Delphiniums and Deception

by Ruby Loren

We turned a corner on the long drive that lay beyond the multiple razor wire fences that ringed the strange enclosure we’d driven into. A military style concrete bunker was revealed, sitting in the middle of an otherwise innocuous field with a few trees keeping it company on the flat expanse.

  “Wow… this is finally it,” Fergus breathed, causing me to shoot him a few extra suspicious looks. My companion may be keeping quiet about why, exactly, he wanted to be on this ‘flower arranging’ course, but I would get to the bottom of it. Of one thing I was already certain: Fergus had not signed up to learn about flower arranging.

  He pulled up outside the bunker and a man dressed in a private security uniform came over and took the keys. “Leave your luggage in the car. It will be unloaded and taken to your rooms,” was the only greeting the man offered us.

  We watched as he proceeded to drive the Peugeot Partner van into a garage that appeared when a steel wall slid up and revealed the space behind it. It didn’t escape my notice that the other vehicles already in place cost a great deal more than Fergus’ beat-up van. Fergus held his hand out for the keys when the security guy acting as a valet walked by, but the man merely shot him a hard-as-nails look.

  Fergus withdrew his hand. “I guess you’ll give them back later, huh?” He smiled at me to show it was no big deal.

  We walked up the slope that led towards what appeared to be the front door of the bunker. Or at least - it was the only door visible.

  My conspiracy-minded friend led the way up the final set of steps before the door. I trailed behind, half-wishing I could ask the army/valet guy to bring me a car - any car - so I could get the heck out of here. Fergus had made this whole thing sound like it was something that I’d love, but everything I’d seen so far definitely screamed ‘Fergus’. Bunkers, strange car key stealing valets, a mystery course… it was right up the conspiracy theorist’s street.

  Once through the door, I found myself revising my opinion a little. The exterior had been formed of forbidding blank concrete, but the interior was decked out like a fancy hotel. There was even a reception desk topped with marble and a smiling woman waiting to greet us.

  “Are you checking in for the retreat?” she asked, flashing Fergus an even brighter smile that he answered with his own slanting grin. I decided to ignore whatever was going on between the pair.

  “We are, yes,” I told her before reluctantly looking across at Fergus. He was the one with all of the details.

  “Diana Flowers and Fergus Robinson,” he told the receptionist. She glanced down at the sheet of paper attached to the clipboard in front of her. Her face visibly fell. “Okay, no problem. I’ve got you right here. Just sign this please.” She pushed out a piece of paper that we both scrawled our names on. “You can go right through into the conference hall and wait for the welcome address. Everyone else is already here.” With a much less friendly ‘Hmph!’ she picked up the clipboard and walked straight out of the door we’d entered through.

  I looked at Fergus. “Was it something you said?”

  He shrugged and ran a hand through his dark bouncy hair. “No, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with either of us. Let’s go through to the conference hall so we can find out what we’re in for.”

  He didn’t meet my gaze when he said it. I would have bet the farm that there was something else I wasn’t being told by Fergus… and I had no doubt it was another thing that I’d find out later - the hard way.

  We walked through into a light and airy magnolia-coloured room. I was surprised to discover how high the ceilings were, but I remembered the strange and sprawling shape and span of the bunker. I knew it would be a difficult place to get to grips with. I looked around and discovered that there was a small group of people standing on the other side of the room, in front of a small raised stage. They all held cups of complimentary coffee in their hands and they were looking at three vases filled with some truly stunning flower arrangements.

  “Oh, wow!” I said, forgetting all of my misgivings in the face of these works of art. Were we really going to be learning how to create pieces just like them? I suddenly found I was giddy with excitement. Fergus must have deliberately been toying with me, knowing I wouldn’t trust his motivations to come on something as mundane as a flower arranging course. He’d probably wanted to trick me into thinking there was something more going on so that I wouldn’t go too mushy on him. I shot him an ‘I know the truth’ look and then made a beeline for the bouquets. My partner in crime headed for the tea and biscuits.

  “…Beautiful colours. Perfect for the coming change of season,” an older woman with a very refined voice was saying when I approached the group.

  “Those delphiniums are lovely. I wonder what variety they are?” another younger woman asked before looking nervously around, as if seeking approval.

  “It’s delphinium elatum ‘Million Dollar Blue’” I found myself saying automatically. I was so used to people asking questions about the flowers I sold that it slipped right out. I was growing the same variety back home and there was no mistaking its true blue shade and double flowers.

  The group turned to look at me with some curiosity. I smiled back, feeling like the new kid in class.

  A rotund man with red cheeks and squinting eyes broke the silence that had descended over us all. “It seems to me as though our illustrious guides are running late. Why don’t we all get introduced to one another? We’re going to be spending the weekend together after all.”

  There were many murmurs of agreement to this sensible idea.

  “I’m Eamon Rushdon, a lecturer on horticulture at Nottingham Trent University,” the man who’d suggested we get introduced began. He nodded round at everyone in the group in turn, his thin covering of greying hair bobbing with every nod.

  “Lady Isabella Duprix.” The well-spoken older lady spoke next. Her greying hair was kept neatly under control by shining diamanté pins —or at least, they had to be diamanté, didn’t they?— and her outfit looked like it had more in common with the delphinium called ‘Million Dollar Blue’ than Primark’s bargain basement, where I’d been known to source my day-to-day wear. “I’m helping out around the garden on the advice of my doctor in order to keep my mobility ticking over. The gardeners grow so many wonderful flowers, I hope to learn how to create beautiful displays with the proceeds.” I could just imagine Lady Duprix showing off her flower arrangements over an afternoon tea with her other wealthy friends. For a brief moment, I felt a stab of envy over the life I perceived her to be leading. Had she worked hard, married for it, or simply been born into the life of luxury? I shook the thoughts from my head. Why was I coveting money? Even if I really did have a million pounds, I would keep on working on my cut flower business. It was everything that made me happy, and it was all I wanted to do - come poverty or riches.

  “I’m Duncan and this is my wife, Bella… Smith,” a slim man with a few lines already appearing on his face said, hastily adding their last name on the end when he realised that these were formal introductions - as I could only assume was what was acceptable in some of the guests’ higher societies. “We won a competition to be here,” he confided, looking half-delighted, half-scared sick that there was no way they would fit in with those who’d introduced themselves before. Duncan and Bella looked like a couple you’d expect to see waiting outside of the school gates for their brood to be released. There was certainly nothing outstanding about them, but I knew that courses designed to teach you new skills were a great leveller. Duncan and Bella could display natural talent and an ability to learn that far outstripped even those with prior experience. We would just have to wait and see.

  “I’m Tanya Bond. This year, I won a bronze award at Hampton Court Palace Flower Show for my show garden.” She shot a sideways look at another woman who stood silently listening before continuing. “However, I think there is a lot of talent and art to arranging flowers. Next year, I hope to enter the professional floristry category. Or perhaps try for a floral exhibit in
the marquee.” She flicked her annoyingly short fringe off her forehead. It stuck up for a moment before collapsing back. I noticed for the first time that she was wearing a t-shirt branded with her business name: ‘Tanya Bond Garden Designs’. For a second, I wondered if I’d missed an opportunity to do the same before I nixed the idea. First of all, I’d never been fond of people who were constantly self-promoting. Secondly, none of us were here to sell ourselves to the other course goers. We were supposed to be here to learn.

  “Christine Montague of Montague Royal Designs.” The woman Tanya had shot her little sideways look at spoke, introducing herself. Whilst Tanya deflated a little, I took in the woman with the formidable word ‘Royal’ in her company name. She was tall with raven black hair and a nose that turned up at the end, which gave the impression she was always looking down her nose at anyone who looked back. “This year, I was awarded a Silver-gilt medal at Chelsea Flower Show for my show garden.” She frowned. “But it should have been gold.” I silently concluded that the nose issue suited her. I wondered if the ‘Royal’ in her company name was something that could only be added after working for someone from the Royal family itself. I was tempted to ask, but didn’t particularly want to encourage the rampant display of egos that seemed to be spiralling upwards towards a crescendo

  “Sylvia Rainford. I’m the author of over fifty books on horticulture, botany, floriculture… you name it,” an elderly woman said, sipping her tea in a delightfully detached manner that somehow managed to completely dissipate all of the tension that had started to accumulate.

  “You’re Sylvia Rainford? The Sylvia Rainford?” I couldn’t help but ask before realising that of course she was. “I loved your book The Evolution of Edible Flowers,” I said, knowing I was turning pink.

  The old lady smiled. “Edibles can be such fun can’t they, dear? I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I’m Diana Flowers. I own and run a small cut flower business,” I said, feeling that it was the right time for me to introduce myself.

  “How lovely! British-grown flowers are making a comeback,” Sylvia commented, immediately making me feel better for coming across as a fan-girl.

  “Rich Strauss at your service.” We turned to see a man hanging out next to Fergus by the coffee table. I immediately wondered how I’d failed to notice him when I’d walked into the room. Everything about this guy was, well… noticeable. He was tanned and in excellent shape, either from long hours spent at the gym, or from some kind of manual labour. I reserved my decision as to which it was. Then there was his face. He had the same sideways smile that Fergus did - although, this man’s seemed to be a permanent feature, and there was something about his eyes that made you feel like he was looking just at you… and the rest of the room didn’t matter one bit.

  Uh-oh. I was blushing again.

  Then there was the accent.

  “I’m here with Christine. I’m her PR guru and a shameless freeloader when it comes to free fancy weekend retreats,” he said with his smooth South-African lilt. “You did say that this was a luxury weekend retreat, didn’t you?” he asked, dropping a wink Christine’s way. His stiff-faced employer didn’t look amused in the slightest.

  “And I’m Fergus Robinson,” Fergus said, stepping forwards and opening his arms wide like a circus performer. “Researcher of hidden truths at your service.” I half expected him to take a bow after all of the pomp. He was so obviously trying to out-do Rich Strauss’s slick introduction.

  I shot Fergus an amused grin, but the others present seemed genuinely interested.

  “Hidden truths?” Eamon enquired.

  “I work on proving or disproving theories that have gone unchecked for too long. In doing so, I reveal the truth beneath and enable progress to take place,” Fergus said, as vaguely as he could.

  “Conspiracy theories?” Tanya had her eyebrows raised up so high they were almost in range of her fringe. I noticed that she shot another sideways glance in Rich’s direction… just to see if he was looking her way. Tanya clearly had more on her mind than just flower arranging.

  “Well… I wouldn’t really call them that…” Fergus blustered.

  “Like the theory that this old bunker was the site of an unidentified flying object crash back in the fifties? Are you here to look into that?” She looked genuinely curious. “Hey… I think I’ve heard of you! I’ve read your articles.” I silently noted that her incredulity had merely been protection until she’d been certain that Fergus was talking about conspiracy theories.

  I shot a murderous look in Fergus’ direction. I should have trusted my instincts all along! I’d known there was no way he had suddenly developed an interest in flower arranging. He was here because he thought aliens might be taking a stroll nearby.

  As soon as the group had lapsed back into quiet chatter I stalked over to the coffee table. “Aliens, Fergus. Really?! I can’t believe that I believed you wanted to do this because of some bond of friendship we have!”

  “Not necessarily aliens. That was never confirmed. I’m merely interested in any evidence that may suggest an unidentified flying object crash-landed somewhere on this site over sixty years ago.”

  “You guys argue like an old married couple,” Rich jumped in, looking amused by the whole thing.

  “We’re not a couple,” I said at the same time that Fergus said ‘We’re not married’. We glared at each other.

  Rich raised his hands in mock defence. “Whoa now, I never said I needed convincing.” He flashed me a white smile, and I felt that stupid blush rise in my cheeks again. This was ridiculous! Had I really stayed away from men for so long that I’d reverted to the awkward behaviorisms of my teenage years? “So, how do you guys know each other?”

  Shutters suddenly slammed down into place, covering the windows in the conference room. Bam! The lights shut off. We were thrown into complete darkness.

  There were a few sounds of alarm before footsteps could clearly be heard approaching from… somewhere. I felt the air move as someone passed by quite close to me.

  A torch flicked on, held beneath someone’s chin like a scary storyteller around a campfire. Then, the spectre spoke:

  “Ladies and gentlemen… I regret to inform you that this is a life or death situation.”

  3

  Smashing

  A stunned silence fell.

  It was then that I realised this whole thing was a set up. If the situation really was life or death, the torch-wielding speaker would not be pausing for dramatic effect.

  “The ten of you have three days to get out of here alive. You will be up against challenges tougher than anything any of you has ever faced before. You’ll have to work together to overcome impossible odds. You will need to fulfil your potential and perform when the stakes are at their highest. You will have to…” She paused again. “…arrange flowers.”

  There was a tense couple of seconds, presumably as everyone regained their faculties the way I had. Spontaneous applause broke out. The speaker bowed, her hair flopping forwards over her face. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! If you would be so kind as to follow me through the doorway at the back of the stage, you will enter the main bunker and I will trigger the lockdown. No one can get in or out for the next fifty-two hours. If you complete your tasks and conquer the challenges, the door will open at the end of day three. If you fail, or do not finish in time…”

  BANG!

  The beam of the torch swung round and illuminated the central flower arrangement. The vase had broken in two, shattered by some unseen force. Most likely a hidden mechanism, I concluded. Even though I knew how it was done, it didn’t make it any less ominous.

  “She’s kidding, right? Nothing bad will actually happen, will it?” I whispered in Fergus’ ear.

  I was close enough to feel him shrug his shoulders. “Did you read the waiver form we signed on the way in? It will all have been written in there, so you can’t sue the organisers afterwards. You probably should have read it you know.�
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  “What the heck did it say?!” I hissed, not finding his words comforting.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”

  Up on the stage the speaker produced another torch with a wider beam that lit the room a little better. “My name is Lorna. I will be one of your guides on this first-of-its-kind course. Please leave all electronic devices in the box in front of the door. If you try to keep any, the buzzer will sound when you pass through the door, and you will not be permitted to proceed. Watch your step!” she said, flashing the light down to the floor when we all walked through the doorway at the back of the stage. It was the first time she’d really broken character and said something, well… normal! For just a second, I was reassured that this wasn’t as nutty as I’d feared.

  “This course is fully interactive. You will be learning from some of the best in the industry as you proceed through the challenges. Listen well and perform the tasks to the highest standards and you will move on to the next challenge. Your mentors have also set the gradings of your final work. The latest technology allows a computer to evaluate your creations and make a decision as to whether or not you’ve passed or failed.” Lorna stopped walking. “Remember - failure can be fatal. This is a high risk, high reward education experience - as per the waivers you all signed on the way in.”

  “It would have been nice if someone had told me that that was what it was…” I heard Eamon grumble. For a moment, I was pleased that I wasn’t the only one who’d missed that vital piece of information.

  “That lovely receptionist did tell you. I heard her very clearly. You were too busy trying to flirt, you old wind bag!” I heard a clipped voice reply. I thought that it probably belonged to Christine. I remembered my own encounter with the receptionist and the way she’d reacted to Fergus and then changed her tune before leaving the bunker. I was willing to bet that she’d forgotten, deliberately or otherwise, to inform us of that crucial detail she’d surely been employed to pass on.