set. Yes, the sugar tongs need a good polish, but that somehow makes the whole thing even more perfect.
‘Yes, it looks like we’re all keen,’ I finally pipe up, turning towards the bemused pensioner. ‘Could you put a hold on the
tea service for an hour?’
That was how our summer started.
Chapter 1
Maggie
‘Two hundred bunches of cornflowers – yes, two hundred, ten blooms in each bunch.’ Maggie Hawthorne rested the phone against
her shoulder, tipping her head slightly as she tied her auburn hair back with a band.
‘And I’ll also need a lot of wicker … Oh, you know a good supplier – great! It’s for giant croquet hoops, woven round with
marguerites … and matching oversized mallets. Yes, I know, but this isn’t an ordinary wedding – OK, I do know it’s Sunday
…’ she breathed out slowly, trying to stay patient. ‘Shall I send you an email and you can look at it tomorrow? Right, no,
no, I understand. Let’s speak then.’
Maggie sat back in her garden swing seat, settled her gin and tonic on the side table and brought her Netbookonto her lap. She tapped out an email to the Dutch supplier with the key points from last Friday’s meeting with her new clients,
Lucy and Jack. Finding the teaset yesterday at the car boot had sparked off a lot of ideas and she could now picture exactly
how the wedding would look. She just wanted to get started. But although she had the whole of today stretching in front of
her, empty time, it seemed she’d have to wait for the start of the working week until she could get the details she needed.
She knew – her friends and family were always telling her – that she should give herself the weekends to relax, but she couldn’t
fight the urge to use the time to get ahead on her business projects. There was always a last-minute rush with weddings. Even
after fifteen years in the flower business she hadn’t mastered the art of avoiding eleventh-hour panics – but the meticulous
preparation she did ensured that, in her clients’ eyes at least, everything flowed seamlessly.
The sun was warm on her face as she put the computer aside and took another sip of her drink. Pressing down the toes of her
black suede pumps she set the swing seat in motion and leaned back. On a spring day, sitting out here was hard to beat. Friends
were always surprised when they saw her garden – the layout was simple, with an emphasis on colour, rather than intricate
design; the lawn was well kept, with azalias bloomingaround the edges. It was a world away from the exotic wedding flowers she often favoured, and a contrast to the way she had
furnished the house indoors. But the classic blooms and uncluttered symmetry put her mind at ease. Out here, twenty minutes’
drive from the high street, the only sound was birdsong.
She fiddled with the wide gold bracelet she’d put on to complement her fuchsia dress that morning. Today, even here, surrounded
by nature at its loveliest, Maggie felt restless. What was it about weekends? Sometimes the pressure to relax, to just be
yourself, felt immense. Why was relaxing so important anyway?
Friday’s meeting had unsettled her, and even two days afterwards her garden couldn’t calm her like it usually did. She was
used to doing big events – she’d been arranging flowers for them for years – but even by her standards the Darlington Hall
wedding was quite something. When she’d driven through the gates in her convertible VW Beetle that first time, the sight of
the stately home had taken her breath away. It was even more impressive than it looked in photos. The house itself was Georgian,
with pillars by the door and stables off to the side in a nearby block, and the grounds seemed to spread out for miles around.
However, it was the bride, not the place, who had really knocked her for six. Lucy Mackintosh’s wedding vision was an
Alice in Wonderland
theme – with croquet on the lawn and a Mad
‘Yes, it looks like we’re all keen,’ I finally pipe up, turning towards the bemused pensioner. ‘Could you put a hold on the
tea service for an hour?’
That was how our summer started.
Chapter 1
Maggie
‘Two hundred bunches of cornflowers – yes, two hundred, ten blooms in each bunch.’ Maggie Hawthorne rested the phone against
her shoulder, tipping her head slightly as she tied her auburn hair back with a band.
‘And I’ll also need a lot of wicker … Oh, you know a good supplier – great! It’s for giant croquet hoops, woven round with
marguerites … and matching oversized mallets. Yes, I know, but this isn’t an ordinary wedding – OK, I do know it’s Sunday
…’ she breathed out slowly, trying to stay patient. ‘Shall I send you an email and you can look at it tomorrow? Right, no,
no, I understand. Let’s speak then.’
Maggie sat back in her garden swing seat, settled her gin and tonic on the side table and brought her Netbookonto her lap. She tapped out an email to the Dutch supplier with the key points from last Friday’s meeting with her new clients,
Lucy and Jack. Finding the teaset yesterday at the car boot had sparked off a lot of ideas and she could now picture exactly
how the wedding would look. She just wanted to get started. But although she had the whole of today stretching in front of
her, empty time, it seemed she’d have to wait for the start of the working week until she could get the details she needed.
She knew – her friends and family were always telling her – that she should give herself the weekends to relax, but she couldn’t
fight the urge to use the time to get ahead on her business projects. There was always a last-minute rush with weddings. Even
after fifteen years in the flower business she hadn’t mastered the art of avoiding eleventh-hour panics – but the meticulous
preparation she did ensured that, in her clients’ eyes at least, everything flowed seamlessly.
The sun was warm on her face as she put the computer aside and took another sip of her drink. Pressing down the toes of her
black suede pumps she set the swing seat in motion and leaned back. On a spring day, sitting out here was hard to beat. Friends
were always surprised when they saw her garden – the layout was simple, with an emphasis on colour, rather than intricate
design; the lawn was well kept, with azalias bloomingaround the edges. It was a world away from the exotic wedding flowers she often favoured, and a contrast to the way she had
furnished the house indoors. But the classic blooms and uncluttered symmetry put her mind at ease. Out here, twenty minutes’
drive from the high street, the only sound was birdsong.
She fiddled with the wide gold bracelet she’d put on to complement her fuchsia dress that morning. Today, even here, surrounded
by nature at its loveliest, Maggie felt restless. What was it about weekends? Sometimes the pressure to relax, to just be
yourself, felt immense. Why was relaxing so important anyway?
Friday’s meeting had unsettled her, and even two days afterwards her garden couldn’t calm her like it usually did. She was
used to doing big events – she’d been arranging flowers for them for years – but even by her standards the Darlington Hall
wedding was quite something. When she’d driven through the gates in her convertible VW Beetle that first time, the sight of
the stately home had taken her breath away. It was even more impressive than it looked in photos. The house itself was Georgian,
with pillars by the door and stables off to the side in a nearby block, and the grounds seemed to spread out for miles around.
However, it was the bride, not the place, who had really knocked her for six. Lucy Mackintosh’s wedding vision was an
Alice in Wonderland
theme – with croquet on the lawn and a Mad
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