Phillipa Ashley - Spring on the Little Cornish Isles - The Flower Farm

Valentine’s Day was already a memory when Gaby made her way from the staff house towards the fields, there was a hint of true spring in the air. They were into the final week of February and although an inch of snow had fallen in London, gridlocking the capital, the air on St Saviour’s was mild and the sun warm on her back. She planned on calling her parents later, but for now, a day of work lay ahead.

She hoped the hard work would help to stop her from dwelling too often on the fact that Stevie would have been twenty-two today. Not only that, but the first anniversary of his death was only a month away. It would be a very tough time for the whole family and Gaby planned to go home for a long weekend to support her parents.

‘Gaby!’

The shout came from Will who was about to waylay her as she was entering the top field. Her spirits lifted when she saw his outfit: a charcoal grey suit, with the trousers tucked into his wellies. Both the trousers and jacket looked brand new, teamed with a white shirt and tie, which also looked fresh from the box – unlike his trusty wellies. He carried a small narcissus buttonhole between his fingertips as he bore down on her. Gaby waited for him by the edge of the field, acutely aware of the contrast between Will’s smart suit and her own outfit. Along with her dungarees, she was wearing a new hat: one of those patterned Norwegian woollen ones with a fleece lining that made her look like an elf. Resisting the urge to pull it off before Will saw it, she braced herself for a confrontation but had no idea why.

‘Gaby, have you got a moment?’ he said briskly.

‘Yes, boss.’ She peered at his clean-shaven chin, not sure if she preferred it to the usual stubble. Then decided she did rather like it and had to stifle a giggle.

He frowned. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘Have I got toothpaste on my chin or something?’

‘No. Everything’s fine.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Good because I’ve no time to fart about this morning. This wedding’s come at our busiest time and I can’t really afford a whole day off. Why do these events have to last all day?’ He pulled a face, then poked his fingers through his hair which was still damp from where he’d rushed out of the shower by the look of it.

Gaby nodded enthusiastically. ‘I totally agree. I’m never offended when I only get asked to the evening do. And those Save the Date cards give you no chance of booking a week in Outer Mongolia so you have a good excuse for getting out of them.’

He laughed. ‘Well, as we’re already in Outer Mongolia, I never need an excuse to avoid the things on the mainland, but I’ve no get-out this time. Mum’s close to her sister, so we have to go and, of course, we’ve provided all the flowers for the church and reception.’

‘Yes, I did notice.’

Gaby had been called in to help pick and take the flowers into the shed, where Becca, one of the senior members of the design team, had worked with the wedding florists to create the table arrangements, displays and bouquets. There were jasmine-scented Paper Whites, sunny Hugh Towns and Daymarks, with added greenery and some other spring blooms from the mainland to add a splash of contrasting colour. The flowers had been loaded onto the boat at first light to transport to the wedding venue at St Piran’s community hall.

‘I really don’t want to leave you, of course,’ Will said, adding hastily. ‘To cope on your own, I mean.’

‘I expect we’ll survive somehow.’

He sighed. ‘Good … I don’t feel I can bring the boat back here straight after the ceremony, leaving Jess and Mum to get a lift later. The new group of pickers who arrived yesterday need supervising. Normally we don’t take on new staff mid-season, but we need them for that new supermarket contract that Jess has managed to secure and Len’s not well and can’t come in today.’

‘I heard Len was ill. Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘Norovirus, apparently, but he needs to keep well away from everyone or it’ll go through the whole team.’

‘Poor Len,’ said Gaby, and she meant it. Although Len could be a pain in the bum, she didn’t really want him to go down with Noro.

‘He’s stopped throwing up but he has to stay away for another forty-eight hours.’ He shoved one hand in his suit pocket. Gaby winced. Stevie had always done that on the rare occasion he could be strong-armed into a suit like the day she got her Master’s a few years earlier. She could hear her mum now, saying, ‘For heaven’s sake, Stevie, you’ll ruin the cut of those trousers.’ Stevie had rolled his eyes and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. Gaby smiled.

Will didn’t.

‘The thing is. You’ve come on a lot. I despaired when you first started, but I’m beginning to think you might make a half-decent picker after all.’

‘Why, thank you for the compliment, Mr Godrevy.’

He frowned deeply as if he was offended, then the corners of his lips tilted. ‘I – we – need you to keep an eye on the new lot, just for today. You know what novices are like. We need to finish harvesting the Daymarks for a big wholesale order. I wouldn’t ask but we’re desperate, so if you could leave this and go up there and show them the ropes. I’ll tell them you’re the temporary supervisor and know it all inside out so they won’t know any different.’

‘Again. Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

He grinned. ‘You’re welcome. I like the new tea cosy by the way.’

‘I like your new overalls.’ She raised a cheeky eyebrow.

He glanced down and grimaced. ‘Make the most of it. You’re not likely to see me in a suit again.’

‘I guess not. Um. You might like to cut the tag off before you go to the wedding.’

‘What? Damn. Where?’

‘The price tag’s hanging down the back. Hold on.’

Gaby held the buttonhole so he could take off his jacket. She snipped off the price tag with the cutters she kept in her pocket and smirked. The jacket had obviously been ordered online from John Lewis and was actually a rather nice one. She tried not to smile too much while he shrugged it back over his broad shoulders.

‘Don’t forget this.’ She offered the flower.

‘Thanks.’ He took the buttonhole from her, pulled a pin from his lapel and started trying to fasten it.

‘Hold on. You’re making holes in your new suit.’

She took the bloom from him, stuck the pin between her teeth and in seconds had fastened the narcissus neatly onto his lapel. With a gentle tweak to make sure it was at exactly the right angle, she stood back to admire her handiwork.

And him.

Wow. This was quite worrying. The way her hands weren’t quite steady when she’d finished fixing the flower. The way her stomach did a routine to rival an Olympic tumbler at the feel of his suit under her hands. The hungry way that he was looking at her despite her tea cosy hat and her dungarees with the strange flask-shaped bulge in the pocket like she was nursing a baby kangaroo.

He lowered his chin and peered down at the buttonhole. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Practice. I’ve fixed them lots of times for friends during exams,’ she said. When he looked surprised, she added, ‘They liked to wear a different colour carnation for every day of Finals. It lightens the mood a little as you’re going to the gallows,’ she explained as his brow creased in puzzlement.

‘That’s how I feel.’

She laughed at his gloomy expression. ‘Then again, this is a wedding, not root canal work.’

‘Hmm … look, thanks again, and if there are any problems, you can reach me or Jess on our mobiles. It might take a while for us to get here, but if it’s an emergency, you must call.’