Tripping on Love by Carrie Stone Page B

headmistress of an all girls school. There was always the option of changing my surname by deed poll. Mrs Elizabeth Annabella Windsor Wainwright?
    'That sounds better' I said smiling to myself. Edward looked around at me.
    'What sounds better?' he asked questioningly.
    I startled. I hadn’t realised I’d said my thoughts aloud. A bird chirped nearby breaking the silence.
    'The birdsong' I lied. 'It sounds better here than in London. All we get in London are Sparrow or Pigeon.'
    Edward laughed. 'Very true' he said approaching the wrought iron table and dragging it up onto the gazebo.
    I watched helplessly, knowing that the wrought iron need only brush against my jeans to leave rust marks. The sweet smell of the surrounding honeysuckle was making me hungry. I watched eagerly as Edward emptied the contents of the box onto the table.  A large piece of cooked black pudding was given pride of place on the table. I grimaced, concentrating on stopping myself from heaving. Richardson's was known for its vast array of blood sausage. It hadn’t occurred to me that Edward might have planned a feast based solely around this one delicacy.
    The honeysuckle was looking more appealing by the moment. Since I’d incorporated a more spiritual approach into my life I’d become more in tune with nature, gaining a deeper appreciation for all things home grown. Recently I’d even bought basil from the supermarket.  It was of the dried variety but that didn't matter. At one time it had been freely growing wild.  Just as the honeysuckle was now. I reached towards the carrier bag on the floor.
    'Let me help' I said , pulling out a bottle of expensive champagne. Edward had taste. Not only were we picnicking in the grounds of a castle, there wasn't a bottle of bucks fizz in site.
    Setting the champagne on the flat surface, a luxury assortment of food now adorned the table. Smoked salmon, cheeses, olives, pates. Exotic fruits and breads had been placed down to join the black pudding. 
    Edward sat down opposite me and pulled two champagne glasses from the box. I noted the lack of plastic beakers and took great delight i n toasting my glass against his, hearing the clink. I was now a Lady that lunched, in the purest sense of the phrase.
    I was enraptured as we ate, listening to Edw ard talking about his interests, sharing funny stories and further explaining his work. It was obvious that we came from slightly different backgrounds; I didn’t have anyone called Rupert in my social circle and hadn’t known until aged twenty that château briand was in fact beef, not wine. Yet as we chatted and laughed together, I realised we shared lots of the same opinions and views on life. 
    I cut myself a generous piece of Brie and picked up a small fig. I had always overlooked figs as an unattractive and medicinal fruit. Clearly, I had been buying them from the wrong store. These figs were juicy and sweet and complemented the cheese perfectly.  
    Edward finished what he was saying about helicopter trips and pointed to a large ruby red rose bush at the base of the gazebo.
    'Magnificent colour roses aren’t they' he said getting up and walking towards it.
    I watched as he bent down and carefully broke the largest of the budding roses away from the tree. He turned back to me, rose in hand and called out 'for you my beautiful lady' in a funny voice.
    I laughed, walking over to him to take the rose from his hand. He seemed almost too good to be true; every gesture full of romance and feeling. No other man had ever hand-picked a rose from a tree for me. More or less every rose I’d ever received came wrapped in cellophane with a petrol station label attached to the packaging.
    As I reached out for the rose, he caught my hand and pulled me close, leaning down and, without warning, kissed me passionately. A shock of electricity jolted through my entire being as I lost myself in his kiss. There was no thought behind it, just pure ecstasy.
    Breaking gently away from