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When I run my fingers through my sopping hair, it’s a mass of straggly curls. Worst case scenario. ‘I don’t know.’ What’s more, as we come back into the brightness of the pub, the only visible patch of my silk top is completely transparent.
There’s another waft of Jules’ scent, as Rafe’s bare-chested friend leans in close enough to nudge my elbow. ‘We all saw you looking gorgeous before. That’s what I’ll remember when I see the damp version.’
Excuse me while I faint. I can’t remember when anyone last paid me this kind of compliment. Although to be honest, I usually manage to fight off attention before it gets to the point of people saying nice stuff to me. Even Jules knows to keep his distance – or else – and he’s very huggy. Has someone sprinkled fairy dust on me? Is this the bouquet effect? Should I be shoutingjeez, I’m not marrying anyone? And then it dawns on me. All that’s happened is I let my guard down. Who wouldn’t when they were dripping wet and had just been hauled out of a garden pond? So there’s no need to panic here. I mean, I really wasn’t the one who caught the bouquet anyway. If anyone needs to watch out here it’s Jess.
‘So what do you think? Stay and party or back to town for cocoa and an early night?’ Jess’s eyebrows are raised expectantly.
We both know she’s bluffing about going to bed. It would be a quick shower for me, then Jaggers until dawn. Jaggers, for those who aren’t local, is a cocktail bar in St Aidan, with red perspex tables, a teenage clientele, and a penchant for Sex on the Beach happy hours. And if it’s a choice between that or this, even if it means letting my wavy hair out in public, there’s only one way to go.
Which is how I come to spend the rest of the Sams’ wedding in the landlady’s Pilates leggings. Wearing an oversized white shirt that smells of algae and photographer, with a tie for a belt. Talking to a farmer wearing only a waistcoat over a bare chest. Who reminds me his name is Fred.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_b7d7d1a1-7966-5d88-aee4-710859bda1e5)
Wednesday, 15th February
At Brides by the Sea: Beginning with flowers
‘Great, now we can get down to proper business.’ Jess puts down her coffee, and pulls up a chair at her table in the corner of the White Room.
Considering how late it was when we got back to St Aidan last night, we were up and out startlingly early. I swear I was still comatose as we hit the bakery and the dry cleaners. Not that there was anything dry about my poor suit as I handed it over. The assistant at Iron Maidens promised they’d do what they could. But given her groan as she peered at the sodden fabric in the Tesco bag, I’m not hopeful.
‘Right.’ As I stare at the stack of pastries towering next to the appointments book my stomach wilts. ‘Actually, I might save the pain au raisin for later, thanks.’ I have no idea how Jess is dashing around with so much enthusiasm, when I’ve barely woken up. Although now I come to think about it, her stamina is legendary. At parties and in the workplace, she’s always the last woman standing.
She runs her fingers through her hair. ‘When I said working breakfast, I wasn’t talking toast, Lily. I want to discuss your job. The one that’s disappearing in the company takeover?’
My mouth drops open. Was I talking in my sleep? That would be the lost job I didn’t mention to anyone at all last night. The one I’m not even thinking about. ‘You know?’
From the way Jess is pursing her lips and clenching her fists, she’s building up to something. ‘News travels fast in the business community. And I assume your accommodation’s going with it?’
Ouch. No messing. Straight for the jugular.
My mouth is so dry, my voice is a croak. ‘I’ve got two weeks to get out. But I get to keep the car.’ One tiny compensation in the whole mess of my imploding life. That’s the worst part of a live-in job. When they offered me a room in the staff quarters after Thom and I split up, I didn’t think it through to the point of takeovers, years down the line. I let out a long sigh, because although I’d meant to keep this secret, it’s a relief that Jess knows.
Jess narrows her eyes. ‘Did you enjoy the work?’
The question catches me unawares. Being fully responsible for a team, putting fresh flowers in every room in ten boutique hotels was a niche job. It began with flowers for the tables in one restaurant, expanded into front of house and bedrooms, and went exponential as they bought more properties. I’m unlikely to find another job like it. Certainly not in two weeks. But by the end, the job was so large, my assistants were the ones who got to do the fun parts, while I chewed my knuckles into the small hours, over orders and budgets.
‘The work was fine. Except I haven’t actually touched a flower for ages.’ Now I stop to think about it, I miss that. Without realising it, I’d given up the part of the job I loved most. The reason I first came to work with Jess was because I was crazy about flowers, and Jess’s tiny shop window showcased the most amazing bridal bouquets. Believe it or not, Brides by the Sea began as Jess selling flowers in one room before it expanded to four floors of loveliness. Every other flower shop I’d seen in Cornwall back then had the same old same old. And the florists where I found a job straight out of college were so old fashioned, the owner made me serve, while she took care of arrangement orders. Doing flowers for Jess was my dream job. And because she pushed me, and the shop expanded so fast, I learned so much about the whole wedding business along the way too.
Jess draws in a breath. ‘How would you feel about coming back to Brides by the Sea?’
I’m so surprised for a second I don’t reply. ‘To do what? You’ve already got all the florists you need.’ There’s a crack team, who work out of the lower ground floor of the shop.
She gives a knowing nod. ‘I’m thinking so much more for you than just flowers, this time, Lily. It’s going to be a super career move. I want you to grow the styling side of the business for us.’
‘Styling?’ It comes out like an echo.
Jess’s eyes are glistening with excitement. ‘Whereas planners deal with the nitty gritty bits of weddings, the stylists do the pretty parts. They’re the interior designers of the wedding world.’ She counts off her fingers. ‘Colours, decor, flowers, invitations, furnishings, the setting. A stylist will perfectly tailor the look of the wedding for each individual couple.’
I nod. ‘I know what you mean. Stylists, as used by celebrities and footballers’ wives, and seen in Hello magazine.’ Surely there can’t be enough of those in Cornwall to support a full-time position.
Jess’s face breaks into a smile. ‘That used to be the case. But not many couples today settle for a bunch of flowers at a local hotel, like you did. Stylists are a crucial part of a lot of weddings now, and Brides by the Sea needs to keep up.’ Her significant stare flags up that Thom and I tied the knot long before the word tipi made it into the urban dictionary. ‘These days every couple wants a wedding that’s totally unique to them, that their friends and family will remember forever. Making that happen is a whole new growth area.’ Those last two words will be the key to Jess’s enthusiasm.
‘But where do I come in?’
Her eyes narrow. ‘A handful of brides are creative enough to know what they want, design their own wedding backdrop, and source every item to make their day spectacularly special. But most newly engaged brides won’t know their favours from their fairy lights, and even if they do, they won’t have time to organise everything. Which is where they’ll turn to you to pull everything together. You might be involved a little or a lot, the budget might be tiny or huge. But basically you’ll be here to guide brides towards choosing the right dreams for them. And then you’ll make them come true.’
‘I will?’ My eyes are growing wider with every question.
As she rubs her hands, she’s almost purring. ‘We’ll begin simply, by sourcing lovely items brides might like to buy or hire to accessorise and personalise their weddings. Then we’ll move on to creating a gorgeous department couples can visit for inspiration and guidance.’ She’s making it sound almost possible.
‘Right.’ I’m gnawing at the gel coat on my nail.
Her beam is widening. ‘It’s win win. We’ll be helping people get the polished events they want, without necessarily spending any more. You’ll get to design the flowers, and so much more too. And we’ll offer a set up, and tidy away option. You wait, we’ll have a fully-fledged wedding styling service up and running faster than you can say bunting and bouquets.’
That sends my voice high with panic. ‘I’ll be fine with the flower part. But what about the rest?’
And finally she picks up on my terror. ‘There’s no need to look so scared, Lily. Trust me, if I didn’t know you’d ace this, I wouldn’t suggest it.’ Her tone has switched from full-on excitement to soothing. ‘You’ve always had a great eye for weddings, you’re brilliant with brides, and you’re used to spotting trends with your flowers. What’s more, you’re talented enough to do this in your petticoat. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to extend your floral skills and push your creative boundaries at the same time.’ She sounds like she’s given this a lot of thought.
Not that I’m about to mention it, but apart from my vanishing job, I’m fine with the boundaries I’ve got. ‘But why me, why now?’
Jess gives a low laugh. ‘Good business is about seizing opportunities. You’re available, you’re here, I’d be mad not to tempt you to expand your horizons.’ Which all sounds so scary I need to make my excuses. And go.
‘I’m not sure I should be running back to St Aidan.’ My voice comes out as a croak. I left with such high hopes, and there’s not a lot to show for the last five years. Bolting home to the place I worked when I was twenty is like admitting defeat.
Jess gives a rueful smile. ‘Which is why I’m adding a sweetener. Poppy barely uses the flat upstairs now she’s with Rafe. We could throw that in too.’
‘Right.’ It’s so sudden, my mouth is still catching up. A job and somewhere to live. When five minutes ago I had neither. And even if my stomach has disintegrated at the idea of styling weddings, the view of the sea from those little round attic windows upstairs is luring me to think about it. Hard.
‘Of course, if you feel St Aidan is a backwards step, why not look at it as temporary? Find your feet, have a go at the styling, and move on elsewhere in your own time if it’s not for you. I’m happy with that.’
Jess is so great at making things work for people. That’s why she’s such a brilliant sales person.
Now she’s started, there’s no stopping her. ‘We don’t know what your mum’s plans are, but unless she’s eloping, I’m guessing she’ll be busy with a wedding. This way you’ll be around to help.’
What did I say about persuasive powers?
‘You might even be able to grow those flowers for her bouquet.’
‘Okay.’ I hold up my hand before Jess gets completely out of hand. ‘Thank you, and yes. To everything except the last bit. Flower growing was never more than a fantasy.’ That dream belongs to a different life. To a girl who took happiness as a given. I’m not that person any more.
Jess draws in a breath. ‘We’ll see.’
At times, she has a maddening habit of not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’m mentally pushing up my sleeves, preparing to argue it out, when the shop door opens, and Poppy dashes in. She’s wearing the Barbour jacket Rafe got her for Christmas, and from the way it’s done up on the wrong poppers, I’m guessing she left home in a hurry.
Jess pushes the plate towards her. ‘You’re just in time for our brainstorming breakfast. Cinnamon whirl?’
Looks like this is me off the hook.
Poppy brushes the plate away with a half shake of her head. Without being rude, Poppy eats for England. Refusing breakfast ties in with her face being as white as the walls.
She undoes her coat, and sinks into a chair. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened.’
Jess and I stare at each other, our jaws locked. Put on the spot like this, it’s hard to know which way to jump.
Jess unfreezes first. ‘A tiny clue?’
When Poppy speaks, it’s not so much of a prompt as a tirade. ‘It’s the total worst news ever. Never in our wildest nightmares did we imagine this. Talk about saddling up bloody horses. We might as well throw away the damned pony and be done with it. Weddings at Daisy Hill Farm are finished.’
‘What?’ Jess isn’t following any more than I am.
As I go and crouch down beside Poppy, her body is shaking so hard it’s making the Louis Quatorze chair creak. ‘Okay, take it easy. Whatever it is we’ll help you. Now tell us again, but slowly this time, starting at the beginning.’
Poppy takes a shuddering breath. ‘Rafe was out early this morning …’
For those of you who don’t know, this particular farmer doesn’t seem to go to bed. What with milking, and all things farmerly, as far as Rafe’s concerned, getting up at the crack of dawn means a lie in.
I nod my encouragement. ‘Go on …’
‘So he saw it first. There’s a huge hoarding in the field on the way down to Rose Hill Manor. It must have gone up literally overnight.’ Poppy’s voice goes so high it’s almost a squeak. ‘The Manor’s setting up as … as a wedding venue.’
‘Surely not …?’ Jess gives a disbelieving shake of her head.
‘They absolutely bloody are.’ Poppy’s talking through clenched teeth now. ‘Bloody exclusive use, blissful bloody country weddings. That’s what it says on the sign.’
Exclusive use? ‘Oh no.’ A trickle of cold sweat meanders down my back. Because actually I already know this, and I can’t believe I didn’t take it seriously at the time. ‘Omigod.’ I hate myself for saying it, but sometimes nothing else will do. ‘The guy who pulled me out of the pond said the same thing, but I took it he was talking through his butt.’
Poppy wrinkles her nose. ‘How did Fred know?’
‘Not Fred. One of the Penryn brothers was there tucking into the buffet, getting off on acting the hero. I should have warned you.’
Poppy’s forehead furrows. ‘A Penryn? Not Quinn?’
There’s an uneasy twang in my stomach. I can’t bring myself to repeat that particular name out loud. ‘No, this was … er … Kip.’
Poppy is momentarily distracted. ‘Quinn was best man at Sera’s sister’s wedding. Quite a handful. He crashed a van and smashed all the crystal ware.’
Sounds about right.
‘Fabulous car though. And charm by the bucketload.’ At least Jess stops short of commenting on his apps.
‘Out of control? That fits.’ An image flashes up in my brain. Me, dripping wet on the shore at the Manor. What is it with Penryns and water? Okay. I’ll come clean. I got stranded on an island with that particular Penryn brother as a teenager, and I chose to swim away rather than stay and sleep with him. Perhaps not a great decision given how weak my breaststroke is but that was the only option for me. ‘There’s a lake at Rose Hill Manor.’ It’s out before I can stop it, although luckily I bite my tongue before the rest follows.
‘It’s not just the lake.’ Poppy’s voice rises to a wail. ‘There’s a humungous spectacular house, shedloads of bedrooms stuffed with four posters. And a ballroom. Daisy Hill Farm can’t compete with that on any level.’
Jess is tapping her loafer on her chair leg. ‘But you have holiday cottages that the Manor doesn’t. And you’ll soon have the main farmhouse up and running, and the big barn will be done for the autumn.’
Poppy hugs herself. ‘But all our financial projections relied on us being the only venue in the area. If we lose any bookings to the Manor, we can’t make it pay. And they’re going to have everything we offer, only better.’
Jess narrows her eyes. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You’ve made a lot of friends in the industry. We’re all behind you.’ Even though she’s sitting down she thrusts her hands onto her hips, and her voice drops to a growl. ‘If this Penryn wants wedding wars, we’ll fight him all the way.’
‘If Quinn was anything to go by …’ Poppy’s voice trembles.
Jess jumps in. ‘Quinn couldn’t organise a fire in a coal shed. If he’s anything like his brother, this Kip will crash and burn.’
‘Every time,’ I say, my fist flying through the air. Although that punch isn’t only from today. A good proportion of the power is down to past resentments. ‘To overthrow Penryns you hit them head on. It’s the only way.’ Then I shut up, because I don’t want to come across as an expert.
Jess’s expression softens. ‘Strategy is my strong point. And we also have our new secret weapon.’ She pauses for effect. ‘Brides by the Sea has a brand-new manager of a brand-new department – Wedding Styling.’
For a second Poppy and I both blink. Then my heart gives a lurch as I catch up. She means me.
Jess jumps in to save Poppy’s confusion. ‘Lily’s agreed to take us forward with the designing and accessorising side.’ And miraculously she’s missed out that I haven’t got the first clue how to do this.
‘That’s brilliant news.’ Poppy pulls me into a huge hug, despite her wobbles. ‘But what a surprise.’
‘For all of us.’ I’m not joking. ‘I’ll fill you in later, Poppy.’
Jess is rubbing her hands. ‘It’s very fortuitous. This way we’ll be able to parachute you behind enemy lines, Lily. You can be our under-cover agent.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’ I feel like I blinked and woke up in a James Bond movie.
Jess rolls her eyes in frustration. ‘As our wedding stylist you have the perfect excuse to go to Rose Hill Manor. If we can land a styling booking for a wedding there, so much the better.’
If my jaw hadn’t instantly locked with fear, I’d be screaming.
Poppy looks unsure. ‘I know we’re desperate, but doesn’t spying sound a bit underhand? You mustn’t do anything you aren’t happy with, Lily.’
I bite my lip as I weigh up the evidence so far. ‘With this Kip Penryn, we’re talking about someone who crashed the party and ate the Sams’ hog roast. His signage appeared in the dark. He’s your neighbour, setting up in competition right under your noses, and he hasn’t had the decency to call round and discuss it with you. I reckon the combat’s already started. If it saves Daisy Hill Farm, I’m happy to come out fighting.’ Even if I’m wobbling about the styling part.
Jess rifles through her table drawer so furiously, she could be searching for boxing gloves.
‘Right on target, Lily,’ she cries, as the contents of her drawer fly across the desk. ‘It’s survival of the fittest. Do or die, sink or swim. There’s no time to lose.’ So much for an over enthusiastic imagination. We’re back to water again. Eventually she comes up with a pen. ‘I’ll start with a list of contacts to lean on.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Poppy gives me a last squeeze. ‘Oh my, you’re going to need your lovely suit more than ever for this, is it going to be okay?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Somehow I doubt it.’ But suddenly it doesn’t matter any more. Waving goodbye to my LK Bennett is somehow symbolic. As if my ruined suit marks the end of my old life. ‘I can always get another. Although I could have done with power dressing for my appointment later.’ Hopefully my wink hides how much I’m dreading coming face to face with my mum. I stare down at my jeans and sloppy sweat shirt. Whereas I’m happy to use my all-day pyjamas for exactly that, regardless of destination, my mum always dresses like she’s going to Ascot. That’s twenty-four seven, whether she’s leaving the house or not. My jeans aren’t going to cut it, but that’s too bad. Life should be about who we are, not what we wear. Maybe my mum needs to learn that.
Jess beams. She’s got her mini vac out now, whisking the croissant crumbs off the table, ready for her nine thirty bride. ‘Meeting the fiancé is always a big moment.’
True. But when he’s your mother’s, and you don’t know him from Adam, big doesn’t begin to cover it. And when your mum is my mum … Well, anything could happen.
Poppy clasps her hands to her mouth. ‘Of course. Blimey. What are you doing?’
‘Afternoon tea at Heavenly Heights.’
Which was always my friends’ pet name for the modern close at the top of the village where we lived. I’m thanking my lucky stars I’ve got away with sandwiches and cakes rather than a formal dinner. As for Poppy’s wedding wars, not that I’m a pessimist, but they might not be the only explosions in the Rose Hill area over the next few months.
‘Do you need a wingman?’
