The Garden of Little Rose Read online

  Mac reached out, gently lifting her chin with a finger. ‘I know us meeting again was unexpected, Flora, given how far away we live,’ he told her quietly. ‘But every mile was worth it when I saw you getting out of that carriage.’

  She could feel her resolve slipping away, his words hovering between them, suspended in the sharp spring air. She offered no answer as he opened the passenger door so she could get into the car and waited whilst she carefully tucked her dress around her. He moved quickly around to the driver’s side, and jumped in, the atmosphere between them altered once again by his admission.

  ‘Nice suit.’ The teasing in her voice was clear and she allowed herself to go with it. His words and that light touch from moments ago lingered like a promise and she tried to trust him, not think of the distance. ‘You scrub up well.’

  ‘You think?’ His voice was lower, matching hers and sounding just as playful. ‘I was hoping to impress you.’

  Chapter Six

  Twenty minutes later Flora was still feeling warmed by Mac’s comments when he pulled into the car park of the beautiful Georgian house where the wedding reception was being held. The front door was open, and a couple were climbing the steps beneath the portico. Most of the other guests seemed to have arrived, already spilling into the garden to enjoy the sun and accepting champagne from waiters slowly making their way through the growing crowd. Mac got out of the car and came around to open Flora’s door, holding her arm as she stepped down onto the gravel below.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He was at her side as they crossed the drive towards a large terrace, filled with people clustered around tables and chairs, clutching glasses or the hands of small children. She glanced across to the French doors leading to the drawing room, hearing the exquisite sound of a harpist and the murmur of muffled voices. A Boston ivy clinging to the north wall of the house was just beginning to think about spreading and in her mind, Flora pictured it as it had been in the autumn, when she and Sophie had first visited the house with Mel, and the ivy had been gloriously burnished red, copper and amber. Despite the bright spring day, the air was cool, and she couldn’t disguise a shiver now that they had left the car.

  ‘Here, take this.’

  Flora tried to refuse as Mac shrugged out of his suit jacket; somehow the simple gesture seemed incredibly intimate once she felt its weight and warmth across her bare shoulders. And yet once it was on, she didn’t want to take it off and part with the comfort and the way it made her feel closer to him whenever she breathed in the sharply floral scent woven into the fabric.

  A giant willow hung over the lake some distance from the house, offering shelter to those seeking privacy and the chance of a rest on the stone bench almost hidden amongst its branches. Flora saw Mel and Harry, standing slightly apart and encircled by guests at the edge of the terrace leading to the formal gardens. She and Mac made their way across to them, as the noise and laughter grew louder.

  ‘Mac!’ Mel saw them and broke away from the group, her delighted glance darting from Mac to Flora and then back again. ‘How lovely that you came, isn’t it, Flora?’

  Flora’s answering nod was deliberately vague, as she tried not to give away too much of what she was feeling with Mac at her side. She watched as he quickly leant forwards to kiss Mel on both cheeks, his hands briefly on her shoulders.

  ‘Congratulations. It was a beautiful service and you both looked so relaxed. And thank you for the official invitation – it arrived just in time.’

  ‘Thank you. We’re so pleased you could come.’ Mel turned to wave at Harry, and he excused himself from the growing huddle beside him to make his way to his wife’s side. She grinned as Harry reached for her hand. ‘Let me introduce you. Harry, this is Mac Jamieson, Flora’s date. Mac, my husband, Harry.’ She smiled up into Harry’s eyes. ‘I’m sure I’ll get used to saying that very soon.’

  ‘Not date,’ Flora said hastily, inching away from Mac as she tried to appear indifferent to his presence amongst them. ‘Mac’s here as my guest, that’s all. We’ve only met once or twice before.’ She was aware he was staring at her, but then he turned his attention to Harry and congratulated him, too, as the two men shook hands.

  Flora sensed curious eyes watching her as they tried to decipher what had really brought Mac here today. She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and gulped at it, feeling the bubbles fizzing madly on her tongue.

  ‘What a fantastic place.’ Mac looked approving as he glanced from the house to the formal gardens, and then back to Mel and Harry again. ‘I understand the hotel hasn’t been open long?’

  Mel laughed, waving at somebody emerging from a car. ‘Casting a professional eye, are you?’ She glanced at Harry. ‘You remember I told you that Mac owns the fabulous hotel on Alana, where Flora and I stayed with Sophie last month?’

  Flora saw Mac grin as he replied, ‘No professional interest, it’s not my field.’

  ‘Mel tells me you’re an architect,’ Harry said to Mac. ‘You don’t work at the hotel?’

  Mac shook his head. ‘The hotel is part of a group that’s run by my parents, who are based in Europe. Architecture was always my first choice.’

  ‘Do you do private commissions or is it a commercial practice?’

  ‘General practice. Our portfolio includes commercial as well as community; I specialise in modern residential projects, usually for clients looking to incorporate Arts and Crafts principles in their design.’

  ‘Haven’t you just won an award? For a commercial project?’ Mel accepted champagne from a waiter, still looking at Mac.

  Mac grinned as he reached for a glass of the sparkling elderflower cocktail for the non-drinkers. ‘You’ve done your homework,’ he said, amused, and she shrugged with a grin, perfectly unconcerned by Mac’s realisation that she had googled him. ‘Not me personally; the practice won with the design for a performing arts school in Newcastle.’

  ‘Would you be interested in recommending someone to look at a barn conversion?’ Harry got straight to the point. ‘My parents are hoping to convert a small building about half a mile from our farmhouse and we’re just beginning to kick around a few ideas.’

  Mel laughed, as Harry slipped an arm across her shoulders. ‘Mac probably has requests to view projects all the time, Harry, and we’re too far away. You’re based in Edinburgh, aren’t you Mac?’

  Mac nodded, seeming to consider the practicalities of Harry’s request. ‘I could have a look at it, if you like?’ He reached into his pocket and drew a card from his wallet. ‘I have a client who’s moving to Harrogate and I’m meeting them in a few weeks. It’s not that far away; give me a call when you’re ready. I won’t promise at this stage to produce drawings, but I’d be happy to give you some ideas. If I can’t take it on, I should be able to recommend someone who could.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Mel was elated and she reached out to touch his arm. ‘That would be brilliant, Mac, thank you so much. Are you sure you aren’t too busy?’

  Mac grinned, and Flora sensed the quick dart of his eyes on her again. ‘Not for friends of Flora’s.’

  The implication that he would put himself out to impress her was another surprise. When she had returned home after the weekend away, she had tried to dismiss the immediate and powerful attraction she had felt towards him on Alana. Back to an ordinary life, thoughts of work and a wedding occupied her, not foolish ideas of what might have been with a man who lived so far away and was as different from David as it was possible to be.

  ‘Melissa Grainger, come here!’ bellowed a sudden voice nearby, startling all of them. The crowd parted hurriedly to allow a little old woman, moving at some speed, to reach the bride and groom. Wearing a hat that would have been fashionable thirty years ago and fur-topped boots that were slightly different shades of blue, Flora smiled as great-aunt Nora scuttled forward to throw herself on Mel. Nobody in the family was very sure to whom Nora was actually related, she went so far back, but it was generally accep
ted that she descended from a batty old brother on Mel’s father’s side.

  ‘Aunt Nora!’ Mel shrieked delightedly, handing her bouquet to Flora as she bent down to give Nora a hug. ‘It’s so good that you could get away. Who’s looking after the sheep? Not Gordon, surely! I thought he lost them last time? Are you staying over with Auntie Hazel?’

  ‘Not likely,’ Nora snorted, straightening her hat after Mel had dislodged it. She opened her bag and reached for the crackers in their plastic bag. ‘She doesn’t get up until nine o’clock and the day’s half over by then. No, I’m better in one of those lodge places where they serve a proper breakfast nice and early, and you can leave when you like. When are we eating, Melissa? I haven’t had any lunch and it doesn’t do my digestion any good to go without.’

  Mel smiled as she straightened up and collected her flowers from Flora. ‘Soon, I hope,’ she promised, pulling Harry’s sleeve up to glance at his watch. ‘I think the photographer wants us for a bit, but it shouldn’t take too long. If you need anything, just order at the bar or find Dad and ask him to do it for you.’

  Nora turned to Harry, giving him a fierce glare as she whacked him none too gently on the arm, her particular method of congratulation to those she considered to be outside the family. But the curious look she then gave Mac was remarkably warm and Flora turned to speak in his ear, surprised by Nora’s uncharacteristically friendly interest.

  ‘That’s a step up for Harry,’ she murmured to Mac. ‘When they first told Nora they were engaged, she threw a bucket of water over him. But it was supposed to have been accidental: he just happened to be in the way when she set fire to a bale of hay. You’ve certainly made an impression; she doesn’t normally smile at strange men.’

  ‘I’m not at all strange,’ Mac whispered back, bending closer so that Flora felt the soft tickle of his breath against her ear. ‘You’ll see.’

  Helen appeared, drawing Mel and Harry away to greet more guests, and they all trooped dutifully back to the drawing room. The photographer was still busy, popping up seemingly everywhere and capturing the gathering of the guests, as they mingled with the bride and groom. Flora trailed slowly behind Mel and Harry, her mind wandering as she looked around the garden. The garden was divided into ‘rooms’ bordered by yew and beech hedges, and she loved how the use of different textures and forms emphasised the changing styles.

  ‘Flora?’

  She paused as she heard Mac, drawn back to the reality of his company, feeling the warm touch of his fingers on her arm underneath his suit jacket. She had forgotten that she was still wearing it and slowly they halted, drifting apart from everybody else.

  ‘You seem a little distracted. Are you all right?’

  Her look was steady, and she gave him a bright smile in reply. ‘Of course.’ Still, his hand was on her arm and she knew that she hadn’t really convinced him.

  ‘Are you sure? I know I’ve surprised you by turning up today, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.’ Mac had lowered his voice as a couple strolled past and Flora caught their curious glance, recognising old friends of Mel’s parents.

  ‘I should go,’ she said quickly, pointing to the photographer arranging the guests into suitable poses. ‘I think they’ll be needing me any moment now. Why don’t you go inside and have a drink? I’ll catch up with you later.’

  She shrugged out of the jacket and handed it back to him, admonishing herself for walking away and leaving him standing alone in the middle of the terrace. She really hadn’t meant to sound quite so dismissive, but she needed space to think and drag her composure back under control.

  As the photographer worked his way through each of the shots that Mel and Harry had requested, Flora was aware of Mac hovering on the fringe, chatting easily to the people around him and making himself unobtrusively at home. Finally, when there was just one picture left to take – the guests assembled on the lawn and the photographer hanging out of a bedroom window to capture the best view – Mac made his way to Flora’s side, and their tiny little moment of togetherness was forever immortalised at her best friend’s wedding.

  * * *

  There had been a little while to spare before the meal, and most people had brought drinks outside to enjoy the sun whilst catching up with friends or half-forgotten family, but now the wedding breakfast was about to be served and guests were nearly ready to take their seats.

  ‘Flora, he’s perfect,’ Sophie exclaimed, as she followed her friend into the ladies, clutching Eva’s tiny handbag and an iPhone. ‘I’m going to chuck this thing in the lake if Eddie doesn’t stop reading his emails. Oh Flora, he’s lovely, don’t you think so?’

  ‘Mm…’ Flora busied herself touching up her make-up, reapplying lipstick quickly. Sophie’s comments were far too close to what she was already thinking, and she didn’t want to hear any more about how lovely Mac was. She knew it for herself.

  Flora saw Sophie’s curious glance in the mirror and tried not to remember how Mac was often at her side, ready to chat with somebody or smooth over the details of how they had met. Since the conversation with David at the church, he hadn’t tried to suggest that there was more to their being at the wedding together than simply friendship. And she was surprised by the easy way he took care of her, making sure that she had a drink, that her feet weren’t hurting in her heels and even looking after her bouquet whilst she disappeared with Sophie.

  ‘Don’t you think so?’ Sophie repeated incredulously as she shook out the contents of Eva’s bag, sending paper and colouring crayons flying. ‘Quick, grab them! I don’t want the paper to get wet; we’ll never survive the meal without it. He’s so charming and friendly; quite different to the cool, reserved man we met back on the island. Surely you’re going to see him again?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Flora stuffed the lipstick into her bag and headed for the door. ‘I’m sure he’s only here to wind me up or make good on the dare. He’s bound to be very competitive. And he lives miles away, Soph.’

  ‘So?’ Sophie switched the iPhone off and hid it in the depths of Eva’s changing bag. ‘That’s better; Eddie will never find it in there. Mac likes you, Flora, it’s quite obvious. And Edinburgh’s hardly at the other end of the earth.’

  Flora avoided Sophie’s inquisitive glance, aware of her friend’s hand reaching for hers. ‘Flora? Just enjoy it. He came to see you, what other reason could there be?’

  Flora nodded doubtfully, and then they left the room and made their way back to the reception. The children were sitting at their own table in the centre of the room, where parents could keep a vague eye and hopefully prevent them from hurling food at the groom, who’d promised them actual money if they could knock over a flower arrangement in the centre of the top table after the meal. Mac was waiting in the corridor when she emerged, still holding her roses.

  ‘Thank you.’ Flora reached out and reclaimed the bouquet, their fingers brushing together, touching, lingering. ‘They suit you.’

  He grinned as they set off towards the growing noise, now that the party had moved indoors. ‘Yeah? Not sure that pale pink is my colour, though.’

  ‘I think it is. It brings out the blue in your eyes and looks great against the grey.’

  ‘Thanks.’ They’d slowed down, and Flora sensed he was as reluctant as her to separate for the meal, as they were placed on different tables. ‘Have you got any other compliments to offer?’

  She felt the grin escape at his words, heard the layer of meaning in his casual question. ‘I like that you’re taller than me.’

  ‘That’s it? Oh, I get it now, you chose me for the dare because I’m taller than you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve never been a fan of dancing with men smaller than me. Too much hunching over.’

  They halted at the seating plan and Flora didn’t need to read it to know where she had been placed. She was completely aware of Mac at her side and he dipped his head to murmur quietly, ‘I’m planning to dance the night away with you, Flora Stewart. Fair
warning.’

  She gasped and spun around, the seating plan forgotten. He was already making his way across the room, pausing to have a word with great-aunt Nora, who had flagged him down, and Flora heard the elderly woman’s cackle of laughter. Flushed, she took her place at the top table, surreptitiously watching Mac as he introduced himself to his neighbours, who included Sophie’s husband, Eddie. Flora settled down to wait for Mel and Harry, trying not to wish the evening had already begun. Sophie rolled her eyes and leant across to mutter to Flora that Eddie was probably boring Mac to bits with stories about sailing.

  Once the meal was over and the master of ceremonies had called for the speeches, everybody quietened to listen to Mel’s father. He had torn up all his carefully prepared notes, as he officially welcomed Harry to the family and expressed comical and yet emotional relief that the second of his daughters was safely off his hands. He didn’t speak for long, clearly happy to retake his seat, and then the noise rose, as Harry clambered to his feet, ducking to avoid a bread roll lobbed from the back of the room. He stuck to his promise of keeping his speech short, and Flora was quite certain that she wasn’t the only woman in the room about to cry as Harry bent down to kiss an uncharacteristically emotional Mel. Everybody broke into applause when Harry took his seat once more, just as relaxed as before he had begun.

  Flora’s ex, David, the best man, was well prepared and surprisingly natural, and coped easily with the remaining shreds of the children’s patience and the rugby hecklers, who probably should have been relegated to the evening party. So the funny and witty speech went down well, as did the huge photograph projected onto a wall of Harry asleep on a beach in Majorca after a night out, smothered in chocolate ice cream and wearing a red bikini. This made Helen cover her eyes in horror, and great-aunt Nora was heard to mutter that she’d always known that Melissa was a very lucky girl.