Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane

by Ellen Berry

  ‘D’you think you’d manage,’ Andrew asked, spearing a marinated pepper, ‘on top of the B&B and the family …?’

  ‘Rikke helps out,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I could handle it if I was organised. I’ve been thinking about dropping off cards at local businesses,’ she went on, ‘and setting up a website and social media accounts. What d’you think of “Sweetpea Special Occasion Flowers” for my business name?’

  ‘I love it,’ Andrew enthused.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Nadeen added. ‘Honestly – I know you can do it.’ By the end of their lunch, Lucy did too, and as they hugged goodbye she had already made up her mind that she was ready to take things to the next level. The day had done her so much good, she decided as they parted company.

  Lucy was climbing into her car when her phone rang in her bag. The children were at Carys’s for the day – school had broken up for the summer – and instinctively, she snatched it in alarm. But it wasn’t Carys. It was a number she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Lucy? It’s Phyllida Somerville,’ the woman said. ‘Nicola was kind enough to give me your number. Is this a good time?’

  ‘Yes, it’s fine,’ Lucy said brightly as she buckled her seatbelt.

  ‘Great. So, I gather you do flowers for all kinds of occasions?’ Her accent was clipped upper class; she said ‘flarze’ rather than ‘flowers’.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Lucy said.

  ‘I’ve phoned a couple of times,’ Phyllida added, in a tone that suggested to Lucy that she was being told off. She realised now that the missed calls she’d noticed yesterday must have been from her too. Lucy really would have to become more organised. She was terrible at remembering to check her voicemail messages.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Not to worry. I have you now. It’s just, my daughter’s getting married in three weeks’ time and our florist has pulled out.’

  ‘Oh, that’s terrible.’

  Phyllida sighed loudly. ‘She says she’s taken on far too much and sounds like she’s having a bit of a breakdown – but honestly, she’s really let Emma and Dylan down. I’d have thought we’d be a priority, seeing as we booked months ago. So, anyway – I’m really hoping you can help.’

  Lucy wondered if Phyllida was always this unsympathetic when it came to other people’s mental health.

  ‘What kind of thing are you looking for?’ she asked.

  ‘Something natural and fresh,’ Phyllida explained. ‘We don’t want imported flowers and we certainly don’t want any of those nasty, artificially dyed monstrosities. I’m thinking a casual, country look at the church. Just garden flowers, a few sweetpeas and whatnot …’

  Lucy smiled at her brusqueness. ‘Well, I only use natural materials I’ve gathered locally,’ she explained. ‘I don’t buy in any flowers at all. In fact, at the moment, most come from my own garden.’

  ‘Oh, that sounds perfect,’ Phyllida announced, sounding relieved, as if Lucy had agreed to take on the job already. ‘I’m thinking a casual, country look. You’re highly recommended around the village – but have you done any weddings before?’

  ‘No, not exactly …’

  ‘What have you done?’

  Lucy frowned. Was this a phone interview? ‘Various shops in the village,’ she started. ‘The bookshop, hair salon, bakery, gallery – that kind of thing. And the foyer at Lupin’s Hotel.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Phyllida paused. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t mean to be pushy or rude. My daughter is adamant that it doesn’t matter, but of course it does. She’s young, you know. She thinks it’s cool to not care, to be ever-so-casual – but I know she’ll regret it later if we don’t pull something spectacular together.’ Her voice had softened. ‘Would you mind terribly if I asked you to come over for a chat?’

  ‘Phyllida—’ Lucy hesitated. ‘I’d love to help out but a whole wedding, by myself—’

  ‘We’re only talking flowers at the church, then the reception here at my home,’ she said firmly, which didn’t sound quite like a few sweetpeas and whatnot. But now Lucy remembered how full of enthusiasm she’d felt in the restaurant with Andrew and Nadeen. Hadn’t she just said she wanted to step things up? ‘Do you know Fordell House?’ Phyllida went on. ‘That’s where I live.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Sam and Marnie had been fascinated by the grand, turreted house when they had passed by on one of their walks recently. Who lived there, they’d asked? Would they have servants?

  ‘Emma always planned to make the bouquets for her bridesmaid and herself,’ Phyllida went on. ‘So you wouldn’t need to worry about those.’ Oh, that’s okay then! Lucy smiled, warming to Phyllida now the curtness was starting to fade away.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I could pop over tomorrow, if that suits you, and bring a list of suggestions—’

  ‘That’s wonderful, thank you,’ Phyllida cut in, sounding immediately relieved. ‘I’m very much looking forward to meeting you, Lucy. It’s been a terrible worry and you really are helping us out.’

  As if everything was agreed already, Lucy thought with a smile as she pulled out of the parking space. Clearly, Phyllida Somerville was a woman used to getting her own way.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘I’m just dashing out, Mum,’ Lucy said when Anna called the following afternoon. ‘Can I ring you a bit later?’ Her mother had a habit of calling at inopportune moments. She had already made it clear that she thought Lucy was crazy to start doing B&B again, and she knew how she’d react if she mentioned the possibility of doing wedding flowers on top of everything else.

  ‘Oh, are you going somewhere with the children?’ she asked.

  ‘No, they’re at holiday club today,’ Lucy replied, checking the kitchen clock. She had agreed to be at Phyllida’s in twenty minutes.

  ‘Really? Are you … working?’ What on earth did she mean by that? She knew how Lucy filled her days.

  ‘Mum, I’m just …’ She paused, reminding herself that her mother probably didn’t mean it in a critical way. Lucy was aware that she was still prone to bouts of hypersensitivity. ‘They enjoy it,’ she said. ‘Lots of their friends go too. But, look, I really have to go. I have an appointment …’ There was a pause, during which she was probably supposed to furnish her mum with more details, but she just left it hanging there.

  ‘Right. Well, I just wanted to say, your dad and I have been talking.’

  ‘What about?’ Lucy asked, her heart sinking a little as she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, then made her way to the front door.

  ‘I know what you’ll say but please bear with me.’ Lucy inhaled deeply. She knew what was coming next. ‘A house has come up,’ Anna continued. ‘I know you want to see the year out—’ See the year out? When had she ever said that? ‘—but it’s so lovely – just right for you and the kids. The best part is – it’s in our road!’

  Lucy opened her mouth to speak but no words came. She stepped outside, locked the door and marched to her car. ‘Dad’s holding it for you,’ Anna continued. ‘Will you at least come over and look at it? You could be all moved in and settled by—’

  ‘Mum, we’re not moving,’ she exclaimed. ‘You know I’m running a business again here. Well, two businesses really.’

  ‘But don’t you think—’

  ‘Could you put Dad on please?’ Lucy said tersely.

  ‘He’s having a lie-down right now,’ she muttered.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is he okay?’

  ‘Oh, he’s just going on about some dizziness thing now, another ailment, as if I have time for that.’

  ‘What kind of ailment?’ Lucy asked, frowning as she climbed into her car.

  ‘Nothing really. He’s fine when his friends call and they ask him out for a drink, but at home – no, he’s dying—’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she said briskly.

  ‘What does Dad have?’

  ‘Oh, something with a ridiculous name,’ her mother remar
ked. ‘Labyrinth-something. Sounds like a board game to me.’

  ‘D’you mean labyrinthitis?’ Lucy asked. ‘That’s a real thing, Mum. It can affect the balance and be pretty nasty. Has he seen a doctor?’

  ‘He’s never away from the doctor’s,’ she crowed.

  ‘Well, maybe he’s actually ill!’

  ‘What about me? I never catch any of these peculiar viruses. I don’t have time to be ill.’

  Knowing the conversation would continue in this vein, Lucy turned on the ignition. ‘Mum, I’m really sorry but I can’t talk now—’

  ‘You’re going to your appointment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A beat’s silence. ‘You’re not ill, are you, darling?’

  ‘No, Mum,’ Lucy said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘I’m not ill. I’m great, actually, but sorry – I really do have to go.’

  Lucy’s exasperation soon dissipated as she pulled into the expansive grounds of Fordell House. There was a huge, peeling Victorian greenhouse, and what she could see of the garden looked rather formal and uninspiring, as if someone certainly kept it tidy but didn’t possess much in the way of creativity or love for the place. The house itself looked a little faded too, although the vast, pale pink landmark was still impressive, nestling amongst the hills with nothing else around. Lucy trotted up the wide stone stairs, and before she had even reached the door, it opened.

  ‘Lucy, hello, thank you so much for coming.’ Phyllida greeted her warmly and shook her hand. She was a tall, statuesque woman with neatly coiffed silvery hair and piercing blue eyes, and was wearing casual checked trousers and a peachy-hued sweater. Although in her seventies at a guess, she had a vibrancy about her and looked as if she led an active life, and Lucy decided she was the kind of woman who took no nonsense from anyone.

  She was led into a panelled hallway and along a corridor lined with numerous paintings of the kind of rural landscapes that could have depicted almost anywhere: hills, lakes, forests, in ornate gilt frames and dulled with age. Phyllida showed Lucy into a sun-dappled drawing room with yellow drapes and richly patterned rugs scattered about. The atmosphere was of faded opulence, and Lucy had a fleeting sense of wondering why she was here and how on earth she would manage to pull off this job by herself.

  ‘Do sit down,’ Phyllida said. They no sooner perched on stiffly upholstered chairs than a young man in a crisp white shirt and smart black trousers swept in. He was carrying a cake stand laden with scones and pots of cream and jam, plus a tray bearing a teapot, cups and saucers.

  ‘Lucy, this is Davide,’ Phyllida said.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, and he greeted her with a warm smile and handshake before pouring their teas.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Lucy said, at which he just nodded and murmured something in French. Once he’d melted away into another room, Lucy outlined her ideas for seasonal flowers, with Phyllida making grand, rather confusing statements such as, ‘I’d like a sense of abundance – you know? We’re looking to decorate the church pews, and have some fabulous display by the altar, and perhaps by the entrance too?’ She paused. ‘Do have a scone. Davide bakes them – they’re very good …’

  Obediently, Lucy helped herself, and it was indeed delicious, even though she barely felt like eating in her rather nervous state. ‘Then we’ll need flowers here at the house, of course,’ Phyllida went on. ‘I’d love to see something spectacular going up our main staircase, let me show you …’ She leapt up and marched across the room with Lucy in pursuit.

  ‘Okay, yep,’ Lucy was now scribbling in her notepad as she gazed up at the impressive stairwell. The house was furnished with antiques, seemingly from a mishmash of eras, and cluttered with china ornaments of horses and dogs. There was a velvet-upholstered chaise longue in the hallway, which was shabbily beautiful, if a little moth-eaten. Dust particles danced in the air.

  ‘We’ll need table centrepieces,’ Phyllida continued, waving an arm around as she led Lucy into a panelled dining room, ‘and perhaps something dramatic for the porch. I’m thinking tall structures, bursting from pots.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘You don’t go around tearing up plants from the countryside, do you?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘As I said on the phone, most of it comes from my own garden, and a neighbour says it’s fine to cut foliage from the land behind her house. D’you know Irene, from the post office in the village?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I know everyone around here.’

  ‘Well, she’s been very generous.’ Even as she said it, Lucy had figured that she would have to be especially inventive in order to source such a vast quantity of materials without having to plunder the countryside too much. It was fine to take a little – but she was careful about never damaging wild plants or leaving them looking depleted. She would certainly need to find new places to forage if this second business of hers continued to grow at this pace.

  Lucy wound up the meeting by showing Phyllida some sketches she’d done, showing various arrangements she could pull together, plus photographs of her recent creations on her iPad. However, it seemed as if Phyllida was sold on her already.

  ‘I have every confidence in you, Lucy,’ she said as she saw her out. ‘I’ve walked past your place and I have to say I’m impressed with what you’ve done to the house and garden.’ She paused. ‘I am right, aren’t I, that you’re the family in Rosemary Cottage?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Lucy replied, wondering if she, too, had heard about Ivan.

  ‘How lovely! Kitty was a great friend of mine. I miss her terribly. You always do, don’t you, when you lose someone who was dear to you?’

  ‘Uh, yes, I guess so,’ Lucy said, sensing a twist in her heart.

  Phyllida smiled wistfully. ‘I still find it hard sometimes to accept that she’s gone. We spent so many happy afternoons together in her garden.’ Lucy nodded, momentarily stuck for words. ‘But she’d be delighted that those redcurrant bushes of hers are in such capable hands,’ she added, patting Lucy’s hand.

  As she pulled out of the wide, sweeping drive, she wondered how on earth she would make a start on all of this, and pictured Ivan, gently teasing her. Before the accident, she had never thought she believed that the dead had any connection with the living. Once you were gone, you were gone, she thought: into the earth, to nourish the soil and fertilise new growth, or to be scattered and carried away on a breeze. It was the natural way of things and she supposed she was okay with that. But now, her views had shifted. It wasn’t so much that she believed in heaven in an angels-on-clouds sense, or indeed in any kind of afterlife; more a feeling that the man she loved was still with her, somehow. She could feel him close, and picture him smiling at what she had agreed to take on.

  ‘I do hope I’ve been clear,’ had been Phyllida’s parting shot today, ‘and it’s not too much for you, Lucy. Please do say now, if you’re not sure.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Lucy had said firmly, trying to exude confidence and smiling now at the thought of the task ahead of her. An entire lavish wedding, all by herself? It was helipad madness all right.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Well, I do hope you’re going to call her and say you’ve changed your mind,’ Lucy’s mother announced when she arrived the following week. A mercifully short stay was how Lucy regarded it; guilt-making, naturally, but she was still feeling rather prickly about Anna’s insistence that she must sell up and move to Leeds.

  When it was just Lucy and the children, they muddled along. The three of them were a tight little unit now. They had found their new rhythm, and as Lucy launched herself back into day-to-day life, starting to plan and gather materials for Phyllida’s daughter’s wedding flowers, she had reflected again that they had a great deal to be thankful for.

  ‘Of course I’m not going to change my mind,’ she said. ‘I’m delighted to be asked. It’s about time I moved the business up a gear, Mum.’

  She sensed her mother glancing at her as they strolled across th
e garden. Lucy had brought out coffee and cakes, thinking it would be lovely to enjoy them outdoors on this mild July afternoon. But Anna had been fidgety and kept rubbing at her arms, even though she was wearing a sweater, and had finally asked if they could head back indoors.

  ‘Would you ever consider going back?’ she asked as they stepped into the house.

  ‘Back where, Mum?’ Lucy frowned.

  ‘Back to Claudine – to that job of yours. You seemed happy there.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said firmly. ‘We’re not moving back to Manchester. The thought has never even occurred to me. Anyway, they got rid of me, remember? A new boss came in and decided my face didn’t fit. They wouldn’t just have me back.’

  ‘Well, if not there, how about looking for something in Leeds?’ Anna suggested, affecting a casual tone. Lucy glanced at her, wondering where this was leading to. She had never intimated that she would consider going back to a full-time job. ‘There must be plenty of fashion retailers based there,’ Anna added.

  ‘I’m sure there are,’ Lucy said, ‘but why would I—’

  ‘I’m just worried you’re not thinking things through,’ her mother cut in.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  Anna pursed her lips. ‘Doing all these flowers – these occasions – as well as running things here.’

  ‘Well, Rikke still helps out when I need her to, and there’s the holiday club for the odd day when I’m really hectic and need to catch up on stuff—’

  ‘Is the B&B really doing okay?’ Anna asked, wincing.

  Lucy frowned. ‘We’re doing great, Mum. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Well, there aren’t any guests now …’

  Lucy exhaled. There was no pleasing her mother; according to her, Lucy was either too busy, taking on far too much, or not busy enough. ‘I deliberately didn’t accept any bookings for these few days you’re here,’ she explained, as patiently as she could manage. ‘And there’s Marnie’s birthday coming up too. We have enough going on.’