Chapter 27
The flower shop was cold and very quiet.
Most of the buckets were empty, the majority of them stacked by the sink ready for the new delivery of flowers on Monday.
The shelves and tables were unusually bare.
The windows were covered in condensation, which created an eerie white light in the shop.
Beyond the misty windows, Lara imagined families and couples out collecting the Sunday papers, stopping for coffee and walking their dogs in the park.
She felt extraordinarily lonely. She cleared a patch in the condensation with the corner of her apron and looked out across the square.
There, as she had imagined, were couples, some walking hand in hand, some with children.
And then she saw the Porters. They were standing in the middle of the square and were clearly arguing.
Nothing new there then. Abruptly Pinky broke away from Richard and walked quickly in the direction of Gillmore House.
For Lara, this seemed to underline that time was moving on and that soon the Porters would be living across the square from her.
Perhaps people would begin to forget Lady Porter?
A sudden memory returned to her of another Sunday spent with Lady Porter.
Mrs M had been away and Lara had invited her friend to have lunch with her.
She recalled that her cottage had been a lot tidier then and wondered when it was that she lost interest in her home.
Lara remembered she had been anxious about her cooking skills, but Lady Porter had been the perfect guest, seemingly genuinely appreciative of all that Lara offered her.
She had admired the cottage and commented on the large jug of freesias sitting on the dresser, a ghost of a smile on her face.
Lara thought she had known they were from Julian, and although she was pretty certain that Lady Porter disapproved of him, she always made Lara feel that human frailty was not to be despised or judged.
At the time she had simply asked, ‘Did they make you happier?’ When Lara had nodded, she had responded, ‘Well, flowers will do that.’ It was then she suggested that they visit the Chelsea Flower Show together and over pudding she had started weaving plans for their trip.
No, Lara thought standing alone in her shop. That was not a woman who would have killed herself.
But the more Lara thought of their investigation, the more she felt overwhelmed with feelings of frustration and ineptitude.
She was sure she was letting her friend down.
Lara wondered if Abby would appear. She was not certain how she felt about seeing her again.
In her present frame of mind, she thought that talking to Abby would remind her too painfully of how little they had actually achieved and how exposed she felt standing on the stage the previous evening.
Oh, how right Lady Porter had been about Julian. Why had she not been able to see it?
In an effort to halt this downward spiral, she grabbed an apron, turned on all the lamps, put the radio on and set about cleaning every single surface she could see.
Once her shop was spotless, Lara started unpacking the Christmas decorations.
She pulled from the boxes twisted wreaths made of willow, glass baubles etched with flowers and stars, and plump reels of ribbon in crimson, chocolate-brown and gold.
She found fairy lights that actually worked and things she had forgotten, like two pottery turtle doves.
Plus, there were decorations she had hoped to find, like the string of stockings made from floral prints that had been her mum’s handmade gift to the shop last Christmas.
She had had so many hopes back then. She had been seeing Julian (or thought she was) and had just met Lady Porter.
She fought back tears as she tipped more decorations from the box.
She was unsure whether to start decorating the shop then and there.
She would have liked to, to cheer herself up, but she had an inkling that Becky would want to do it with her.
The problem was solved by a gentle tapping on the door.
Becky was standing outside carrying two paper cups decorated with snowflakes.
‘I saw the light on from across the square and thought you might like this,’ she said, handing Lara a hot chocolate laced with cinnamon and nutmeg.
Lara took the cup gratefully and ushered Becky into the shop to show her the treasures she had unearthed.
Becky peered into a box containing white porcelain tea-light holders each numbered in red from one to twenty-four.
‘I had forgotten these,’ she said, smiling.
‘We could hang them in the window with the garlands.’
Lara suddenly remembered a package that had been delivered on Becky’s day off and hunted under the counter for it. It was a parcel containing two scarlet jumpers. With much coaxing Lara persuaded Becky to pop into the cloakroom at the back of the shop and try one on.
When Becky emerged two minutes later, Lara could not help beaming.
She thought Becky looked amazing. She had to admit, Abby had been right.
Becky could most definitely wear scarlet.
It suited her colouring and it accentuated the darkness of her eyes.
Then she saw Becky’s face. ‘You hate it,’ Lara stated. It was not a question.
‘I guess I could wear it,’ Becky said, trying not to sound reluctant, ‘it’s nice and warm,’ she added, as if she did not want to disappoint Lara.
‘But you look fantastic,’ Lara said, still holding out some hope that she might get Becky to see what she could see.
Becky looked down at the toes of her black boots. ‘The thing is,’ Becky said quietly, almost apologetically, ‘I like the way I dress.’
‘Oh God, don’t apologise Becky,’ Lara begged, ‘it’s lovely that you know what you like,’ and then seeing the look of real concern on Becky’s face, added, ‘No, really, it’s fine.
I can send it back or give it to someone for Christmas.
’ Lara then made a superhuman effort to be cheerful and to talk of what they would do tomorrow to get the shop ready for Christmas.
Becky went out the back and returned wearing her normal black attire. She handed the jumper to Becky. ‘I’ll wear it if you would like me to,’ she said again.
‘No, Becky,’ Lara said firmly, ‘you always look smart and professional in the shop and I appreciate that. Keep dressing the way you like.’
Becky got her coat. ‘You won’t stay too long will you?’ she asked, looking at her anxiously.
‘No,’ Lara reassured her, ‘I’m going to lock up and then light the fire and watch a film.
’ She smiled at her and nodded to reassure her.
As she ushered Becky out the door she saw a tall figure in the distance.
Julian Armstrong was hurrying towards Gillmore House, following the path Pinky Porter had taken earlier.
Were they meeting there? He had his jacket pulled tight around him and his collar turned up.
Lara felt a churning, nauseous mix of envy and self-disgust.
Lara locked the door and walked behind the counter.
Out of sight of the shop window, she tucked down where no one could see her, sinking into a sitting position on the floor.
She brought her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms about them, still holding tight to the soft red jumper in her hands.
And then Lara McGregor cried.
She cried with a sense of foolishness and loss for the secret hopes she had nurtured of meaning something to Julian.
She cried because she missed her mum and the easy relationship they once had, she cried because she knew it was she who craved transformation, not Becky.
But most of all she cried for Lady Porter.
She wept because she wanted to walk around Chelsea Flower Show with that exceptional woman, and she sobbed because she felt she was letting her down.
All she seemed to be doing was stirring up trouble and possibly putting herself in danger.
When Lara raised her head, she found Abby was sitting beside her on the floor, her back to the counter and her knees pulled up. She was wearing a pale wool dress and matching shawl, but no hat or gloves. The two of them sat there for some time saying nothing.
Without looking at Lara, Abby started to speak.
‘When I was in London during my second Season I met a man called Charles Hartbury. He was introduced to me at a ball that Lady Mendlesham held in their house in Eaton Square. He was accepted by most in Society but he had a certain reputation. He was fond of sports of all kinds, he particularly liked gambling and he had a predilection for young women. He did not win me by flattery or by chivalry, rather he ignored me, then teased me and that fascinated my younger self. He affected me as no other man had done and his physical presence unnerved me. At times, I questioned my own sanity.’