Page 56 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
‘I wish I had tougher hands!’ Lizzie laughed. Her fingertips felt sore from manipulating the rose wire and catching herself on the ends, but she felt huge satisfaction when she looked at what she’d managed to achieve. That pride in seeing something tangible in front of her that she’d created washed over her again, just as it had before Montana and Serena’s wedding.
‘Let’s stop for a cuppa, shall we?’ Bee said as she finished carefully tying the bridesmaids’ posies. ‘The bride’s bouquet will have to be done as late as possible, anyway, so I’ll be back in here early tomorrow morning tackling that one.’
Lizzie headed to the small kitchen space behind the shop floor to put the kettle on, and soon she and Bee were taking relieved sips of Lady Grey and surveying their handiwork.
‘You really need to take on an apprentice,’ Lizzie observed. ‘I bet you got here way too early this morning to tackle this lot, didn’t you?’
Bee nodded. ‘It was a rather early start, yes.’ She put her mug down on the counter and sighed. ‘And you’re right, of course. But what happens then? I won’t be able to do this forever, and then I’d have to sell the business and put someone out of a job.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Often, staff can be retained when the business changes hands.’ She couldn’t help thinking that Bee had been working in her own flower-decorated bubble for too long; she seemed to have lost track of what might make commercial sense. Along with her refusal to take Roseford Blooms online, she had a worrying tendency to stick her head in the sand about the future.
‘Well, that’s a decision for the owner after me,’ Bee said firmly. ‘I’ve got a year or two, at most, before I’d like to hang up my pruning shears and relax. Plenty of time for a new owner to decide what they want to do with a place like this.’ Pausing, she looked at Lizzie shrewdly. ‘It needs someone who can understand the business, but also someone who can take it to new levels. Hopefully there might be someone out there who can do both.’
Lizzie laughed nervously, sensing she knew what Bee was getting at. ‘It’s a big commitment, though, and you’d want someone who was trained properly. No point someone taking the business on who’s not qualified.’
‘Oh, there’s a decent course at the local college,’ Bee replied. ‘And it’s only about five miles from here. Easy enough, if someone had both the means and the motivation. I’ve had students here in the past, helping out as part of their placement. But I’m far too long in the tooth to train someone on a more permanent basis.’ She paused. ‘Unless I really wanted to, of course.’
Bee’s hints were getting less subtle by the second.
Lizzie laughed, to break the speculative tension. ‘Anyone would think you wanted me to take the business on!’
‘Well, that’s not a bad idea,’ Bee replied, suddenly serious. She placed the rose wire she’d been twining around the several buttonholes she’d managed to complete during their conversation back on the counter. ‘If it was something you thought you could manage, of course. And you wanted to.’
Lizzie put her scissors down. ‘I’m flattered, Aunt Bee, that you’d consider me. But I know nothing about being a florist. I’ve been able to do a few passable buttonholes because you taught me so well, but learning all this?’ She gestured at the serried ranks of flower stems on the stepped shelves around the shop, and those that were taking up most of the counter. ‘I don’t know if I’d ever be able to do it justice.’
‘Being a florist is a mixture of art and pragmatism,’ Bee replied. ‘You make the most wonderful things you can with the things you have available. And with the move now towards more sustainable plants and flowers, the profession is changing. You have so much you could learn, Lizzie, and so much you could give to a business like this. New ideas that I wouldn’t even have dreamed of.’ She picked up the rose wire again to secure another set of sprigs to the rose head she’d been working on. ‘But it has to be your decision, my love. I’m going to sell in a year or two, no matter what. If you were to train at the college you’d need that time, and then, if you wanted to, you could buy me out. You could even stay at the cottage if you wanted to. There’s plenty of space, and I’d like the company.’
Lizzie couldn’t deny that the offer was an exciting one. She’d felt rootless since selling Warner-Basset, and she had the funds to do the course, and then, if it worked out, she had enough to put down a substantial deposit for a mortgage on the business, she was sure. It would be a risk, but then what wasn’t, these days? If there was one thing that this past year had taught her, things could be pulled out from under you at any moment. Wasn’t it better to try to take control?
‘Aunt Bee, that’s a wonderful idea,’ Lizzie said eventually. ‘And thank you.’ She leaned over and gave Bee a hug. ‘Can I have some time to think about it?’
‘Of course, love,’ Bee said, smiling. ‘I’m not going anywhere just yet, and you’d need to look into courses anyway. And obviously you’d need to think about whether staying in Roseford is what you really want. It’s a sleepy old place compared to where you were before, and although you’ve had a decent time while you’ve been recuperating, you’d have to decide whether you’d want to be here permanently.’
‘I could always get a place nearby,’ Lizzie said. Then she stopped herself. She couldn’t afford to jump in, feet first, and make a decision she’d regret.
‘There’s lots to think about,’ Bee said. ‘So take your time. Don’t let your heart overrule your head, just because it’s me who’s suggested it. Try to treat it as you would any other business decision.’
Lizzie smiled, but it was tempered, yet again, with a little worry. Since speaking to Georgina, she’d been worrying that her judgement had been clouded as far as Simon was concerned, and she still needed to work out how she felt about that situation. And now Bee was offering her an exciting, totally new opportunity: a leap into the unknown. She had a lot to think about, and suddenly her relaxing summer in Roseford, getting better and sorting out her life felt a whole lot more complicated.
47
Simon had had a long and frustrating morning. Since his discussion with Andy and Marina at the weekend, he’d been trying to get hold of the contact at the British Heritage Fund he’d been given to see if he could move any further forward with his plans for RoseFest. Without their approval, there was no way he could start trying to get the capital, through sponsorship, that he needed to run the inaugural event. If it was going to take place in a year’s time, he needed to get things moving.
Simon wasn’t daft. He might have been raised in a country house that was falling down around his ears, but he was a quick learner and he knew that, without backing, RoseFest wouldn’t happen. Handing over Roseford Hall to the British Heritage Fund had taught him a lot about red tape, property law and procedure, and, after realising his deficiencies in this area, he’d recently studied their business plan for the hall, hoping to get some guidance for the new venture. It was just the painfully slow process of waiting for the other parties involved to come back to him that he found frustrating. Since his night at Cross Dean, he was fired up with enthusiasm, and he couldn’t wait to get started.
He huffed in frustration as his email registered no new messages. This wasn’t doing anyone any good. He had plenty of other stuff to be getting on with: the BHF wanted a summary of any superficial repairs that needed doing inside the main areas of thoroughfare in the house, and although he knew a number of the staff had reported several issues, he’d been asked to confirm them and then fill out the online forms to get those repairs booked in. It was the kind of admin-driven, mind-numbingly dull exercise that his days were made up of, as family liaison. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find work like that irritating, but, he supposed, he was the one who lived here full-time now, in the grace and favour apartment at the back of the house that the BHF had renovated for him.
Shutting the lid of his laptop in irritation, he picked up his phone from where it had virtually disappeared under a pile of paperwork. Still no message from Lizzie. He felt his heart speed up a little with unease. She hadn’t contacted him since they’d returned home yesterday afternoon, not even to acknowledge the text he’d sent wishing her sweet dreams. He knew he shouldn’t read anything into it; she was probably just preoccupied, and catching up with Bee, who had another wedding on tomorrow, but he felt a little off-kilter. Sending her a quickhello, thinking of youvia WhatsApp, he stared at the screen, willing the ticks to turn blue, to show she’d read the message. After a minute, they still hadn’t, so he put the phone down again and tried to concentrate on the tasks in front of him.
Alas, the state of the plasterwork in the Queen Anne suite couldn’t really hold his attention, so he decided to take a tour of the house and see if he could add any more issues to report. There was a part of him that was glad he and his family no longer had to foot the bill for the near-constant repairs, even though it meant the house wasn’t theirs to do with as they wished.
Locking the door to his office, Simon descended the back stairs that led to a corner of the main hallway, and smiled at a few visitors, guide sheets in hand, who were taking in the sights of the ground floor. John Handley, a kindly older man with a frame like a polar bear and a silver-grey pelt to match, was standing in the corner of the Great Hall, holding forth in strident tones to a small group, obviously on a guided tour, and filling them in on the scandalous doings of one of Simon’s ancestors. The Treloar family had its own share of rogues and rascals, and John Handley probably knew more about them than Simon himself. The irony of being surrounded by all of this history, Simon thought, was that it was difficult to retain it in your own head when you were living it.
But history was being taken care of by the BHF now. It was the future that mattered.Hisfuture. Simon smiled back at John as he raised a hand in greeting, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to get cornered by tourists. Usually, he didn’t mind, but today he had other things to think about. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket again as he moved from the Great Hall towards the library, and glanced to see if Lizzie had read his message yet. Nope. She must be caught up with something. He tried to shake off his concern again. She’d definitely been a bit off when they’d parted yesterday afternoon, but he racked his brains trying to think of anything he might have done. As far as he was aware, they’d ended up having a great night.
The library, shrouded in dim light because of the blinds that were pulled down to stop the sun from damaging the rows and rows of books, hadn’t had any issues reported. It was still his favourite place in the interior of the house, and although he didn’t read nearly as much as he should these days, he liked to come and spend time here. He glanced along the shelves to see if he could find that first edition ofAlice in Wonderlandthat he’d mentioned to Lizzie on the night of the Summer Fayre. He wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to take it off the shelf, but it would be nice to know it was there.
He looked around the library, making sure there wasn’t any damage that the volunteers had missed. Satisfied, he made to leave and continue his checks. If nothing else, keeping busy would stop him worrying for a little while longer. All the same, he willed his phone to ping with a message.
