There was something so comforting about a hot bath and slipping into a fleecy onesie, even if it was covered in glow-in-the-dark pink, green and yellow elephants. You couldn’t lose her in a hurry, that was for sure. It was a forgotten – make that deliberately forgotten – stocking filler from last Christmas from Ella’s mother, who had never quite got the concept of stocking fillers being small enough to fit in a stocking. Ella had unearthed it when she’d finally unpacked one of her cases.
Pouring herself a glass of red wine, she guiltily sneaked a look at the blue card on the pinboard. The flower arrangement still bothered her. Taking down the card, she crossed to the French doors. Through them she could see a pink-streaked sky as the sun started to set.
A gentle fragrance filled the air and she followed its scent to a small tree, its branches laden with plumes of lilac. Only when she reached it did she realise that the garden extended further than she’d initially thought. Feeling a little foolish, she read Madga’s words.
No one could see her. She ducked under one of the branches and stopped dead. Like a secret bower, this second garden was almost completely surrounded by feathery leafy trees that seemed to bow inwards as if trying to protect it from the real world. Crocus, periwinkle, bleeding heart, clematis, spring beauty and grape hyacinth created a gorgeous spectrum of pale blues, pinks, mauves and white. The flowers filled a series of beds surrounding a soft sandstone circular patio at the centre of which, picked out in tiny weather worn bricks, was a star shape. Delicate heads swayed like dancers in the gentle breeze, nodding with elegant grace. Unthinking, she reached out to stroke the velvet softness of the petals fluttering with the fragility of butterfly wings, as if they might take flight at any moment. Scents of bluebell and hyacinth tinged the air, subtle and heady coming in bursts as she passed slowly doing a circuit of the patio. When she came back to her starting point, she realised she’d almost followed Magda’s instructions to the letter. Well it hadn’t done any harm and certainly didn’t mean she believed in any of that Mother Earth rubbish.
Relishing the peace of the tiny bower, she sat down on a stone bench fringed by bluebells and sipped at her red wine, gazing around lost in thought. With a sudden gasp, her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh.’
Now she could see it, the flowers had been grouped to create shade and shape like multi-hued clouds on a blue sky, creating a painting in three dimensions. It made her white and red monstrosity in the church seem horribly vulgar and obnoxious.
Her eyes scanned the flowers, an idea taking shape in her head. She jumped up. She knew exactly what to do.
*
‘Interesting outfit,’ Devon drawled. Ella jumped and almost dropped the armful of flowers she clutched.
‘What are you doing here?’ She looked horrified as he stepped out from behind the hedge which Dexter had been busily watering for the last few seconds.
‘You’re asking me that when you’re attempting to sneak across the green in a pair of pyjamas that are probably visible from the moon with a florist shop in your arms?’
‘It’s a onesie,’ she said, pulling herself up with a dismal attempt at gathering her dignity. ‘And it’s a free country.’
‘True, but I can’t help thinking it’s a bit out of character.’ He eyed the fleecy trousers with their lurid cavorting elephants with a grin. Even in the rapidly fading light he could tell she’d turned a brilliant shade of pink.
She shrugged and then winced before answering with surprising honesty. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘Riight. And the flowers?’
It was comical watching her face as she searched for an answer. He decided to help her out. ‘Fresh impetus? A late addition? I hear the vicar already called it monumental.’
She let out an annoyed huff. ‘Did Bets tell you?’
His lips twitched. ‘She might have mentioned it.’
‘Great.’ She scowled, her eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. Some of the flowers slipped and she shifted trying to hold onto them. He wanted to laugh at her but felt that it would be most definitely the wrong thing to do.
‘Want a hand?’
‘No, thank you.’ She lifted her neck with an imperious sniff at which point several stems tumbled out of her arms and Dexter gleefully pounced on them.
‘No!’ she cried and promptly several more rained down on top of the ecstatic dog who snapped at them as if it were a great game.
‘No, Dex.’ He grabbed the dog’s collar. ‘Sit.’ With a brief hesitation the dog obeyed.
‘How do you do that? Tess doesn’t pay a blind bit of notice to me.’
‘Practice.’ He bent to pick up the flowers. ‘Come on, I’ll help you carry them over. I take it this is a last-minute rescue operation.’
She stood there, several contrary expressions flitting across her face until with a resigned purse of her mouth she said, ‘Yes, thanks. I had . . . well, I’m hoping to simplify things a bit.’
He took some more flowers from her, the petals tickling his chin as he tried to grasp them.
‘Thanks for the advice the other day,’ she said hesitantly.
‘My pleasure.’
I take it as you didn’t call back there were no ill effects from her bin binge. And no more fish episodes?’
‘No.’ She groaned. ‘You always manage to turn up at the wrong moment. I’m getting quite good at this dog-owning malarkey.’
‘So no more dog disasters?’ His mouth quirked.
Ella wrinkled her face. ‘Apart from the wind. Dear God, it was awful.’
He laughed. ‘I thought it might be.’
‘Not to mention the mess. She threw up all over the kitchen floor, luckily just once but I had only finished cleaning it two minutes before. So I had to start over. Honestly, I think I spent nearly all day tidying up after her. Who knew dogs could be so time-consuming? I’m going to have words with my mother. Two meals a day and walks, she said.’
They’d almost reached the doors of the church in the porch and she turned her head towards him, suddenly formal again.
‘Thank you. Do you want to leave those there and I’ll come back for them?’
He shook his head, looking at the dark windows and then back at her. ‘I’ll wait with you.’
‘You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.’
‘You might be fine but my mother would skin me alive if she thought I’d left you here on your own.’ Wilsgrave might be a peaceable small village but there was no way he was going to leave a woman alone in a dark church.
‘You’re going to be very bored.’
‘You don’t know that. I might find half-naked flower arranging fascinating.’
‘I’m not half-naked,’ she snapped but he noticed her lips curled in embarrassment as she glanced downwards.
The pyjamas weren’t exactly flattering but they were kind of cute and odds with her usual prickly demeanour. He quite liked them. ‘No, but you’re not exactly dressed for . . . ’
‘For what?’
‘For anything.’ He smiled.
He sat in a pew watching Ella move, her quiet determined grace belying the baggy fleece all-in-one thing, which was growing on him. Flat refusal had met his initial offer of help and at first he’d assumed it was out of pride or the ever-present prickliness, but as she worked, he realised it was because she was so focused. She knew exactly what she was doing. With quick sure stabs, she placed each flower head in position. A quick tweak here, a snip there with her secateurs, measuring a length against another flower and all the time, he could hear her muttering to herself, in between humming.
‘Yes that’s it. Dedee da da. Yes, there. And there.’ It was rather like watching a conductor with an orchestra in the palm of his hand.
Within minutes, he could already see a shape emerging. Every now and then she’d step back, tilt her head and then dive forward again.
She was so absorbed she didn’t hear the occasional squeak of the door and never once turned around to look his way.
There was a strange satisfaction in watching someone at work who was not just oblivious to but totally disinterested in their audience. What a contrast to Marina who played to the camera, constantly aware of her audience and the nuanced effects of every move she made. A consummate actress.
The thought sliced at his heart. Had Marina ever really loved him? In that single-minded, give-everything-up-for-someone-else way? The way that he had loved her. Had it all been an act?
He had no idea why he made the sudden comparison but it struck him that willowy Ella was a complete contrast: private, reserved, her face usually shuttered apart from the rare occasions when she let the emotion leak out. Like now, when an aura of quiet confidence and serenity surrounded her, quite at odds from her usual demeanour.
He’d never been particularly interested in art, but he could appreciate the talent involved. Watching Ella, he was intrigued by her absorption and commitment to the task in hand and surprised by how similar it was to his own approach to work, although she might come to regret her single-minded dedication when she realised that in the last ten minutes, several members of the choir had amassed in the aisle in readiness for their weekly practice.
With a low voiced exclamation of triumph, she stepped back one last time and nodded. He had to admit the finished display was a thousand times better than the previous incumbent.
Colin, the leader of the choir, winked at Devon before raising his arms and launching the thirteen strong chorus into a rousing verse.
Nellie the elephant packed her bags and said goodbye to the circus . . .
Devon smiled as rich baritone voices filled the church, singing one of their regular repertoire that he’d heard before, but that was perfect for this situation. Amused, he shook his head. Colin was almost as mischievous as the badly behaved German Shepherd he owned. Ella whipped round, startled.
He waited for her to relax into the moment. Smile along. See the ridiculousness of the situation.
His disquiet grew second by second as she remained as if struck by stage fright in a spotlight, her limbs jerky almost like a robot and her face a rictus of consternation.
It quickly became clear she had no idea what to do. And he knew that Colin and Co had settled in for at least a full verse and chorus. And knowing Colin, probably a full three verses.
If she found the situation excruciating, it was even more so for him to witness.
He jumped up and crossed to her, taking her arms and forcing them into a dance pose, her right arm out and her left arm around him.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, her eyes flashing at him, stiff still and unyielding in his arms, her feet stumbling over one another behind time.
He lifted his shoulders. ‘I’m not sure,’ then he grinned at her, ‘but it seemed like a good idea at the time.’
The words elicited a blank stare, so he pulled her along in a jaunty dance which he vaguely thought might be a polka. It took a good few bars of singing before she gradually relaxed into the steps.
They cantered up the aisle as the choir, now with even more gusto sang, with a trumpety trump, trump. Trump, trump, trump.
As they galloped back down the aisle, he could pinpoint the exact moment when she loosened up and the fluidity returned to her muscles. Suddenly her feet matched his step for step.
‘You’re mad,’ she laughed up at him breathlessly, her face lively and alight, as they danced back down the aisle, skirting Colin conducting away like a ringmaster.
‘You’re welcome.’ He smiled broadly back at her, relieved that her haunted, mortified expression had been banished.
Feeling oddly protective of her, he brought her back to the front of the church just as the final notes of the song died away. With a final flourish Devon held up one arm to give her a twirl before bowing to her with a wink. A rueful smile touched her face as she dipped her head.
The chorus began to clap and she turned to them and with a regal tilt to her head dropped into a deep graceful curtsy, holding out the baggy legs of her onesie as if it were a glamorous ball gown.