Much to the men’s amusement, Nell had fled back to her owner with her tail between her legs.
‘She’s too timid to make a good sheepdog,’ Geoff said. ‘I could tell that from early on. But a dog is a dog is a dog. If an animal runs, it’s in a dog’s nature to chase it, and Nell here is no exception. It’s best she learns now that it’s wrong.’
The next time Nell approached the three yearlings, it was with considerably more caution and respect. No mad run at them; more of a slink, one paw at a time. The ewes allowed her to get close enough for a sniff, then went back to their grazing, totally ignoring the black and white pup at their feet.
‘That’s enough for one day,’ Geoff said. ‘It’ll take more than one session to make her understand what’s expected of her, so come back this time next week and I’ll fetch a couple of ewes in from the main flock.’
The two men walked towards the farmhouse in companionable silence, Nell scurrying ahead of them, her nose to the ground as she investigated all the new scents.
‘Put the dog in here,’ Geoff said, opening one of the old stable doors. ‘She can say hello to her mum. Bess, look who’s here to see you.’
Mother and daughter greeted one another with wagging tails and twitching noses, and Rex could tell that they recognised each other immediately. Bess bowled Nell over and began to give her a good wash.
When he entered the cosy kitchen, the enticing aroma of garlic, herbs and onions made his mouth water, and his stomach rumbled loudly. An older woman, about his mum’s age, stepped away from the oven to greet him, and after wiping her hands on a tea towel, she pulled him into a hug.
‘I’m Iris, Leanne’s mum. Lovely to meet you at last,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’ She shot a look at an open door to Rex’s right. ‘We all have,’ she added drily.
‘Mum! I heard that!’ Leanne’s voice floated into the kitchen, making him smile.
‘Geoff’s been telling me,’ he said, just as Leanne appeared.
‘Dad!’ She blushed, and Rex grinned widely when he saw her embarrassment.
She had a leaf stuck in her hair and her fingers were stained green.
‘I’ve been told that your next fantastic creation is ready for viewing,’ Rex said, just in case he was giving her the wrong idea and she thought he was there to see her. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel uncomfortable in her own home.
She screwed her face up into a grimace. ‘Not really. This is version twenty-six and I’m still not happy with it.’
‘May I take a look?’ he asked.
‘Sure. Mum will give us a shout when tea is ready.’
Rex smiled to himself. Tanglewood had its own charm when it came to mealtimes. Breakfast was breakfast, lunch could be either lunch or dinner, and tea could either refer to a cup of tea or dinner, depending on the context. Not once had he heard it being used to describe tea and cakes in the afternoon, although Peggy’s Tea Shoppe did serve a cream tea consisting of scones, cream and jam, or bara brith – a type of local bread – and Welsh cakes.
Leanne showed him into what might once have been a study but was now crammed full of half-completed waterfalls and buckets of flowers and greenery. Most of the blooms were in varying shades of blue or white, and there were drawings and sketches tacked to almost every bit of free wall space.
He studied her current effort, which was sitting on the table in the middle of the room. A computer and a printer had been relegated to the floor.
‘I wish she’d bloody hurry up and win this competition,’ Geoff said, walking past the open door clutching knives and forks in both hands. ‘I want my office back.’
Leanne narrowed her eyes and poked her tongue out at her father. They had such an easy and loving way between them that Rex was abruptly flooded with longing for his own parents. He vowed to give them a ring when he got home.
‘What do you think?’ she asked him, and his attention was drawn back to the half-completed flower arrangement on the table. Then he scanned the others dotted around the small room. They were all slightly different, but each of them looked perfect to his untrained eye.
‘I can’t see anything wrong with any of them,’ he admitted eventually. ‘They all look good to me.’
‘They don’t capture the essence of the hillside streams,’ Leanne said. ‘Something isn’t right. Take this one, for instance.’ She pointed to a display on the floor near his feet. ‘There isn’t enough white for a tumbling brook.’ She indicated another. ‘It looks more like a fluffy cloud than water.’
Rex examined them, frowning. He could see what she was getting at.
‘They should be drooping down,’ he said abruptly.
‘Oh, don’t worry, a couple more days in Dad’s stuffy office and they’ll be drooping all right.’
‘Not that kind of drooping,’ he said. ‘The flowers are facing up. They should be facing down.’
It was Leanne’s turn to frown at her display, and she caught her lip between her teeth as she considered what he’d just said. He thought she looked quite adorable when she did that.
‘You’re right,’ she said slowly. Then she let out a squeal. ‘I could kiss you!’
She twirled around to face him, threw her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his cheek.
Automatically Rex’s arms circled her and he pulled her close.
‘Get a room,’ a gruff male voice interrupted, and Rex let go of her so abruptly that Leanne almost stumbled backwards.
‘Sorry, sorry… I… er,’ he stuttered, reaching out to steady her before quickly releasing her once she had regained her balance.
‘Bugger off, Saul, and mind your own business,’ Leanne growled, but the twinkle in her eyes belied her tone.
For a second, Rex wanted to gather her into his arms again. She’d felt so damned good in them, and she’d smelled good, too.
He cleared his throat in embarrassment.
‘Don’t mind my brother. He’s just jealous,’ Leanne said, but Rex noticed that she didn’t meet his eyes, and two spots of colour had appeared on each of her smooth, creamy cheeks. Was the rest of her skin just as creamy? he wondered.
Don’t go there, he told himself. She’s not interested in you.
‘Jealous?’ her brother scoffed. ‘What, you think I want to give your boyfriend a hug? Hardly! He’s not my type.’
Despite himself, for a second Rex couldn’t help wishing that he, Rex, was Leanne’s type, before he shut the ridiculous notion down.
But throughout the rest of the lively, delicious meal, the thought had an annoying way of popping into his head, and he was still trying not to think of it when he collected Nell and said his goodbyes.
He was still trying not to think about it when sleep finally claimed him.
Chapter 14
‘Miss Green, we meet again.’
Leanne jerked her head up on hearing Jarred’s smooth, slightly sarcastic voice. She’d been too busy concentrating on her very detailed notes and drawings to hear his approach. Besides, there was so much else going on that she probably wouldn’t have heard a jet if it had landed right next to her. This was the first real round of the competition, the televised part, and she was determined not to mess it up.
For some reason, she’d expected to have her hair and make-up done, as she’d spotted the three judges being primed, primped and pampered. But it wasn’t to be, and she’d had to dash off to the ladies at the last minute to pin her hair up and slap on some cosmetics, thankful that she’d had the foresight to stick her make-up in her handbag.
The only thing she’d had done to her was to have a tiny microphone attached to her shirt. She wouldn’t have minded, but the fellow doing the attaching had stuck one hand down the front of her shirt and the other up underneath as he fiddled with it to make sure it was OK.
It also wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t had terrible breath, and hadn’t then shouted ‘Next!’ after he’d finished with her, as if she was on a producti
on line.
Finally, all twelve contestants were shown into a vast hangar-like space, and Leanne stared around with her mouth open in awe. On telly, you didn’t get to see the construction-site arrangement of scaffolding, lights, leads and cameras that went on behind the slick shows, and the sight fascinated her for far too long.
Willing herself to get used to it, she tried to focus on the forthcoming ordeal, but it was impossible when she was so nervous, and the environment was so new and disconcerting. She wondered if the other contestants felt as much a fish out of water as she did, and she smiled cautiously at the woman on the next bench.
There were two rows of six benches, and Leanne guessed that gradually they would be removed until only three benches were left. Dear God, let me still be in the competition when that happens, she prayed.
The contestants had all travelled to the venue last night, and had been treated to a hotel room and a lavish dinner. They’d been introduced to one another, and she’d tried to remember all their names, but it had proved beyond her. The only ones she could remember were a girl to her left – Fliss, which she assumed must be short for Felicity – and an older man, Raymond, to her right.
After more instructions and more fiddling with the equipment, the production team were finally ready to start. The contestants had already been told that they had an hour in which to produce a display (but not what it was), and that the various supplies were in a walk-in chiller to the rear of the set. To save any arguments – their words, not Leanne’s – each contestant had been allocated a certain amount of supplies, and it was up to them how much or how little of them they used. There was also a bank of flowers and foliage from which they could take their pick.
Leanne stood behind her bench, her heart thumping and her palms damp, as the presenter, Rory, went through his spiel, the judges nodding sagely and smiling.
Finally it was time for the task to be revealed.
‘Funerals,’ Rory announced grandly. ‘A time of upset and grief. A time when flowers can say what words cannot. You have one hour to prepare a floral display suitable to be placed on top of a coffin. Your time starts…’ He paused dramatically, pretending to look at his watch, but in reality waiting for the producer, who was staring at the huge clock in front of the set that the viewers would probably never see, to give the signal. ‘Now!’
As a group, the contestants charged towards the chiller, and there was a lot of argy-bargy as three of them tried to propel themselves through the door at once.
Leanne hung back, using the time to think. This task wasn’t what she had anticipated at all, and she had to take her hat off to the people who had thought of it. To open the first episode of the very first show with something as sorrowful as funeral flowers was a stroke of genius.
Her mind whirled frantically, scanning through images of the wreaths she had made in the past before hastily discarding each one.
How about a cross? she wondered, then rejected the idea as being too trite, as was a traditional wreath shape. She wanted something more original, more personal, but everything that popped into her head was either tacky or had been done to death (she almost giggled at her little pun).
Realising she had to decide who the arrangement was for before she fixed on her design, she cast her mind around for a scenario.
A child?
No. Too awful.
A spouse?
Maybe…
How about an old lady who’d lived a life filled with love and laughter? Not so much mourning, but more of a celebration; thoughts of her own great-grandmother filled her mind.
Who would the wreath be from? Husband, son, daughter?
She’d got it! An old friend.
Decision made, she picked out a single floristry sponge and some old pink roses. As she did so, she noticed that the creamy calla lilies had been seriously depleted.
She tried to remember what her great-gran had been like. She’d died when Leanne was quite young, but she clearly remembered her lavender scent and the pearls she wore in her ears. She always used to have a lace-edged handkerchief about her person, too – handy for drying children’s tears or dabbing at grazed knees.
Old English pink roses intermingled with alstroemeria would be lovely. Alstroemeria came in a variety of colours, and she was relieved to see some purply pink ones – she would use those instead of the lavender she would have preferred. They were perfect, because they symbolised enduring friendship. With a few pearls on long pins to provide the accent, and the deeper green of ferns giving a contrast, it should make for a heart-warming display.
She worked swiftly, her fingers sure and steady (unlike her heart, which was stuttering and thumping so hard she was sure the microphone must be picking it up). The presenter and the three judges were at the bench in front of her, but Leanne kept her head down. She knew they would make their way over to her eventually, but for now she was desperately trying to pretend that this task was nothing more significant than a rush order, and that she was behind her little counter in Tanglewood with the radio playing in the background.
‘Hi, Leanne. This is… different,’ Rory said, and Leanne gave a nervous laugh. She had deliberately tried not to look at what the other contestants were doing, otherwise she might be in danger of losing her nerve.
‘You do know that it’s supposed to be for a funeral, right?’ he asked, the three judges loitering behind him.
Leanne giggled again, painfully aware that if she didn’t do a good job, she’d be holding a funeral of her own for the death of her dreams in a couple of hours.
Taking her courage in both hands, she stopped what she was doing and stared into the face of the bemused presenter, trying not to look at the judges for fear of what she might see.
‘I know funerals are sad occasions,’ she began. ‘It’s awful to lose someone you love, but if that someone had a good long life, then surely that should be celebrated too?’
She risked a quick glance at Jarred, and saw a spark of what she hoped was genuine interest in his eyes.
‘Take my great-gran, for instance. What I remember about her are her old-world manners, morals and attitude, and I’ve tried to replicate that with the roses. I would have used lavender too, if there had been any, because she used to wear the scent all the time, but the alstroemeria was the nearest I could manage in terms of colour, and its connotation means it’s not out of place.’
‘Friendship?’ Jarred asked.
‘Yes, this arrangement isn’t from me; it would be from an old friend, someone who knew her well and wanted to honour her life.’
‘What about the pearls?’ Pamela asked.
‘My great-gran always wore a pair of freshwater pearl earrings. I can’t ever remember seeing her without them.’
‘So this,’ Jarred waved a hand at her display, ‘isn’t about death, but about love, friendship and memories?’
‘Exactly,’ Leanne said, pleased that he understood.
‘Ten minutes!’ Rory shouted, and she winced.
Where on earth had the last fifty gone?
The panel moved off and she breathed a sigh of relief, resenting the intrusion. It was necessary for the show and the viewers, but still…
It seemed like only a minute had passed when Rory called, ‘Time’s up. Step away from your arrangements. Peter, put that stem down.’ His voice was teasing, but Leanne detected an undercurrent of caution. All the contestants had been warned not to take the mickey on the timings.
Everything stopped and a hasty clear-up took place. Leanne started to help, but was ushered away from her bench.
‘We’ll sort all that out, dear,’ the kindly voice of one of the production staff said. ‘You go and grab yourself a coffee.’
Leanne smiled her thanks and wandered into the refreshment area, needing something stronger than coffee. Gin would be nice. A bottle of it!
After coffee and cake, and a far-too-long wait, they were called back onto the set and told to stand behind their benches.
&n
bsp; With all the debris of the task cleared away, Leanne saw her rivals’ efforts clearly for the first time.
That cross was lovely, she noted – a mostly green creation, with one simple red rose at its centre. The rose said everything; there was no need for a background story.
Five of the contestants had chosen to do wreaths of varying sizes and colours. One had produced a single white lily, with fronds of delicate green grevillea. Another had chosen to do a plaque in yellow and white. Someone else had obviously run out of time.
Starting at Leanne’s side of the room, the presenter led the judges from bench to bench, allowing each contestant to explain their piece, and once more Leanne briefly reiterated the rationale behind hers.
It sounded so trite when she said it out loud.
After the last contestant had been spoken to, the panel left to deliberate, and Leanne and the others were shepherded off set again.
To her surprise, they weren’t called back straight away, but were told to have lunch first, then the second task would begin.
Too nervous to do much more than pick at the lovely buffet, Leanne put her barely touched plate down and made her way outside for some much-needed fresh air. Someone else was outside, but it wasn’t the fresh air she was after.
‘That was tough,’ a little blonde woman in her thirties said, and Leanne recognised her as the contestant who had produced the single lily. ‘You’re Leanne, aren’t you?’ the woman asked, blowing a puff of smoke into the air.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name,’ Leanne replied.
‘It’s Dawn.’
‘Oh yes, I remember now. I’m hopeless with names, sorry,’ she apologised again. ‘It was tough, wasn’t it?’
‘I loved your idea of making a funeral about life rather than about death,’ Dawn said.
The Tanglewood Flower Shop Page 8