The Oddest Little Mistletoe Shop

by Beth Good

  Shantelle was clearly shocked by this outburst, her eyes wide with amazement. Rose never spoke to customers like that. But when she opened her mouth to say something, Rose shot her such a quelling look that the girl closed it again like a trap and scurried into the back room instead, muttering something about ‘making the tea.’

  ‘I doubt any executives who slept late would make much money,’ he remarked, and stepped inside the shop, closing the door after him. The bell jangled noisily and he glanced up at it. ‘Charming,’ he added. ‘Just like its owner.’

  ‘That bell belongs to my dad,’ she said pointedly, folding her arms across her chest in a defensive gesture. ‘I’ll tell him you said so.’

  He smiled appreciatively.

  'What do you want, Mr Grimsby?'

  'I would have thought that was self-evident.'

  Rose stiffened. 'Not to me, it's not.'

  'How very odd.' His eyebrows rose as he gazed about the shop. 'I would like to buy some flowers, obviously. Why else would I be here?'

  She battled with her instinct to be rude to him, and forced a polite smile to her face instead. 'I see,' she said politely, and busied herself preparing the till for the day's work. 'In that case, how can I help you?'

  His smile sent tingles down her spine. 'That's a leading question.' When she glared at him, he shrugged and said merely, 'I need a Christmas wreath. I've been told this is the best place to get one.' He studied some of the pre-made wreaths already on display. 'What do you recommend?'’

  Rose decided it was better to play along, and treat him like any other customer, rather than behave antagonistically. She had agreed to have dinner with him tonight, after all. And although Nick Grimsby was undoubtedly going to be very annoyed once he learnt about their meeting last night, and what had been decided there, there was no reason to put the cat among the pigeons just yet. Let sleeping pigeons lie, was her immediate thought. Even if it did mean mixing her metaphors quite horribly.

  'What price range?' she asked.

  His grin annoyed her. 'The sky is not quite the limit, but it's moving in that direction.'

  'In other words, you don't mind paying a steep price for something that you very badly want?'

  'I resent paying more for something than it is worth. Unless there are benefits attached.'

  She felt an insidious warmth enter her cheeks, and fought not to allow her indignation to show in her face. 'We appear to be talking at cross-purposes. I can't imagine what benefits are attached to buying a Christmas wreath.'

  He came towards her, removing his black leather gloves and pushing them into one of his coat pockets. 'That's because you see it in terms of a simple purchase. You're not seeing the bigger picture.'

  'Enlighten me.'

  His mouth twitched. 'Now there's an invitation I can hardly resist. Unfortunately, I have a meeting very shortly, so I can't take you up on it. Suffice it to say, I'm intrigued and would like to take this further. But I wouldn't want you to think that means I can be … squeezed.'

  Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. 'I don't remember ever offering to squeeze you,' she said coldly, and then desperately wished those idiotic words unsaid.

  He laughed. 'More's the pity.'

  'Do you wish to buy a wreath or not, Mr Grimsby?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then how about something like that one?'

  She pointed to the most expensive wreath in the shop, a vast and elaborate affair liberally laced with fir sprigs, red-berried holly and mistletoe, and lightly sprayed with white ‘snow’ for an even more festive effect. It had taken her and Shantelle several hours to get it perfect. But of course the display models always took a little longer, because she was such a perfectionist, and she wanted customers to see their work at its best.

  He studied the wreath, then nodded. 'Yes, it looks excellent. I’ll take that one. Can you have it delivered?'

  'Of course, she said coolly, echoing his own words. ‘Just a moment.’

  Rose clicked on the computer mouse, but nothing happened. The screen remained grey and silent. She clicked the mouse again. Still nothing.

  From behind, she heard a slight coughing noise. It was Shantelle standing in the doorway, to the back room and clearing her throat.

  ‘Yes, Shantelle?' she asked sharply.

  Shantelle pointed to the computer. 'You, erm, haven't turned it on yet, boss.'

  Rose silently counted to five again in her head, something which she was beginning to do with alarming frequency.

  She hadn’t yet turned it on. Well, didn’t that just make her look like an incompetent fool?

  'No problem.’ She looked straight back at him, a bright smile on her lips as she picked up a ballpoint pen and flipped through the notepad on her counter until she found a clean page. 'That's a display model, so you can’t take that exact one. But I can have another wreath just like it made up this afternoon, if you're in a hurry.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  ‘In that case,’ she replied, pen poised in mid-air, smile brighter than ever, ‘if you could give me the delivery address, sir?'

  'Sir?' he repeated, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

  'Mr Grimsby, then.'

  ‘How about if you call me Nick?’ he said persuasively.

  ‘How about if I don’t?’

  ‘Okay.’ He smiled, shrugging. 'I tell you what, I'll have my personal assistant drop by some time and pick it up for me.’

  She put the pen down with a snap. ‘Fine.’

  Nick Grimsby took out his wallet and handed her a credit card. ‘There you go.’ He watched while she rang up the sale, and primed the card machine. ‘That thing turned on, is it? Did you check?’

  She glared at him silently.

  A loud snort came from behind her. When Rose turned, teeth bared and ready to eat her assistant’s brain, all she saw was the bead curtain swaying gently.

  Shantelle had run away.

  Once the sale was complete, Nick Grimsby put his card back in his wallet, and then said, almost casually, ‘So you and all the other major owners on Christmas Parade had a meeting at the library last night.’ He pocketed his wallet and raised his head, studying her face. ‘What was discussed?’

  Her eyes widened, her heart suddenly speeding up as she met that hard, inquisitive gaze. For a moment she did not know what to say.

  'That’s none of your business.'

  His eyebrows were really quite skilled at talking for him, she thought, watching in fascination as they danced about. 'Miss Mistletoe,' he began, then stopped, his voice deepening persuasively as he said, 'Look, can't I call you Rose? You must admit, you're a bit of a tongue twister, Miss Mistletoe.'

  'You can twist your tongue round me all day,’ she said hotly, 'for all I care.' Then stopped, staring back at him.

  Once again, she wished she could grab those very unfortunate words straight out of the air and stuff them when nobody would ever hear them again. Preferably right up his…

  'If you insist,' he said, smiling.

  Oh, how she'd like to wipe that knowing look of his face.

  'Let's just keep this business-like,' she told him, and closed the notebook with great dignity. 'Yes, all right, there was a meeting last night. But since it was not a public meeting, and you were not invited, Mr Grimsby, I can hardly be expected to divulge what we discussed privately.'

  There, she thought, that should fox him.

  But his smile merely broadened. 'Luckily for me, not all your fellow owners are so careful and conscientious. I already know what was discussed, so there's no point concealing your… plan.' He waited, but when she said nothing, Nick Grimsby shrugged as though it were of little consequence if she denied or confirmed the particulars of her plan. 'Well, no matter. We can discuss all that tonight.'

  Rose gaped. 'You still want to have dinner with me? Given you claim to know what we discussed at the meeting last night?'

  She was treading warily, suspicious he might not really know anything at all, and
could be trying to trick her into giving away their plan.

  'Why not?'

  She hesitated. 'It just doesn't seem like a good idea now.'

  He made an impatient gesture. 'Nonsense, I'm looking forward to it. The limo will be here to collect you at closing time, as we arranged.' Nick Grimsby nodded almost benignly at her, called out, 'Goodbye,' to Shantelle in the back room, and then strolled out of the flower shop, pulling on his leather gloves with the deliberate air of a strangler.

  As soon as he had gone, Shantelle rustled out from behind the bead curtain, eyes wide with astonishment.

  'Wow, that scar!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I wonder how he got it.’

  ‘Probably a punch in the face,’ Rose said tightly, her own fists clenched as she realised how smoothly he had manipulated her into having dinner with him. ‘It’s a good thing he left when he did. I was about ready to give him a matching one on the other side.’

  ‘And you're having dinner with him?'

  'Yes.'

  'Oh my God. It's going to be like one of them rags to riches films… Oh! Oh!' Shantelle pointed at her wildly, jabbing her finger almost in her face. 'Pretty Woman. That's what this is. He's Richard Gere, the billionaire, which makes you…'

  'I am not a prostitute.'

  'I'm very glad indeed to hear it,' said a voice from the doorway.

  Rose whirled in horror to see the vicar standing behind her, a mild smile on his face, his silver hair partly hidden beneath a vast Cossack-style hat.

  Nick had not closed the door when he left, she realised, only just understanding why she was feeling so cold, and wondered how many passers-by had been able to follow what they had been discussing.

  'Forgive me,’ Reverend Wick said gently, ‘if I’m intruding on what sounded like a very private conversation, but I need to discuss the floral arrangements for the Christmas services. Mrs Potter, one of my church wardens, is supposed to be in charge of the flowers this year. But unfortunately she fell off the altar yesterday and has broken her leg.’ He paused, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘I believe she was … erm … dusting our Lord’s cross when it happened.’

  ‘I see,’ Rose said faintly.

  ‘Are you available to speak to me now?’ The vicar was still smiling, and in a way that reminded her uncomfortably of Nick Grimsby’s knowing grin. ‘Or should I come back at a more convenient moment?'

  'Of course I can speak to you now, Reverend Wick,’ Rose said hurriedly, her cheeks hot with embarrassment at what he must have overheard. ‘I'll be just one moment, if you don't mind waiting?'

  The vicar seemed amused by her confusion, rubbing at his silvery stubble. ‘I don't mind waiting at all,' he said.

  And Reverend Wick moved discreetly away, humming the opening bars of Good King Wenceslas as he bent to scrutinise the festive display of lights in the shop windows.

  Pulling Shantelle aside, Rose muttered in her ear, 'Look, I won't be having dinner alone with that awful man. I'm going with my dad too, and my lawyer. It's business, not –'

  'Personal?'

  ‘Exactly.’ Rose pretended not to have seen her assistant’s disbelieving grin. 'Meanwhile, silly fantasies aside,’ she hissed, ‘we have a large Christmas wreath to make.'

  She glanced covertly back at the vicar, who was fiddling with some glossy red baubles, a delighted smile on his face, and then checked the wall clock.

  'Right,’ she said quickly, ‘I have to speak to the vicar first, and then I have a few bouquets to arrange for today's deliveries. Jason will be here to collect them in less than an hour. But you could get going on the large Christmas wreath for Mr Grimsby, that would be a great help.’

  Rose take a deep breath, pushing aside the worrying thought of dinner with Nick Grimsby tonight. She would not be alone with him, after all, so what was there to fear?

  ‘There's wire for the frame in the store room, okay?’ she added, pushing a reluctant Shantelle that way. ‘Take what you need and make a start on weaving in the laurel sprigs.'

  Shantelle was looking disappointed, but to Rose’s relief, she did not argue. 'Whatever you say, boss.’ With a sigh, she shuffled through the bead curtain, and a moment later could be heard rooting noisily through boxes in the store room.

  Rose mustered a brave smile and returned to the vicar, who had accidentally detached a large red bauble from the tree and was attempting to hide it among the tinsel.

  'Now then, Reverend Wick,’ she said calmly, holding out a hand so he could place the errant red bauble in her palm, 'about these flower arrangements for the church … '

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When closing time came around, she peeked outside, looking up and down the dark street, but although the London traffic was nose-to-tail as always, headlights blinding her in all directions, she couldn’t see any sign of a limousine. So much for that, she thought caustically, and began going through her lock-up routine, emptying the till, totting up the card transactions, and setting the alarm. Partway through entering the last few digits into her calculator, Shantelle, who had been turning off lights and making sure all pot plants were sitting on their overnight capillary watering systems, gave a sudden shriek, rather like a deranged parrot.

  Startled by this unexpected screech, Rose entered one too many digits in the calculator, and swore loudly.

  ‘Language!’ Shantelle said at once, chiding her with a teenager’s relish for the boot being on the other foot.

  ‘Well, you made me jump,’ she said guiltily. ‘What on earth are you shrieking about? Did you see another mouse?’

  There had been a mouse spotted earlier in the year, hiding out in the store room. Happily it had done a runner as soon as traps had been put down, so although Rose had steeled herself to dispose of a possible tiny corpse, none had ever materialised.

  ‘That! That over there!’ Shantelle, peeking outside through the snow-sprayed, tinsel-laden window frame, waved a frantic, ring-bedecked hand at the darkness. ‘Bit bigger than a mouse. See?’

  Curious, Rose crept to the window and looked out over the girl’s shoulder.

  A sleek black limousine sat at the kerb a few hundred yards down from the shop, in the small area reserved for delivery vans to pull in.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Rose whispered under her breath, staring. ‘I thought he was kidding about sending a limo.’

  As they both watched in fascination, the driver’s door opened and a liveried chauffeur climbed out, cap and all. Not a male chauffeur, Rose realised in surprise as the chauffeur came closer, but a woman in tight-fitting black trousers that flared over black, high-heeled boots, and a fitted cream jacket that matched her peaked cap. And she was undoubtedly looking at the shop signs as she sauntered their way, tall and elegant, long blonde ponytail swinging from side to side.

  ‘Bloody hell. She’s a woman!’

  ‘Well spotted,’ Rose said drily, then hurried back to the counter and gave up on calculating the takings. She scooped the receipts into her handbag instead, along with today’s takings in cash, and left the empty till drawer wide open to deter burglars from breaking in. Then she grabbed her coat and scarf, and nodded Shantelle to do the same. ‘Everything off? Good, then we might as well lock up.’

  ‘Any chance of a lift home?’ Shantelle asked cheekily as Rose punched the code into the alarm.

  The liveried chauffeur was at the open door now, looking in at them both with cool disinterest. ‘Miss Mistletoe?’ She had an odd accent. Nordic, perhaps. That would certainly tally with the blonde hair and the stately height. ‘Miss Rose Mistletoe?’

  ‘Erm, yes, that’s me,’ Rose said awkwardly, and nudged a staring Shantelle through the doorway, then pulled the door shut and locked it as the alarm went through its routine. ‘Did Mr Grimsby send you to collect me?’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  Shantelle’s eyes were wide. She studied the woman from head-to-toe, fanning herself with the end of her woolly scarf. ‘Madam,’ she repeated dreamily, and shook her head
. ‘She called you madam.’

  ‘I’m to drive you home, madam,’ the woman continued, glancing sideways at Shantelle with a slight frown in her eyes. ‘Then on to dinner with my employer.’

  ‘Your employer?’

  ‘Yes, madam. Mr Grimsby.’

  ‘So you’re not … erm … just hired for tonight?’

  The blonde’s eyebrows rose, but she remained icily polite. ‘No, madam. I’m Ebba, Mr Grimsby’s personal driver.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Ebba.’ She hesitated, feeling an elbow poke her in the ribs. ‘Any chance you could give Shantelle here a lift home as well?’

  Ebba looked from her to Shantelle dubiously. ‘I don’t wish to cause offence, miss, but I’ve been given quite a tight schedule and Mr Grimsby is very keen on punctuality.’

  ‘She lives in the same street as me.’

  Shantelle nodded, gesturing to Rose and then herself. ‘Same street. We’ve always known each other.’ She giggled. ‘We’re practically twins!’

  The blonde’s eyebrows rose even more steeply as she studied Shantelle, then she turned back to Rose with a nod of her cap. ‘In that case, if you would both accompany me, I’ve parked the car this way.’

  ‘We saw it,’ Shantelle gushed. ‘Such a nice car. I’ve never been in a limousine before. Does Mr Grimsby use it a lot?’

  Ebba hesitated, walking a few feet ahead of them, then nodded again. ‘Quite frequently, yes. Particularly for business clients.’

  ‘What, like when he’s entertaining big business tycoons, you mean? Does he keep a ton of champagne in there, and … and escort girls, and – ’

  Furious, Rose shot her a quelling look, mouthing ‘Shut. Up.’