Page 17 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
‘Must be weird for you,’ Finn replied. ‘I mean, Roseford Hall was your family home. Do you really think you could hand over the reins entirely some day?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Simon said. ‘Sometimes the thought of just walking away feels so tempting, I can’t work out why I’m still mired here. Then I think about all of those bloody ancestors and I wonder if I’ve really got the balls to be the one who lets them down.’
‘You wouldn’t be letting them down. And you can’t stay in the past forever,’ Finn said reasonably. ‘There must be a compromise you can reach.’ He sipped his pint. ‘If weddings aren’t your thing, then how about some kind of event planning you could get your teeth into? Plenty of festivals happening through the year. Perhaps Roseford could have its own?’
Simon nearly choked on his pint. ‘Are you serious? I can’t imagine thousands of tents pitched on the grounds. Have you seen the state they leave places in? The BHF would never wear it on their land.’
‘Doesn’t have to be thousands,’ Finn said. ‘You could start small, keep control of it. Might give you something to concentrate on, rather than just moping inside your bit of the house, wishing you still owned the whole thing.’
‘Who says I’ve been moping?’ Simon said indignantly.
Finn grinned. ‘Lucy likes to keep an eye on you.’
‘Anyway,’ Simon said hurriedly, ‘I don’t have the contacts for that sort of thing. I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘That’s what PR and marketing companies are for,’ Finn explained patiently. ‘And…’ he paused mischievously ‘… I’m sure I could find you a few acts for the inaugural festival, if you wanted me to.’
‘What, you’d make a return to the stage?’ Simon chuckled. ‘I thought you were over all that.’
‘It’d hardly be Wembley Arena,’ Finn replied. ‘If you seriously wanted to get a festival off the ground, I’m sure Montana and I could do a set of our old songs for you.’
Simon was touched. ‘Thanks, Finn,’ he said. He looked down into his pint briefly. He knew just how much courage Finn would have to muster to sing in public again, and he felt oddly emotional that his friend would do that for him. Apart from one karaoke song in the Treloar Arms a couple of Christmases ago, Finn hadn’t sung anywhere but the shower since his days in the smash-hit teen-musical dramaHigh School Dreams. He’d developed a bit of a phobia of it, in fact, so Simon knew what a big step it would be.
‘Look, man, just give it some thought, OK?’ Finn looked Simon straight in the eyes. ‘I know how tough it can be when you don’t know where you fit. I’ve been lucky; since that Christmas movie, my life, and my career, have finally fallen into place. I’m now directing my own films, which is a dream I never thought I had the right to have. And meeting Lucy has changed my life in so many ways. Sometimes you just have to take a leap, even if you don’t know what’s on the other side.’
‘I wish I was as brave as you!’ Simon smiled back at Finn. He thought, suddenly, of Lizzie Warner, who had come to Roseford alone, and clearly had some of her own dragons to slay.
‘You look like you’re miles away,’ Finn observed. ‘Something else on your mind?’
Simon paused. He wasn’t quite sure how to reply. He’d enjoyed his coffee with Lizzie that afternoon. In her he’d sensed a kindred spirit, although he wasn’t quite sure why. He was intrigued, still, by her response to Sarah in the chapel, and he felt there was more to the story than Lizzie had told him. More than that, though, he’d felt a kind of protectiveness towards her, and he’d definitely like the chance to get to know her better.
Realising he still hadn’t answered Finn, he shook his head. ‘Ignore me. I’m just being maudlin. I haven’t slept too well lately.’
‘Well, you know where I am if you need to talk.’ Finn finished his pint and then glanced up at the clock on the far wall of the pub. ‘I’d better get going. Lucy’s mom’s coming over tonight for dinner and I said I’d help out.’
‘It must be handy having you around to grab things from the top of the kitchen cupboards!’ Simon joked. Finn was a little over six feet four.
Finn laughed. ‘She puts me to work when I’m back home, yeah.’
Home.Although it clearly filled Finn with happiness, being back in Roseford, the place he now called home, for Simon it felt like a yoke. He’d got to snap himself out of this funk.
‘I mean it. Call me if you need to talk.’ Finn’s face was serious again as they both rose from the table. ‘And think about what I said. Perhaps an event here might be a good thing for you to consider.’
‘Thanks, mate. I will,’ Simon replied. But even as he said it he felt the weight of ten generations of Treloars pressing down on him from their exalted positions, and he wondered if he’d ever get out from underneath their influence.
16
The next days drifted by for Lizzie in a peaceful haze of sunny mornings, the scent of flowers and a real chance to rest and recuperate. Making that bouquet in Bee’s shop had altered something: instead of trying to rationalise what had happened to her, both in the past and over the most recent few months, she kept going back to the peace and calm she’d felt when she was putting those flowers together. It was so different from how she normally spent her time, and it had given her an insight into how and why Bee had based her working life in the flower shop. The contrast between working with the flowers and her old life in marketing couldn’t have been more pronounced.
At the same time, though, she couldn’t help thinking about how Bee could broaden the reach of her business – after all, she was providing the flowers for a Hollywood wedding! Surely that would be the perfect headline for the website that Bee was resisting setting up. Perhaps, while she was here, Lizzie could talk her aunt round – after all, there were very few businesses these days that didn’t have some kind of online presence.
Lizzie was feeling better with each day that passed, and she’d almost put her surprise encounter with Sarah Treloar into perspective after a few decent nights’ sleep and a couple more shifts at Roseford Blooms. Bee had also mentioned that the village fete, a small affair held in the field beyond the ha-ha at Roseford Hall, was coming up that weekend. Despite her ambivalence about Roseford Hall, Lizzie felt curious enough to want to see what the fete looked like these days. She had a vague memory of it from when she’d been a teenager: a parochial affair where locals displayed their longest carrots and most attractive marrows alongside posies created by schoolchildren and more intricate bouquets by budding floristry amateurs. That, and a series of quaint activities and stalls, made for a jolly, if somewhat twee, afternoon. Lizzie had memories of Georgina chatting to everyone, while she was too shy to venture far from her commandeered seat at the side of the arena, happy to just soak up the village atmosphere.
‘So, will you come and help me judge the displays tomorrow?’ Bee asked, over dinner.
‘Won’t you need someone to stay behind and keep an eye on the shop?’ Lizzie asked.
‘I don’t usually bother opening up on that Saturday afternoon, since everyone’s down at the fayre,’ Bee replied. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘you’ve been hiding out in there all week. A bit of sun will do you good.’
