‘Delivery here for a Lydia Quentin and one for Mrs R. Gratrix … same address. Is that right?’
Joss decided not to make the bewildered youth from the florist even more bewildered. She said, ‘Yes, both here, thanks.’
‘Lucky ladies,’ said the young man. ‘Lovely, these are.’
‘If you could just put them on that table … That’s great.’
‘Bye, then.’
He’d gone, and Joss stared at what he’d delivered. Lydia had an enormous, hand-tied bouquet of roses. No card. Obviously they were from Gray, who was the only person in the world who called her Lydia, and he must also have feared Bob seeing anything he wrote, however enigmatic. They had decided to break off all contact, hadn’t they? He’d been surprisingly good about not getting in touch with her, and there were times when she longed for him to break his word, send her a text message … something. Now, here they were, these glorious bronze flowers … two dozen of them. He still thinks of me, she told herself. He loves me. She didn’t know whether she felt like weeping or hugging herself for joy. Did she have a vase that would do them justice? I wish they’d last for ever, she thought, and she resolved to keep a few as they faded. Sometimes, she liked roses even better when they were like papery ghosts of themselves. She turned to the potted plant addressed to Mrs Gratrix. It was hydrangea of a particularly attention-seeking blue, and Joss knew at once where it would look best: in the crescent-shaped flowerbed to the left of the front door. There was a card stuck among the blossoms: To Joss, with many congratulations on your shortlisting from Maureen and Graham Ashton. She smiled. She imagined Gray thinking how clever he’d been, covering his tracks, getting Maureen in on it too. Well, two could play at that game.
Joss put the hydrangea on a big saucer and placed it on the window-sill in the kitchen. She arranged the roses in her best and biggest vase, and decided to leave them on the hall table where they seemed to light up the space around them. She kept four to go in her study, putting them into a clear glass carafe that had once held wine but which she’d kept because she liked its shape.
Once she was upstairs in the study, she put it on her desk. She wanted the roses close to her, close enough to touch. Then she opened a drawer and took out her collection of postcards. She chose one of Fairford Hall, a pen-and-ink drawing of the house. She’d bought them two years ago, on the first day of the course, and kept them for very special occasions. Gray would understand what this image meant and why she had chosen it. She addressed the envelope to Dr and Mrs Graham Ashton. On the back of the card she wrote:
Many, many thanks to you both for the beautiful hydrangea. I’ve found the perfect place for it in the garden. Everyone’s been so kind about the shortlisting. A glorious bunch of roses arrived today as well. I feel like a star. Thanks again. All the very best, Joss.
He would read that, and know that his flowers had reached her.