The plumber looked up hopefully, but Saffy had already disappeared.
Evie was grateful for Saffy’s late start. It had allowed her time to recover from the shock of Kyle contacting her. Surely he wasn’t hoping they’d get back together? No one could be that deluded. At least, she hoped not. She would not allow Kyle contacting her to derail her from her goal of moving on with her life. She would ignore the message, delete it from her mind and pretend it never happened. Good plan.
But her rationale took a hit when Saffy jolted her from her thoughts by placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Jesus! Don’t do that.’
‘Sorry, boss.’ Saffy’s lip curled, Elvis-style. ‘Who’s the eye candy?’
‘The what?’ Evie’s gaze followed Saffy to where the plumber was working on the boiler. ‘Oh, him. Scott something, and I thought you were off men?’
Saffy shrugged, her face now free of sunglasses. ‘I am. Doesn’t mean I’m blind. And besides, I wasn’t thinking of me. He’s way too old. He’d do okay for you, though.’
Evie’s hands went to her hips. ‘Gee, thanks.’
Saffy tied her apron around her middle. ‘You’re welcome. I’ll go see if Scottie the Hottie needs an assistant.’
Scottie the … Evie watched Saffy saunter off. At least the plumber had one fan. He might be too old for Saffy, but he couldn’t be more than late twenties, and that was most definitely not old. Not by a long shot. Cheek of it.
Within five minutes Saffy was perched on the countertop next to Scott, handing him tools and chatting away like a smitten schoolgirl instead of the sullen teenager she was. Far from showing disinterest, the plumber was indulging Saffy in her tirade about her woeful parents, including her latest dealings with Barry the Banker.
‘He wears too much aftershave,’ Saffy said, pulling a face. ‘And he uses words like todger and goolies. I mean, what kind of pervert is he?’
The sound of Scott’s laugh did something strange to Evie’s insides, causing a shiver to run up her spine. The cold was getting to her, clearly. She needed to keep busy.
As Evie started to make up a funeral wreath, Saffy switched topics, easing from dysfunctional family matters to career aspirations and her plans to become a nurse. Scott nodded encouragingly. ‘I’m sure if you work hard enough you’ll achieve your goal.’ He sounded like a responsible parent rather than an unreliable tradesman.
Pleased with his answer, Saffy swung down off the counter. ‘For that you get a brew.’ She picked up the mug containing the results of Evie’s earlier strop. ‘Er, what happened here?’
Scott grinned. ‘I pissed off your boss.’
Saffy faked a gasp. ‘Oh, shit. You didn’t ask her for a drink, did you?’
He nodded.
Saffy shook her head. ‘Schoolboy error. Tradesmen never get drinks. They get above their station.’
Scott laughed. ‘My mistake.’
Evie ignored their collective laughter. Saffy might be fooled by his charming persona, but she wasn’t. She was older – as Saffy had kindly pointed out – and wiser. She’d been duped by a smooth-talking Lothario before and she wasn’t dumb enough to fall for it a second time.
Unfortunately, Scott chose that moment to look up, catching Evie staring at the muscles in his forearms. She turned away, unsure of why she’d been ogling.
The front door chimed and Martin Harper burst into the shop, accompanied by a chilly gust of wind. He looked harassed and a lot older than his thirty-something years. He didn’t even glance at the flowers, just strode over to Evie, briefcase swinging by his side. ‘I need a bouquet. Can you deliver today?’
Ignoring his brusque manner, Evie wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Hello, Martin. How are you?’
‘What? Oh, fine. Sorry, I’m in a rush. I need flowers for Laura’s birthday.’
Evie raised an eyebrow. Leaving it a bit late, wasn’t he? Evie couldn’t imagine it would help their marital difficulties if he had forgotten her friend’s birthday. ‘Certainly. What did you have in mind?’
He pulled out his wallet from the inside pocket of his pristine blue suit. Evie glimpsed a Savile Row label. ‘I don’t care. I just need them delivered today, whatever it costs.’
She opened the order book. ‘Would you prefer a basket or a hand-tied bouquet?’
‘Whatever. Just charge the flowers.’ He handed her an Amex card.
‘The bouquets come at different prices.’ She took his credit card. ‘Twenty-five pounds, thirty, forty—’
‘Forty.’
‘How about a lovely tied bouquet of irises, the birth flower of February, combined with some beautiful violet primroses and mixed foliage.’ Laura loved purple flowers. Something Evie felt Martin should know.
‘Sounds great.’ He wasn’t really listening.
‘Would you like to write a card?’
He shook his head. ‘Do it for me, I need to go.’ Not exactly going all out, was he? No wonder Laura was getting increasingly depressed.
Whilst Evie ran the credit card through the till, she nodded towards the selection of gift cards displayed on the counter. ‘Would you care to choose a design?’
‘I’m not fussed. Just write, “Happy Birthday, Laura. Love, Martin.”’ He punched in his PIN and extracted a business card from his wallet. ‘She’s at work today, deliver the flowers there.’ He replaced his wallet and straightened his jacket. ‘Do you need anything else?’
‘No, I have everything I need.’ She handed him his receipt. ‘The flowers will be delivered this afternoon. I hope Laura enjoys them.’
‘I hope so too. I don’t fancy sleeping in the spare bed.’ Without a backwards glance, he was gone.
Evie shook her head. She’d become good friends with Laura since moving to Heatherton, but Martin remained a mystery. He worked long hours and didn’t socialise with them much, so it was difficult to know whether he really was a grump or just stressed about his job. Poor Laura. Not much of a birthday for her.
Evie turned to find her assistant looking smug. ‘You were right, boss. Flowers carry meaning, as in “I’m a complete git and I forgot your birthday, darling.”’ She clutched her chest, faking a swoon. ‘What a touching sentiment.’ She then proceeded to mime throwing up in a bucket, making the plumber laugh.
‘Thank you, Saffy. Very insightful. Have you finished cutting those stems?’
Her assistant begrudgingly picked up a pair of secateurs.
The rest of the morning progressed without incident. Saffy went about her duties while Evie continued working on a funeral wreath. Occasionally, Evie glanced over at the sink to watch Scott fiddling with the water pipes. At one point, she thought she caught him checking her out, but she could’ve been wrong. It was probably just puzzlement. After all, she did have remnants of breakfast cereal staining the front of her apron.
By midday the boiler was fixed, much to Evie’s relief. Mostly because they needed hot water, but also so she could be rid of the plumber. ‘What’s the damage?’ she asked, getting out her purse.
He washed his hands in the sink. ‘Eighty-three pounds including VAT. I had to replace the thermocouple. I’m not sure how long it’ll last, it’s an old boiler. The whole thing might need replacing.’
This was not good news. She was trying to save up in case Diana decided to sell the business. News of her boiler’s impending doom sent her into a sneezing fit.
The plumber politely waited until she’d stopped. ‘Do you have a cold?’
She shook her head, fumbling for a tissue in her pocket. ‘Hay fever.’
He did that laugh again, the one that sent a shiver racing up her spine. ‘A florist with hay fever? That’s brilliant.’
‘Oh, yeah, hilarious.’ Like she hadn’t heard that one before. She opened her purse and paid him the money. ‘Can I have a receipt, please?’
He frowned, as if no one had asked him that before. ‘I’ll send you an invoice in the post.’ He picked up his tool bag and made for the door.
‘But can’t you writ
e me out something to show I’ve paid?’
‘No need.’ He continued walking. ‘You can trust me.’
She doubted that very much.
‘I’ll see myself out. Call again if you need me.’
‘Don’t hold your breath,’ she mumbled, channelling Saffy. As the door shut behind him she turned to her assistant. ‘Let’s hope that’s the last we see of him.’
Saffy went over to the window and watched him climb into his van. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I rather liked him.’
‘Come away from the window, we don’t want to encourage him.’
Saffy turned and looked Evie square in the eye. ‘You sure about that, boss?’
Evie felt a blush of heat on her cheeks. ‘Absolutely. Now get on with some work.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Saturday, 22 February
Laura could always sense when intervention was needed. It was partly why she was so good at her job, even if she did say so herself. The ability to read a person was an essential trait when selling wedding dresses. Brides weren’t just purchasing a dress, they were buying into the dream, creating a wondrous fairy tale that would export them into a romantic whirlwind of perfection. Weddings were about excess and style, accessories and glamour, the whole event organised with military precision, choreographed down to the last scented petal, ensuring the guests were left in spellbound awe, watching as the stunning bride and slightly stunned groom sailed away on a cloud of wistful bliss, their bank accounts empty, their hearts filled with love.
And then there were brides like Anita.
Laura moved her client through to the alcove at the side of the shop, behind the rails of pricey designer gowns, and opened the curtain with a dramatic swish, as if revealing the sparkling contents of Aladdin’s cave. ‘I think we might have what you’re looking for through here.’
With some hesitation, the woman followed. ‘I don’t want anything fancy. It’d be ridiculous at my age to turn up in one of those big frilly gowns. I just want something simple. You know, tasteful, appropriate for a woman in her fifties.’
Laura smiled. ‘I quite understand. Which is why we have a selection specifically designed for just such a requirement.’ She moved across to the rail of dresses. ‘At Truly Scrumptious we cater for all brides, including those looking for a more bespoke service; perhaps marrying for the second time, or simply wishing to have a more low-key occasion. Not everyone wants or can afford a huge whistles and bells production.’
The woman visibly relaxed. ‘Oh, I agree. We’d love to have a big do, but we just can’t afford it. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find something within my budget.’
‘Then you’ve come to the right place.’ Laura lifted a dress off the rack, an ivory-coloured vintage design with lace overlay and belted waist. ‘This style proves very popular for the more mature bride. The knee-length cut and capped sleeves give it a less formal feel, yet the detail in the fabric and underlay skirting provides enough glamour and sophistication to give it impact.’ Laura waited for the woman to be seduced by the beauty of the dress before adding, ‘At seven hundred pounds, I think you’ll agree it’s very reasonably priced.’
When the woman coloured, Laura replaced the dress, moving on to the next rail.
‘However, our dresses start at one hundred pounds, rising to several thousand, so hopefully we have something for everyone.’
The woman edged towards the cheaper end of the rail. ‘It’s a simple ceremony, you see. Followed by a reception in our local village hall.’
Laura nodded. ‘Of course. But it is your wedding day, and you’ll be the star attraction. Don’t be too afraid to stand out.’ The woman’s expression indicated she hadn’t thought of that. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, you have an amazing figure. Any of these retro designs would complement your frame perfectly, making you the envy of many women half your age.’
The woman coloured again.
Laura knew she was winning her over. ‘Why don’t I leave you to browse through the dresses at your leisure? Let me know when you find something you’d like to try on.’
‘Yes, thank you. I’d like that.’
Laura smiled. Another fish baited, hooked and reeled into her lair, primed for a sale. A relaxed and comfortable customer was much more likely to buy, Laura had learnt. If you evoked trust, created confidence and gave them the illusion of being in control, they would hand over their credit card. If you pushed too hard, they went elsewhere. All tricks Laura had mastered since setting up the business three years ago.
She turned up the volume on the love songs CD and pressed the wall-mounted perfumer, releasing a discreet waft of rose water into the air. ‘Can I tempt you to glass of fizz, Anita?’
‘Oh, no, I best not…’ And then she paused. ‘Actually, you know what, that would be lovely. After all, you only get married … twice.’ She laughed at her own joke.
Laura laughed along with her. ‘Excellent decision.’ She left the woman to it and headed into the kitchen to commence stage two of her carefully honed sales seduction technique.
Just because Laura had perfected the art of turning even the most difficult customer into a satisfied one, it didn’t mean she was mercenary. Far from it. She genuinely cared about her brides, wishing them every happiness on their special day. She just wanted them to be wearing one of her dresses when they said ‘I do’. Was that such a bad thing? She’d never sell someone a dress that wasn’t right for them, that was why she carried such an extensive range. It was a competitive market out there. She needed to be on her game to stay in business.
Not that she needed the money. Martin made enough to keep a roof over their heads, but that wasn’t the point. She needed something in her life to focus on, to challenge her, to bring out the romantic in her. And since her marriage no longer did that, running Truly Scrumptious helped to fill the void.
Laura removed the chilled bottle of Prosecco from the fridge.
Things had been so different eight years ago, when she’d first met Martin. Fresh out of university, his boyish charm and honey-coloured hair had provoked an immediate spark when he’d propositioned her in a Starbucks café, wooing her with frothy macchiatos and his plans for a career as a sports agent. He was vibrant and energised, with big hopes and a persuasive persona. She’d been charmed, entertained, and fallen in love before finishing her second coffee.
Opening the bottle of wine, Laura poured two large glasses, ignoring the fact that it was barely lunchtime and too early to be drinking. Catching sight of herself in the vanity mirror, she unclipped her long auburn hair, smoothed down the kinks and refastened the clasp. It wouldn’t do to look dishevelled.
Her striking appearance had been one of the things that had first attracted Martin. He loved her pale skin and long legs, his desire for her evident from the start. And she’d loved it. In those early days he’d been just as smitten as her, encouraging her dreams to become a fashion designer, promising her a world of adventure and spontaneity. And for the first few years that’s exactly what their life had been like. Moonlit picnics, floating down the Thames in a rowing boat looking at the stars, travelling to exotic destinations, existing on adrenaline and limited income. She’d never been happier.
In turn, Laura had supported Martin through his internship, holding down two jobs and giving up the opportunity to work in New York for a wedding dress designer so he could pursue his dream of becoming a sports agent. They’d married on a beach in Phuket and hitch-hiked their way through Vietnam and Thailand for their honeymoon. It was the stuff of dreams.
Laura took another slug of wine.
For the first couple of years, things had been great. But then Martin had become disillusioned with not being able to break through into his chosen career and had taken a job at a financial recruitment firm. It wasn’t all bad; the increase in income enabled them to buy their first home and when Laura took over the management of Truly Scrumptious things were pretty good. But then Martin’s job grew steadily more demanding,
the hours increased and soon he was coming home tired and grumpy. They stopped going out during the week, and then at weekends, and then Martin’s work took him travelling without her and she became more and more fed up.
Laura contemplated how she socialised more with her friends these days than with her husband. It was a depressing thought. She carried the tray through to the alcove, her cheeks flushed from the wine.
She wouldn’t mind so much if the sex was still good, but even that had tailed off. There was a time when Martin couldn’t keep his hands off her. Now she was lucky to get a quickie before bedtime. If she didn’t make a move in the ten minutes before climbing into bed it was game over, Martin would be asleep before she’d even cleaned her teeth. Their sex life was no longer the stuff of dreams – it was in danger of fizzling out completely.
In her absence, Anita had been productive. Three dresses had been selected for trying on, including the retro dress that Laura had picked out.
Placing the tray on the distressed-finish side table, Laura handed the woman a glass of Prosecco. ‘Here we are, a little something to aid the task of dress hunting. I see you’ve made progress. Would you like to try them on?’
Anita nodded, sipping delicately at her wine. Unlike Laura, who’d downed her glass in two large gulps.
Laura carried the dresses through to the changing room. ‘Give me a shout when you need zipping up.’
Whilst she waited for Anita to change, Laura picked up the bouquet of flowers Martin had sent her for her birthday and carried them through to the kitchen. The primroses had lasted well, but the cut irises were wilting, bending low as if hanging their heads in shame. The petals were dry and withering, sapped of life and vibrancy. Kind of how she felt about her marriage.
Anita called out from the other room. ‘I’m ready.’
The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Page 3
