The Big Wide World

Soon Sorrel would have to leave Laura’s flower shop to find her true calling . . .

SORREL halted with a screech of brakes and jumped off her bike. She was late. Instead of going down the alleyway to the back of the florist’s shop, she chained her bike to the railings of the museum alongside.

I’ll move it later, she thought, as she dashed through the open doorway. “Sorry I’m late, Laura.” “Only five minutes.” Laura smiled, her arms full of blooms. “And it’s the first time ever, so you’re forgiven. You can put out the bouquet buckets first,” she told her.

Sorrel had enjoyed making up these bouquets the previous afternoon. When she had been a Saturday girl, Laura had taught her how to select the flowers and greenery and wrap them attractively.

Now, with uni behind her, Laura had taken her on full time for the summer.

“Until you spread your wings,” Laura had promised.

“Ages away.” Sorrel had grimaced, because she loved this temporary job.

In any case, she told herself, as she dealt with customers or tidied up after Laura, I need a break. Time to think what I really want to do.

And time, she thought, to get over Jake, who had promised a future with her only to reject her in the month before exams for a girl he’d only just met.

Being amongst flowers was therapeutic, and as Laura had become a good friend over the years, coming to work each day was a pleasure, and gradually filled the void which Jake had left.

Even when the welcome news came a few weeks later that she had got her degree, she was in no hurry to move on.

She loved the customers, too – apart from the flamboyant middle-aged man who came late every Wednesday afternoon to choose a large bouquet from the most exotic flowers in stock at the time.

Laura was always doing weekly arrangements at business premises then, so she never saw him, but Sorrel had told her all about him.

“I don’t think the flowers can be for his wife,” she’d once remarked. Laura had immediately reprimanded her.

“Who knows?” she’d replied. “Your job is to sell, not pass judgement.”

But Sorrel couldn’t help seeing the customers as people and speculating about them.

Early on there had been the tall, fair-haired guy, who seemed bewildered by the choice on offer.

“They’re for my mother,” he confessed when Sorrel went to help. “To celebrate passing her driving test. She’s fifty!” he told her.

There was a pause while they both reflected on how very brave it was to be embarking on something new at that age.

“Well,” Sorrel said finally, “she certainly deserves flowers. How about these?”

He had been very grateful, and in the end Sorrel had helped him with an appropriate message to put on the card.

Ben, he had signed with a flourish.

Three weeks later he reappeared.

“I don’t suppose you remember me . . .” he began.

“Well . . .” Sorrel left the answer hanging in the air.

“Of course you don’t,” he hurried on. “I need some flowers for my mother. She’s been in hospital for a night. Car accident.”

“But she’s only just passed her driving test,” Sorrel declared impulsively, then could have kicked herself.

“So you do remember me?” Ben grinned, his eyes glinting mischievously as Sorrel blushed. “She was stationary at traffic lights, so it wasn’t her fault. She got shunted from behind. Whiplash.”

“Not a great start,” Sorrel sympathised. “Better not choose red or orange flowers, or too much greenery. Traffic light colours,” she explained as Ben raised his eyebrows questioningly. “How about a bouquet in shades of blue?”

“Great,” he said admiringly. “I’d never have thought of that.”

“Neither would I,” Laura agreed, bustling in from the workroom at the back. “Well done, Sorrel.”

It had been nice to get the appreciation, but it had put an end to her conversation with

Ben, who left in a

hesitant way, his farewell smile hinting that he would have liked to linger. Sorrel thought she had caught sight of him passing the shop a few times, but he hadn’t ventured in again, and she hadn’t liked to wave. Anyway, for all she knew he might be attached.

There were plenty of other customers to capture her imagination, like the nice elderly gentleman who had lost his wife and wanted a wreath made of wildflowers.

“She loved all hedgerow flowers,” he told her. “I don’t suppose you would be prepared to do that.”

“You can have a go, Sorrel,” Laura advised. “But those flowers don’t keep.”

So, on the morning of the funeral, Sorrel got up early and cycled to the railway track on a wildflower hunt, and by mid-morning she’d created a tiny blue and white wreath made from the delicate fronds of cow parsley, daisies, violets and periwinkle.

“Unconventional, but well done,” had been Laura’s verdict, and the widower had been tearfully grateful.

Then there were the proud first-time fathers.

“There he is,” one father said triumphantly, thrusting a smartphone into Sorrel’s hand. “He was only ten minutes old there.” He glanced at his watch. “And he’s now exactly three hours and ten minutes. I can’t believe it. It all happened so quickly.” He shook his head vaguely.

Probably not so quick for his wife, Sorrel thought.

“Roses, then?” She nudged him along. “How about these delicate pink roses, hidden in a cloud of gypsophila? They would be soothing to look at, especially if your wife is feeling a bit tired.”

“Good idea,” he agreed. “She did say she could sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

“Joking, of course,” he added hastily. “She’s as strong as a horse. Though it was an exhausting experience and I could do with some rest.”

Sorrel smiled to herself as she carefully made up a bouquet.

“I’m sure these will help,” she murmured diplomatically.

“We’re thinking of calling him Ben,” he went on.

“A nice strong name,” Sorrel agreed, picturing the Ben who had bought flowers for his mother.

He hadn’t been exactly macho, but somehow she guessed he was the strong, dependable type.

Not like Jake, was the thought flashing through her mind as Laura came through from the back.

“I think you’ve missed your vocation, Sorrel.” She smiled. “You are a true people person.”

So all in all, Sorrel was getting on with life, putting Jake behind her and conveniently forgetting that she should be looking to the future.

She hummed to herself as she pottered outside the shop, arranging the bouquets in their buckets. Stepping back on the pavement to assess how they looked, she collided with a girl who was standing consulting a list.

“Sorry,” they each apologised.

“I’m waiting for my fiancé,” the girl continued, “But I might as well come in. I want to have a word about flowers for my wedding,” she added shyly.

“How lovely.” Sorrel smiled. “I’ll call Laura.”

It was while Laura and the girl were talking that she saw him. Ben. She couldn’t mistake him. He passed the window several times.

She attempted a wave but he didn’t appear to notice, so she considered going out to him.

“But if he wanted to see me, he’d have come in,” she told herself firmly. “He’s probably waiting for somebody.”

Then the penny dropped. He was waiting for the pretty girl discussing her wedding flowers with Laura.

“Excuse me.” Sorrel tried to suppress the pang of disappointment as she peeped into the alcove. “I think your fiancé is waiting outside.”

“Why hasn’t he come in?” The girl shrugged. “Never mind. You’ve got the date.” She smiled at Laura. “And I’ll ring later today to make that appointment.”

“Her name was Sylvie Richards.” Laura’s voice sounded slightly odd. “A short-notice wedding because of a cancellation at Silvermere Manor. Most unusual. Even so, it’ll be after you’ve left for the big wide world.”

Sorrel’s heart sank. She didn’t want to think about the big wide world at the moment, nor the fact that the pretty girl and Ben were an item.

Even though Laura kept telling her firmly that getting entangled with men was a recipe for trouble, Sorrel couldn’t agree. She suspected that Laura had an unhappy past and that was why she was always prickly with men.

Well, I’ve been let down by Jake, Sorrel thought, but it’s not going to put me off men for ever.

“Did you bring your bike today?” Laura interrupted her thoughts. “It’s not at the back.”

Sorrel gasped guiltily. “I completely forgot. As I was late I left it chained to the museum railings.”

“Better move it,” Laura advised, “or you’ll be told off. There’s a notice there about not obstructing the pavement.”

Sorrel dashed out of the shop, half expecting to find an irate note from a traffic warden. Instead, there in the bike’s front basket was a small bunch of flowers. Not perfect shop flowers, but garden flowers.

Three pink roses, some sweet peas and love-in-themist, all tied up with blue ribbon.

“For me?” she exclaimed, looking wildly around, “Where have they come from?”

Mystified, but excited, she raced her bike down the alleyway and round into the yard at the back of the shop.

“Look, Laura,” she called. “Look what was in my bicycle basket!”

Laura raised her eyebrows quizzically.

“A secret admirer?” she asked.

“Not that I know of,” Sorrel said delightedly. “But aren’t they sweet?”

The thought that Ben had been outside the shop earlier floated through Sorrel’s mind, but just as quickly floated out again.

Ben had been waiting for his fiancée, not delivering flowers to her bicycle basket.

Throughout the day, her mind kept speculating happily about the little bouquet. Then another unexpected thing happened.

Sorrel could hear Laura busy with phone calls in the back room, when suddenly she came bursting out.

“Know anyone called Jake?” she asked.

Sorrel’s heart missed a beat.

“Well, you know I do.” She faltered. “Why?”

“An order has just come through for a bouquet of red roses to be sent to your address with this message.” She thrust the notepad out for Sorrel to read.

I made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me. Can we start again? Love, Jake.

Sorrel pushed the notepad away distastefully.

“No way.” She frowned. “I don’t want his flowers.”

But two bouquets in one day, she thought. How weird.

“Also, I’ve now got the appointment fixed for Silvermere Manor.” Laura seemed distracted. “As it’s after shop hours, I wondered if you’d like to come along, too?”

Normally Sorrel would have been delighted to accompany Laura, and listen and learn as she discussed requirements with clients, but this time she felt reluctant because it seemed Sylvie’s fiancé would be there, too.

“You’re being irrational,” she told herself as they closed the shop on the appointed evening the following week. “You’ve only met Ben twice.”

It didn’t help that Laura wasn’t her usual positive self. She seemed on edge and flustered as they parked and walked into the wood-panelled hall.

Sorrel didn’t have time to puzzle out why, because there were Sylvie and her mother, accompanied by a chunky guy with short dark hair and designer stubble.

“My fiancé.” Sylvie laughed as introductions were made. “He didn’t make it to the shop last week. I don’t know who you saw waiting outside,” she continued, turning to Sorrel, “but it wasn’t Danny.”

“No,” Sorrel agreed, smiling and suddenly light-hearted. “It certainly wasn’t.”

She had to concentrate hard on the subsequent discussions, trying to make coherent notes on Laura’s tablet, all the while telling herself that it could have been Ben after all who had put the little bouquet in her bicycle basket.

“I think that covers everything,” Sylvie’s mother said some time later. “Can I offer you both a drink?”

To Sorrel’s disappointment, Laura began to decline, but Sylvie took her arm.

“Oh, please do. I expect we can rustle up some nibbles, too.”

Sorrel, rather overawed by her surroundings, wished that she had Sylvie’s confidence. Then the reason became clear.

“I’ll call Dad to join us, shall I?”

“Yes, do,” her mother answered. “If he’s free.”

She turned to Laura as she guided her through to one of the comfortable lounges.

“My husband has only been manager here for a short time, so we’ve hardly settled. When a wedding was cancelled Sylvie twisted his arm to let her and Danny take that slot.”

Laura mumbled something conventional, but was so obviously ill at ease that Sorrel felt compelled to help the conversation along.

She thought she was doing quite well until Sylvie returned hanging on the arm of a flamboyant middle-aged man. The very same flamboyant middleaged man who came into the shop every Wednesday afternoon, and left with armfuls of exotic flowers.

Sorrel felt herself stumble in mid-sentence, and glancing at Laura for support, saw that she had gone quite white.

“Timothy Richards,” he introduced himself, smiling broadly.

“Laura Spencer,” Laura answered unsteadily. “But we have met before. Years ago, of course.”

Sorrel noticed that Laura’s cheeks had gone from white to red, as had Timothy’s.

“Laura Spencer,” he repeated. “Of course. So very nice to meet you again.” Turning to his wife, he explained, “Laura and I used to live in the same street.”

“What a coincidence,” she replied. “Well, we must certainly have those drinks while you catch up.”

It was a rather stilted conversation that followed, Sorrel noticed, with neither Laura nor Timothy dwelling much on the past, while she herself was even more convinced that the flowers he bought regularly were not for his wife.

He’s pretended not to recognise me, she thought. That proves it. It means my suspicions have been right all along. Poor Mrs Richards.

Half an hour later, a relieved Laura and Sorrel were getting into the car.

“Phew.” Laura sighed, briefly covering her face with her hands. “That was difficult.”

She paused. “Though not as difficult as I thought it was going to be.” Seeing Sorrel’s sympathetic expression, she added, “I’d better tell you all about it.

As usual, she told it in her down-to-earth manner. She had heard some time previously that Silvermere Manor’s new manager was Timothy Richards, whom she had known and loved all those years ago. He had let her down badly.

“When he told his wife that we lived in the same street,” she said, giving Sorrel a wry smile, “what he omitted to say was that it was in the same house.” Sorrel touched her arm. “Don’t say any more if it’s upsetting,” she said gently.

“No, it’s not any more. I don’t even like him now.”

“I certainly didn’t,” Sorrel said firmly, then she turned to look on the back seat. “Oh, heavens, I’ve left your tablet in the hotel. Sorry.”

Breathlessly, she got out of the car and ran back to the lounge.

There was the tablet, and there was something else she hadn’t noticed before.

In one corner was an arrangement of exotic flowers. The shop flowers?

Sorrel was still staring when a waitress came in.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” she commented. “There are more in the hall and the dining-room. Mr Richards is very particular about his flowers.”

“Safe and sound,” Sorrel remarked to Laura as she got back in the car, brandishing the tablet.

“What were you going to say just now?” Laura asked curiously. “About Timothy Richards?”

Sorrel floundered. “Just that I didn’t like him as much as I did his wife and daughter,” she lied.

Laura was her usual cheerful self the next morning, but Sorrel had learned a lesson.

Don’t jump to conclusions, she reminded herself as she put the bouquet buckets out on the pavement.

Remember, Timothy Richards’s purchases were entirely honourable, and just because Ben wasn’t Sylvie’s fiancé doesn’t mean he left the flowers in the bicycle basket.

Then, as if her thoughts had conjured him up, she saw Ben. He was standing by the museum railings looking her way.

“Don’t seem over-eager,” she warned herself, even though her arm was already waving enthusiastically.

“Hello.” He smiled. “I was just going into work.”

“In the museum?” she asked, thinking how attractive his eyes were, and when he nodded, she had an idea. “I chained my bike to the museum railings the other day,” she said, “and later on I found some flowers in the basket.”

He didn’t follow up on her opening, but looked a bit embarrassed.

“Quite a mystery,” she said lightly. “Never to be solved.”

Ben began to say something, just as a voice from along the pavement called her name.

As she swung round to see who it was, Ben muttered hurriedly, “It wasn’t me. The flowers. But I wish it had been.”

He hurried up the museum steps, just as the elderly gentleman for whom Sorrel had made the wreath came up. He clasped her hand warmly.

“How are you, Sorrel?” he asked, smiling. “Did you find my little offering the other day? The shop was busy and I didn’t like to interrupt. I recognised your bike from when you went hunting for the wildflowers.”

Sorrel kissed him on the cheek and thanked him sincerely.

Only just past opening time, she mused, and already two nice things had happened! What a good start to the day. It could hardly get any better. But it did.

“Have a look at these leaflets,” Laura suggested as they were making coffee. “See what you think. If you would like it, I certainly would.”

Sorrel sat in the alcove and looked through them, her excitement growing.

There was no need for her to go out into the big wide world, as Laura had once teased, because Laura was now asking her to be a proper floristry apprentice, with training at the local college. What could be better?

And right next to the museum, too!