Thirty-three Pink Carnation – I Will Never Forget You
Thirty-three
Pink Carnation – I Will Never Forget You
The next day I’m sitting in the gardens of Camberley House with Stan. It’s a hot sunny afternoon, so we sit in two deckchairs, partially shaded by the branches of a huge oak tree.
‘Are you OK, Poppy?’ Stan asks, looking at me with concern. ‘You seem a bit subdued today. Is everything going well with the plans for the birthday party?’
I’d asked Stan if we could use Trecarlan for Jake’s birthday party, and of course he’d agreed.
‘It’s good to know the old gal is being put to use,’ he’d said with pleasure in his eyes. ‘I don’t like to think of her standing empty.’
‘Everything is going fine,’ I tell him now. ‘With the party at any rate.’
‘And with everything else?’ Stan asks.
I glance at him. ‘Not so well.’
‘Is it the shop?’
I shake my head. ‘No. We’re doing better than ever.’
‘Friends?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Kind of… Hmm, let’s see, then it must be your love life?’
I’m silent.
‘Is young Ash giving you grief?’
‘Oh, no, Ash is lovely. We get on great.’
‘Do you?’ Stan asks, his eyes narrowing.
‘Yes. Ash is lovely to be with. Chilled, relaxed. Just what I need right now.’
Stan studies my face before speaking. ‘Those are telling words – “right now”. If Ash is perfect for you “right now”, then who is it that might be perfect for you in the future?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I lie.
I know exactly what Stan means because Amber said pretty much the same thing when I got back from Jake’s yesterday…
‘How did you get on?’ Amber asks, looking up from some sweet peas she’s arranging in a vase.
‘With…?’ I ask, letting Basil off his lead.
‘Bronte?’
Bronte . With everything that had happened with Jake, I’d almost forgotten that’s why I’d gone over there in the first place.
‘She’s definitely going to supply us with some of her jewellery. It’s very good.’ Damn, I’d been in such a hurry to get away, I didn’t go back to Jake’s house to collect Bronte’s box. I’ll have to text her and ask her to bring it down to the shop when she comes in to talk about the job. There was no way I could go back to Jake’s, not after what had happened. ‘And I’ve asked her to work part-time in the shop – weekends, that kind of thing. When you’re busy with arrangements.’
‘That’s a wonderful idea! I like Bronte.’ Amber smells the flowers, then places them down on one of the tables. ‘Did you see Jake while you were up there? He came into the shop earlier. When I said where you were, he dashed off pretty quickly.’ She gives me a meaningful look from under her big lashes.
‘Yes, I did, briefly. He arrived home just as I was finishing up with Bronte. Then he showed me around his nursery. Why?’ I can’t bring myself to tell her about the greenhouse, that would only complicate things. And things were already complicated enough.
‘No reason. I thought he’d probably head home when he knew you were there.’
I watch Basil noisily lapping water from his bowl until it’s nearly empty. ‘Hey, fella, let me fill that for you again,’ I say, picking up the bowl and heading out the back to the sink.
‘So what if he did?’ I call to Amber. ‘It’s his house.’
‘It is indeed. Made even more inviting knowing you’re there, no doubt.’
I carry Basil’s water bowl through to the shop and set it down next to where he’s crashed out on the floor after his excursion.
‘Explain yourself, Amber,’ I say sternly, folding my arms and turning to face her.
‘I only say what I see,’ Amber says, unfazed. ‘And I see not one, but two hunky men interested in our Poppy.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I leap in, a bit too quickly. ‘We’ve been through all this before. Jake is not interested in me, I can tell you that for a fact. And you know full well I’m with Ash now.’
Amber merely nods. ‘Yep, so you are. But for how long?’
‘What?’
‘For how long? Ash is only a temporary solution to your troubles. He’s like a pretty Band-Aid covering up a wound. What you really need, Poppy, is a surgeon to stitch that wound up for you permanently.’
I knew what Amber was getting at with her analogy, but I chose to play dumb, and luckily we were interrupted by customers wandering in.
Now, sitting in the garden with Stan, I think again about what she said.
‘Is there someone else, Poppy?’ Stan asks. ‘You don’t have to tell me, of course. But I was a bit of a looker in my time, you know. I had my fair share of female attention. I do know something about complications of the heart.’
I smile at Stan. ‘I bet you were!’ I say, then I sigh. ‘Yes, there’s someone else. But not in that way. It’s someone I’ve liked for some time – since the first day I came to St Felix, as it happens. But the trouble is he’s never shown any interest in me.’
Until yesterday. But was that just a spur of the moment thing? Had Jake meant to try and kiss me, or was it just wishful thinking on my part?
Not that I was ever likely to find out now. Jake obviously thought my running away was an attempt to get back at him for the time at the cottage when I’d tried to kiss him and he scarpered.
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ Stan says, his eyes wide. ‘A pretty girl like you?’
‘It’s kind of you to say, but I hardly think so, Stan.’
‘Now you listen to me, my girl. I may be an octogenarian, but I can still spot a beautiful young lady when I see one, and you are it. You wear a bit too much black for my liking, and you could smile more often, but underneath all that there’s a radiant beauty waiting to emerge.’
‘Oh, Stan!’ I get up and hug him. ‘You say the nicest things.’
‘I only speak the truth, my dear. And if an old man like me can see it, and Ash, then why can’t this other fella too?’
‘Jake’s complicated,’ I say without thinking as I sit back down on my chair.
‘Oh, it’s Jake is it? Lou’s nephew.’
I blush. Damn, I hadn’t wanted to reveal his name.
‘But isn’t that the fella you’re arranging the birthday party for?’ Stan’s brow crinkles.
‘It is.’
‘Ah… the plot thickens.’
‘I’m just doing that as a favour to Jake’s children – Bronte and Charlie. They’re good kids, and they want to give their dad a special birthday.’
‘As do you,’ Stan says, nodding slowly. ‘Right?’
My turn to nod.
‘Ah, Poppy, the human heart is a complicated thing. It rarely ever works in the way we want it to, without heartache and pain.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘But what I do know is life often has a way of pushing us down paths we don’t want to go, but find ourselves glad we did.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘How about I tell you a story?’ Stan asks. ‘It’s a long tale, but bear with me, it’ll be worth it.’
‘Sure. Why not?’ I say, indulging him as usual in his favourite pastime.
I settle back in my deckchair to listen while Stan takes a deep breath and begins:
‘Many years ago in 1846 Queen Victoria visited Cornwall – did you know that? It was her only official visit here.’
I shake my head.
‘So, to celebrate her visit, a local craftswoman embroidered a set of four pictures for her as a gift. On the day the Queen visited her town the woman managed to hand the pictures to the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, who showed them to the Queen there and then. The craftswoman was thrilled, as you can imagine.’
‘Yes, I’m with you so far,’ I say, wondering where all this is going.
‘Good. Well, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting had her eye on the then owner of Trecarlan, Lord Harrington. He was the MP for the area, and used to visit London frequently to attend Parliament. He and the lady-in-waiting moved in the same circles, and they’d had a bit of a fling when he was in London. So when she got the chance to visit his home… well, I don’t need to go into details. Let’s just say they made the most of the opportunity!’
‘Goodness, and there was me thinking the Victorians were all uptight and polite!’
Stan grins. ‘That is just a fallacy; it was all going on behind the scenes. Anyway, the lady-in-waiting had to make a quick escape from the castle one day when she was summoned back to the Queen’s side earlier than expected. In her rush, she left behind her bag containing the pictures, and a handwritten note she was supposed to be delivering from the Queen to the craftswoman to thank her for the lovely flower embroidery.’
‘So the pictures remained at Trecarlan?’ I ask.
Stan nods. ‘Not long after that, ownership of the castle changed hands. Sordid business, if local gossip is to be believed. Apparently Lord Harrington was up to his old tricks again, this time with the daughter of a local landowner.’ Stan tuts and shakes his head. ‘When they were found out, the father threatened Harrington with a very nasty fate if he didn’t stay well away from his daughter. But it was too late, the girl was already pregnant. So, to avoid a fate worse than death, Harrington fled the castle, taking most of his possessions with him. But he left behind the pictures, not thinking them to be worth anything. You’d be surprised at how many owners that house has had over the years, Poppy. Why, I could tell you some stories —’
‘This one is fine for now, Stan,’ I say, trying to keep him on track.
‘That was when my family, the Marracks, took over Trecarlan,’ Stan says, his eyes gleaming with pride. ‘That young girl was my great-great-grandmother, and the Marracks have lived in the castle ever since.’
‘Wow, that’s an amazing story,’ I say. But there’s one detail in his story that’s bothering me. ‘Stan, you said that the previous owner of Trecarlan was called Harrington, is that right?’
Stan nods.
‘Could he possibly be any relation to Caroline Harrington-Smythe?’
‘Yes, I believe he might be,’ Stan says, as if it has only just occurred to him. ‘I remember when she told me the Parish Council would look after Trecarlan, she mentioned that she had some sort of heritage there. But I never made the connection.’
‘Hmm…’ I say, mulling it over. ‘If that’s true, it might explain why Caroline is always so difficult when it comes to Trecarlan. Some bit of ancient history meant her family didn’t inherit the castle and yours did. But what it doesn’t explain is… why she has a problem with me .’
‘Ah, that’s easy,’ Stan says, leaning back in his deckchair. ‘I remember that one.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. Do you know why Daisy and William came to St Felix to open the original Daisy Chain shop?’
‘Er… no. I assumed they liked the seaside and wanted to live there.’
Stan shakes his head. ‘It was because Daisy’s grandmother lived in St Felix. She was a maid at the castle in her younger days.’
‘So?’ I ask, not following this.
‘Daisy’s grandmother, so the story goes, was the person that dropped Lord Harrington in it. She’d seen everything that had gone on at the castle while she was working there.’
‘Ah… it all makes sense now. That’s why Caroline has a problem with me – my ancestor was responsible for her not inheriting Trecarlan!’
‘It would seem so,’ Stan says. ‘History is a strange thing.’
‘Well, good on my family for stopping the Harringtons from having the castle, that’s what I say. Caroline certainly wouldn’t have made a very good lady of the manor.’
Stan nods in agreement. ‘If it hadn’t been for Daisy’s grandmother, we might not be sitting here in this lovely sunshine together.’
‘Exactly! So what happened to those embroidered pictures? Are they still in the castle?’
Stan shakes his head. ‘No, and this is the second part of the story. Stick with me, Poppy, I said it was long. As I mentioned earlier, in my day I had my fair share of female attention from the ladies of the town – your grandmother included.’
I open my eyes wide. I hadn’t expected to hear that, but then my grandmother always did seem to have a soft spot for Stan.
‘After your grandfather passed, Rose and I spent a great deal of time together, and during our time, as a sign of my affection, I gave her one of the embroidered pictures – the one of a purple rose.’
‘Oh yes!’ I exclaim, remembering. ‘We found it in one of the old boxes that were stored away in the shop. That would explain why it had the initials VR stitched into it – Victoria Regina! Once you know about the Queen Victoria connection, it all makes sense.’
‘Rose kept her picture then?’ Stan asks, looking pleased. ‘I hoped she might. Do you know what purple roses mean, Poppy?’
‘I do, as a matter of fact; Amber used them as one of the wedding flowers. They mean enchantment.’
‘Exactly. Your grandmother was always utterly enchanting, which is why I gave her that particular picture.’
‘How lovely, but I don’t see…’
‘Patience, Poppy, I’m getting there, give me time. You’ll remember there were four pictures in this set. The second, I gave to another lady friend of mine, who I think you also know – Lou.’
‘Stan, you old devil! Lou, too?’
Stan smiles sheepishly. ‘What can I say? There were a lot of lovely ladies in St Felix back then, it was the seventies, it was all about free love. Lou’s picture was of a sweet pea – it means delicate pleasures, and Lou was —’
‘No, Stan! Enough information, thank you,’ I tell him, but I’m smiling when I say it. Who would have thought old Stan was such a ladies’ man! ‘Lou still has hers too,’ I tell him. ‘It’s hung up in her hall. I noticed it in a cluster of pictures the day Basil’s puppies were born.’
‘Good old Lou,’ Stan says. ‘It was such a joy when I heard she’d returned to St Felix. I’d missed seeing her.’
‘So you had Rose, Lou, and who else on the go?’
‘Oh no, only one lady at a time, Poppy, give me some credit.’ He raises his white brows at me. ‘There were only ever three ladies in my life I cared about, that’s why I gave them each a picture. The last was Isabelle. She wasn’t in St Felix long though, her family took her away shortly after we got to know each other. Her gift was the embroidered picture of a pink carnation, it means I will never forget you – and I didn’t, Poppy, I still remember her as if it was yesterday.’ He looks wistfully across the Camberley gardens as he remembers, and I let him sit with his memories for a few moments.
‘I wasn’t promiscuous, Poppy,’ Stan insists, coming back to the present day once more. ‘I don’t want you to think that. I held these ladies in great esteem, that’s why I gave them each a gift as a sign of my deep affection. Valuable gifts.’
‘It really is a lovely story, Stan, but why are you telling me all this?’
‘Love comes wrapped in many different packages, Poppy. Sometimes it’s fleeting – like Lord Harrington’s affairs – sometimes much of it comes around at once – like my ladies of St Felix. And sometimes,’ he swallows, ‘sometimes, you fall in love with someone who can’t be yours, but you never forget them – like Isabelle.’
‘Oh, Stan.’
‘No, no, I’m not telling you this so you can feel sorry for me, Poppy. I’m telling you so you understand that, whatever sort of love it is, it’s always for a reason. Love is too powerful an emotion for us to feel it otherwise. You mark my words; your feelings for Jake will be for a reason. Just you wait and see.’