Hatter’stea party laid out next to toadstools. Money, it seemed, wasn’t a big consideration – Lucy was the only daughter of a self-made
millionaire, and Maggie knew Lucy’s father was as keen to impress his friends as the bride-to-be was to raise the stakes for
the exclusive photo rights.
Hovering in Lucy’s shadow as she led Maggie around her father’s grounds had been the groom-to-be, Jack. In baggy jeans and
a pair of scuffed trainers he had looked every bit the fish out of water. But with his chiselled good looks and gentle warmth
(neither were lost on Maggie, despite the ten-year age gap) it was easy to see why Lucy had fallen for him.
‘Where do you get your flowers from?’ Jack had asked, looking over at Maggie and then quickly back at his shoes. He seemed
genuinely curious.
‘From all over, really, Jack,’ Maggie had replied. ‘Holland are important suppliers, and we get our roses from South America
… but I tailor things for each wedding, and with this being the biggest one I’ve handled it’s likely I’ll be sourcing flowers
from all over the world. Did you have any specific ideas?’
‘Umm, no, no,’ he stumbled, ‘I’ll leave that to Luce, she’s good with that stuff, not me … I was just wondering, you know
– what it’s like to run your own business.’
Beyond the shyness and beneath the sweeping brownfringe nearly resting on his eyelashes, Maggie wondered if there might just be a budding entrepreneur. As she went to respond,
Lucy cut in.
‘What I was thinking is we could have the tea party here, so when the guests arrive they’d be greeted with a cup – from some
gorgeous vintage set. Did you get that, Maggie?’ As Lucy span around to face her, the emerald on her necklace glinted in the
sun. ‘I mean, where you come in really is that I’d like to see that look echoed with cups filled with flowers all around.
I don’t mean shop-bought, I mean proper
bonafide vintage
teacups. God, the wedding planner I started out with didn’t understand my vision on that at all.’ Lucy rolled her eyes and
turned to Maggie, fixing her with a stare that ensured her point was crystal clear. ‘Dropped her like a bad habit. But you
see things my way, don’t you, Maggie?’ Maggie nodded, then listened as her client continued. ‘You’d be sourcing the crockery,
the wicker … Well, let’s just say that I expect the very best … if Bluebelle du Jour don’t wow me then we can’t expect my
guests to be impressed either, can we?’
Lucy was talking through her plans ten to the dozen now, twirling a strand of her immaculately highlighted hair, walking swiftly
around the garden, pointing and gesticulating all the while. By the time they arrived back around at the front of the house
Maggie was a little out of breath from rushing to keep up.
‘You have some really original ideas, Lucy,’ Maggie remarked, tactfully, biting her tongue before saying any more, something
her years of experience had taught her. She couldn’t help glancing with sympathy at the young man who was about to sign up
for a lifetime of not being able to get a word in edgeways. ‘I’ll get onto it right away, challenges like this are my speciality.
Just one thing, though …’
She hesitated. God, it went against every instinct she had to admit weakness, especially to someone so clearly used to getting
their own way.
‘Your vision is fantastic, like I say, but these are fairly big plans, aren’t they? I mean, you know that I’ll deliver, at
Bluebelle we
always
deliver … but things like big toadstools aren’t exactly my speciality – my experience is in the flower business, first and
foremost.’
Lucy let out a high-pitched laugh and threw her head back, shaking her hair-envy-inducing mane. Maggie waited for her client
to calm down – the laughter didn’t seem very kind – and when she did, Lucy had her hand on Maggie’s arm. ‘Oh no, Maggie, darling.’
millionaire, and Maggie knew Lucy’s father was as keen to impress his friends as the bride-to-be was to raise the stakes for
the exclusive photo rights.
Hovering in Lucy’s shadow as she led Maggie around her father’s grounds had been the groom-to-be, Jack. In baggy jeans and
a pair of scuffed trainers he had looked every bit the fish out of water. But with his chiselled good looks and gentle warmth
(neither were lost on Maggie, despite the ten-year age gap) it was easy to see why Lucy had fallen for him.
‘Where do you get your flowers from?’ Jack had asked, looking over at Maggie and then quickly back at his shoes. He seemed
genuinely curious.
‘From all over, really, Jack,’ Maggie had replied. ‘Holland are important suppliers, and we get our roses from South America
… but I tailor things for each wedding, and with this being the biggest one I’ve handled it’s likely I’ll be sourcing flowers
from all over the world. Did you have any specific ideas?’
‘Umm, no, no,’ he stumbled, ‘I’ll leave that to Luce, she’s good with that stuff, not me … I was just wondering, you know
– what it’s like to run your own business.’
Beyond the shyness and beneath the sweeping brownfringe nearly resting on his eyelashes, Maggie wondered if there might just be a budding entrepreneur. As she went to respond,
Lucy cut in.
‘What I was thinking is we could have the tea party here, so when the guests arrive they’d be greeted with a cup – from some
gorgeous vintage set. Did you get that, Maggie?’ As Lucy span around to face her, the emerald on her necklace glinted in the
sun. ‘I mean, where you come in really is that I’d like to see that look echoed with cups filled with flowers all around.
I don’t mean shop-bought, I mean proper
bonafide vintage
teacups. God, the wedding planner I started out with didn’t understand my vision on that at all.’ Lucy rolled her eyes and
turned to Maggie, fixing her with a stare that ensured her point was crystal clear. ‘Dropped her like a bad habit. But you
see things my way, don’t you, Maggie?’ Maggie nodded, then listened as her client continued. ‘You’d be sourcing the crockery,
the wicker … Well, let’s just say that I expect the very best … if Bluebelle du Jour don’t wow me then we can’t expect my
guests to be impressed either, can we?’
Lucy was talking through her plans ten to the dozen now, twirling a strand of her immaculately highlighted hair, walking swiftly
around the garden, pointing and gesticulating all the while. By the time they arrived back around at the front of the house
Maggie was a little out of breath from rushing to keep up.
‘You have some really original ideas, Lucy,’ Maggie remarked, tactfully, biting her tongue before saying any more, something
her years of experience had taught her. She couldn’t help glancing with sympathy at the young man who was about to sign up
for a lifetime of not being able to get a word in edgeways. ‘I’ll get onto it right away, challenges like this are my speciality.
Just one thing, though …’
She hesitated. God, it went against every instinct she had to admit weakness, especially to someone so clearly used to getting
their own way.
‘Your vision is fantastic, like I say, but these are fairly big plans, aren’t they? I mean, you know that I’ll deliver, at
Bluebelle we
always
deliver … but things like big toadstools aren’t exactly my speciality – my experience is in the flower business, first and
foremost.’
Lucy let out a high-pitched laugh and threw her head back, shaking her hair-envy-inducing mane. Maggie waited for her client
to calm down – the laughter didn’t seem very kind – and when she did, Lucy had her hand on Maggie’s arm. ‘Oh no, Maggie, darling.’
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