living decorations added before the photographers arrived, and the chairs hadn't been set up on the open spaces around the main flower bed.
So many details were left, and I felt slightly dizzy at the thought of it all. Stay calm, I told myself. I took a deep breath, trying to tell myself it would be all right. But I had yet to face Petal with her substitute bouquet and explain that the one she had requested at the last minute was simply impossible. Telling someone like Petal Borroway that what they wanted was out of reach — I had a feeling those moments were unpleasant ones for whoever confronted her with the truth.
I could hear Dinah's anxious voice coming from the drawing room, where the cake was being assembled in its modern, skyscraper form, and the sound of guests coming to and from the breakfast room, where a complimentary spread was laid out before the ceremony.
The press would begin taking pictures within an hour. The wedding photographers were scheduled to shoot photos two hours before the wedding, in the main garden. Hopefully, Petal would be over her anger and disappointment by the time she was posing for portraits with the rest of the wedding party.
I didn't have time to listen in when press photographers covering the wedding paid compliments to its simple beauty. A few last-minute questions and issues, a few quick adjustments, and it was time for the bridal party to descend from the suite.
"...and I need to fetch my bouquet," Petal was saying. "Trixie, will you fix my veil, please? It's catching on my dress." Petal was descending the stairs, flanked by her chief bridesmaid, her mother, and a handful of friends.
Her dress was a beautiful, fitted white silk, studded with delicate seed pearls and tiny, glimmering stones, a thin, gauzy veil descending from the tiara crowning her hair. A pair of white and silver sandals studded with semi-precious stones were matched with her wedding dress, shoes I heard whispered were original Prada creations.
No wonder Petal was so eager to have a bouquet as original as her outfit. I sucked in a quick breath, thinking of the simple design of white lilies and garden-variety heath sprigs that I had managed to assemble. It was tucked in the basket beside the door, along with Trixie's smaller bouquet of white roses and sprigs of wild rosemary.
I was steadying myself for this moment, one which had been delayed as long as possible due to all the little tasks I had been hurrying to finish. As Petal approached, I made myself smile, calmly. The bride looked at me expectantly.
"Do you have my flowers?" Petal asked.
"She does." It wasn't my voice speaking, but Matthew's. He had approached behind me, and stood in the open front doors to Cliffs House. No dirt stains, only a neat, clean shirt tucked into his trousers, a corduroy jacket and clean boots. In his hands was a white floral box, tied with a single cord.
"This is yours, I believe." He was speaking to Petal, but looking at me as he placed it in my hands. He smiled at me.
I opened the lid. Inside was the bouquet I had designed — or a creation every bit its equal and better. Large white orchids flecked with pinkish purple and lavender, with bright pink and purplish-hued daisies that resembled the summer blooms and fall foliage of heath and heather. A small, delicate pink daisy interspersed among them, along with baby's breath and soft silvery-white sprigs of the rosemary herb. All bound with a simple pinkish-white ribbon that trailed from the base of its blossoms.
It was stunning. My eyes flew from the blossoms nestled in tissue paper to Matthew's face. He glanced from me to Petal, then back again.
"Best of luck," he said. With that, he left.
I looked at Petal. Her face had turned pale, then her cheeks flushed bright red. She looked as if she was on the verge of saying something — but whatever it was had died on her lips, apparently.
I lifted the bouquet from the box, and held it out to her. "Best of luck," I repeated. With a smile, I handed Trixie her smaller one, and stepped aside for the wedding party to make its way outside for the photographers.
As the wedding party assembled in the garden, I couldn't help glancing around me, seeing the members of Cliffs House staff who were watching discreetly as they finished up the last minute touches before the ceremony. I glimpsed the gardening staff taking away the hand carts that had been used to wheel in stacks of chairs — and among t
hem stood Matt.
I could see his face clearly enough from here. He didn't look angry or hurt as he watched Petal and her husband-to-be pose for the camera. He stood there calmly, turning aside after a moment to answer someone who spoke to him. A second later, he was gone again.
Who had told him about the bouquet? Was it Lady Amanda? Or did one of the girls let it slip that I was struggling to find the flowers for the very bouquet Petal had rejected? One thing I felt very certain of, however, was that he hadn't done it for her. He hadn't raided his greenhouse and clipped blossoms from his carefully-tended plants for the woman who had crushed his heart to pieces years ago.
Maybe that's why two bright spots of pink invaded my own cheeks momentarily. I turned my thoughts somewhere else, to the immediate task of adjusting the front edge of the carpet rolled across the pathway for the bride's aisle.
I stood up and gazed at the carpeted walkway sprinkled with petals, and the beautiful arbor decorated with dried flowers and fresh blooms, reflecting the colors of wild Cornish blossoms. Everything was perfect. Cliffs House could be proud of itself at this moment, and that was what mattered to me.
Thank you, Matt, I whispered inside. I owed him more than I could say for this moment of satisfaction.
***
The reception's party was in full swing an hour after the ceremony was over. The string quartet had been replaced by the pop singer and a band, and the modern skyscraper of a cake had been dissected for the hundred or so guests of the bride and groom.
Petal and Donald looked happy as the best man toasted them with champagne, and as they posed with friends and family for private photos snapped by mobile phones. Petal seemed especially pleased by how much attention her dress and shoes were garnering from the handful of exclusive feature journalists and photographers who were allowed to stay for the event. As I checked on the progress of the catering staff, I caught a glimpse of her serene smile as she lifted the hem of her long wedding dress to let a photographer take a close up of the glittering designer shoes. For once, it made me glad that I was wearing a pair of plain, unadorned heels.
"Isn't it exciting?" Gemma asked me, under her breath. I could see her cheeks were flushed with excitement, in contrast to her dignified black and white service uniform. In her hands, a nearly-empty tray that had once held Dinah's mini whortleberry pies topped with clotted cream and dark chocolate shavings.
"I think we've pulled it off," I said, forgetting momentarily whether this had the same meaning in English vernacular or not. "That is, it's a success. For all of us. It couldn't have been a better day if we had designed every part of it."
"It's a good thing Dinah made a little extra fudge," Gemma added, in a whisper. "The kitchen's almost out of tarts and pasties."
Charlotte had decorated her mini meat pies beautifully, with elegant crimped edges and a decorative swirl of pastry on each one. I knew she would be proud of how many famous people had declared them the best they'd ever eaten. Even if they weren't the hearty full-size 'oggies' she was famous for in the village.
"Is there still enough champagne?" I asked.
"A crateful," she answered, then slipped back to circulating among the crowd.
I felt Lady Amanda squeeze my arm, briefly. "A smashing success, isn't it?" she said, echoing part of my words from before. She was wearing an elegant dress — her best frock from a London designer, she informed me, which she generally wore to formal events at Cliffs House.
"Are you pleased with today?" I asked, feigning curiosity with this question. "Did I meet your standards for a proper event planner? Because now's your chance to fire me, if not."
"Silly of you," said Lady Amanda, with a no-nonsense look. "Of course we're pleased. And don't think you're going anywhere anytime soon. We have a charity ball for the Tsunami Recovery Foundation and a wedding booked with an American couple in the diary for next month."
"So soon?"
"Not feeling quite up to the job of chief event planner?" Lady Amanda's eyes twinkled.
"I've never felt better about it, actually," I answered. "Now, if you'll pardon me — boss — I think I'll grab a quick bite to eat and make sure Dinah doesn't need an extra hand finishing those caviar canapés." I gave her a smile as I slipped from the room.
A few couples were dancing in the main hall to the strains of music from the reception. A cluster of guests were giggling loudly as they viewed something on the screen of a mobile phone — I was guessing that a few extra rounds of champagne influenced their good spirits. Shrugging my black wrap more securely around my satin party dress, I crossed the room, not to the kitchen but the open main doors of Cliffs House.
Outside, the garden was peaceful, the light soft as the sun moved behind a cloud for a moment. It was my first moment to myself since the wedding began, and I spent it thinking of Matthew. I couldn't help it, partly because the unused bouquet of flowers I had made — the vastly inferior one — was now sitting in a vase on the table close by.
A smile tugged my lips again. This one, a softer, more wistful one than before. I rested my head against the door's frame for a moment, remembering the look in his eyes when he handed me the box of flowers. Had I been imagining it — or was that look —
"Quite all right, Ms. Morgen?" Geoff was behind me.
"Fine," I answered. "Just getting a quick breath of air."
"If you say so." He smiled as he continued on to the kitchen. "And, by the way — congratulations on your first assignment."
"Thanks," I answered. My first congratulations, I thought, in my first moment as a full-fledged event planner. One who knows that everyone who helps you with the smallest of tasks is the real reason you didn't fail.
There was still a couple or two dancing in the main hall by the time the event was over. Donald and Petal Price-Parker had driven away in a sporty foreign car, destined for a private plane and a honeymoon in Rio de Janeiro. Trixie, who had not caught the bouquet, had pouted until the best man and a group of 'fresh young things' from the couple's circle of friends swept her off in a red convertible to some party spot in Truro. The last of the empty trays and glasses had been carted away by the serving staff, the last of the food and drink stored away once more.
I stepped out the hall's main doors, into the cool evening air. The sun was setting, the last of the sunset disappearing on the horizon, transforming the garden into shapes and shadows, even where a couple of guests had requested — and lit — lawn torches along the pathway from the front courtyard to the gardens. I walked in that direction, hugging my wrap around myself, and ignoring my pinched toes from too many hours on my feet in high heels. In my arms, the bouquet of lilies from the vase in the main hall, their water-soaked stems and damp paper carefully wrapped in floral plastic.
I was halfway to the cliff's path when I saw him standing by the shrub-lined walkway outside the main garden. Matthew, only wearing a suit instead of his clean, casual clothes from earlier. He looked handsome, dashing, and as if he was waiting for someone. Seeing him there caught me by surprise.
"Hi," I said, at last.
"Hello," he answered.
I was flustered. The words I should be saying had gotten lost, probably because I hadn't expected to say anything. "I, um, was going to leave these for you," I said. "Along your seat by the cliffs. A way to say 'thank you' for the ones you brought this morning to save me from an apology."
I paused, then kept talking, because Matthew hadn't said anything. "Actually, I owed you an apology anyway," I continued. "Not just for being rude in the beginning, but for not being as understanding as I should be. I was hurt. I had no right to be hurt that you hadn't told me, but I was, and it made me less of a friend ...."
I was babbling now. What was I saying? Matthew was still looking at me, but I imagined he was looking at an insane, flustered woman. I was sure I was blushing, and I was afraid even the growing darkness wouldn't hide it.
I took a deep breath. "So here," I said, holding the flowers out to him. "It's a littl
e weird, I know, but it was the only thing I could think of right now."
"I accept it," he said. "The gift and the apology." He smiled at me. "But I didn't come here for that."
"Oh. Of course not." I was recovering a little now — since I had managed to avoid any physical contact with Matt, I could hide my confusion better the longer I talked. "I'm sure you have plans. I just wanted to leave those for you. There's a card tucked in there, by the way. Just a quick note — but it says things better than I'm saying them now."
"You said them perfectly fine," he answered.
If he didn't stop looking at me, I was going to start crumbling apart again. The heat in my face was spreading everywhere. I had run out of words to say, so we were both going to stand here silently unless Matt had something to add.
"I want you to believe me when I say I'm not in love with Petal anymore," he said. "I won't deny that it hurt to see her. But it was more about my pride than my heart after all these years. I had been avoiding facing her, and when I finally did, I knew for sure that while I might change many things about my past ... I wouldn't change the part where she and I parted ways."
I had stopped breathing as I listened. As I looked into those dark eyes, in what little daylight was left to us. "I believe you," I answered, softly.
"Do you?" he said.
"Of course," I said. "You have a very honest face. I can tell you're not lying to me." I managed to remain serious and not crack a smile with this reply. But I could see Matthew's tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I'm glad," he said. "I assume that you're not going anywhere — that you're not packing up and leaving Cornwall now that the wedding is over?"
Wedding in Cornwall Page 9