details.’
‘Um – yes, mothers quite often do...’
‘Ok – well, I’ll take this back with me. I’ll er, see you later in the week. And thanks.’
9
It’s an exciting start to my week, one in which things just keep getting better. And at last, I get to meet Maria Bristow.
After I told her how terrible I was at navigating, she sent me extensive and detailed directions, which is just as well, because Maria and Pete live in the middle of beautiful nowhere.
It’s very beautiful, along a country lane flanked by ancient trees and wildflowers. It’s also way off the beaten track – with huge old manor houses at the end of mile-long driveways and manicured fields of large, shiny horses tossing their manes and snorting.
Eventually I find Maria’s drive. There’s no name on the solid, wooden gates, which are no different to numerous other sets I’ve driven past. The only distinguishing feature is an owl perched on the fence post. At first sight, you could mistake it for a real one, but to those of us in the know, it’s a sign.
My nerves are aquiver as I press the buzzer. Then as the gates swing open, my heart skips a beat and my jaw drops. I crawl my van slowly forward, taking in the long sweeping drive of crunching gravel, the spotless green fields either side, and yes, there are horses here too. Pretty, curvaceous ones with long flowing manes, which lift their heads from grazing to look at me. One raises its tail like a flag and prances over for a closer look. And as I pull round and park in front of the sprawling house, it’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
I get out of my van, feeling like I’ve been teleported in to another world. Ever the florist, the first thing to catch my eye are the roses. Proper, old-fashioned, petally ones, festooning the front of the house. Some pale pink, some white, the smell is heavenly. The parking area is edged with lavender beds, all in flower and buzzing with hundreds of bees. In fact it’s the only sound there is, along with that of a distant tractor. Proudly I glance at my van, wishing I could take a sneaky photo, proof that Valentine’s Flowers was really here.
I could stand here forever, just soaking this up, but suddenly I feel like I’m snooping on Maria’s life. And I’m not here to ogle, I’m here to work, so I head for the shade of the porch.
I lift the heavy metal knocker which looks as old as the wooden door, then taking a deep breath, I knock.
Nothing happens for ages , and then all of a sudden it’s opened by a small girl who looks about eighteen wrapped in a towel, her face bare and her long hair dripping down her back - as though she’s just got out of the shower.
‘Are you the florist?’ she asks.
‘I am. Frankie Valentine, to see Maria.’
‘Hi Frankie! It’s great to meet you at last!’ As she offers a beautifully manicured hand, I realise my faux pas.
‘It’s lovely to meet you too,’ I say hastily. Without expensive clothes and layers of makeup, she just looks like any other girl, except she’s far more at home in this mansion than anyone I know could ever be.
‘ Do come in,’ she steps aside. ‘And please excuse me, I’ve just got out of the pool. I couldn’t resist – it’s such a glorious day and I completely lost track of the time!’
‘Your horses are lovely,’ I say, making polite conversation and trying not to stare as I follow her through the vast hallway, panelled with oak.
‘They’re Pete’s babies, I’m afraid,’ she says. ‘Arabs. They’re worth a fortune, that’s why we have all these cameras and security all over the place.’
She sees the look on my face. ‘ Oh, he worries far more about them than he does about us! I thought we could sit in the kitchen. Is that alright? Only it’s cosier in there.’
Cosy ? I’ve never seen cosy like this. The L-shaped kitchen is three times the size of mine, and I don’t
‘Um – yes, mothers quite often do...’
‘Ok – well, I’ll take this back with me. I’ll er, see you later in the week. And thanks.’
9
It’s an exciting start to my week, one in which things just keep getting better. And at last, I get to meet Maria Bristow.
After I told her how terrible I was at navigating, she sent me extensive and detailed directions, which is just as well, because Maria and Pete live in the middle of beautiful nowhere.
It’s very beautiful, along a country lane flanked by ancient trees and wildflowers. It’s also way off the beaten track – with huge old manor houses at the end of mile-long driveways and manicured fields of large, shiny horses tossing their manes and snorting.
Eventually I find Maria’s drive. There’s no name on the solid, wooden gates, which are no different to numerous other sets I’ve driven past. The only distinguishing feature is an owl perched on the fence post. At first sight, you could mistake it for a real one, but to those of us in the know, it’s a sign.
My nerves are aquiver as I press the buzzer. Then as the gates swing open, my heart skips a beat and my jaw drops. I crawl my van slowly forward, taking in the long sweeping drive of crunching gravel, the spotless green fields either side, and yes, there are horses here too. Pretty, curvaceous ones with long flowing manes, which lift their heads from grazing to look at me. One raises its tail like a flag and prances over for a closer look. And as I pull round and park in front of the sprawling house, it’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
I get out of my van, feeling like I’ve been teleported in to another world. Ever the florist, the first thing to catch my eye are the roses. Proper, old-fashioned, petally ones, festooning the front of the house. Some pale pink, some white, the smell is heavenly. The parking area is edged with lavender beds, all in flower and buzzing with hundreds of bees. In fact it’s the only sound there is, along with that of a distant tractor. Proudly I glance at my van, wishing I could take a sneaky photo, proof that Valentine’s Flowers was really here.
I could stand here forever, just soaking this up, but suddenly I feel like I’m snooping on Maria’s life. And I’m not here to ogle, I’m here to work, so I head for the shade of the porch.
I lift the heavy metal knocker which looks as old as the wooden door, then taking a deep breath, I knock.
Nothing happens for ages , and then all of a sudden it’s opened by a small girl who looks about eighteen wrapped in a towel, her face bare and her long hair dripping down her back - as though she’s just got out of the shower.
‘Are you the florist?’ she asks.
‘I am. Frankie Valentine, to see Maria.’
‘Hi Frankie! It’s great to meet you at last!’ As she offers a beautifully manicured hand, I realise my faux pas.
‘It’s lovely to meet you too,’ I say hastily. Without expensive clothes and layers of makeup, she just looks like any other girl, except she’s far more at home in this mansion than anyone I know could ever be.
‘ Do come in,’ she steps aside. ‘And please excuse me, I’ve just got out of the pool. I couldn’t resist – it’s such a glorious day and I completely lost track of the time!’
‘Your horses are lovely,’ I say, making polite conversation and trying not to stare as I follow her through the vast hallway, panelled with oak.
‘They’re Pete’s babies, I’m afraid,’ she says. ‘Arabs. They’re worth a fortune, that’s why we have all these cameras and security all over the place.’
She sees the look on my face. ‘ Oh, he worries far more about them than he does about us! I thought we could sit in the kitchen. Is that alright? Only it’s cosier in there.’
Cosy ? I’ve never seen cosy like this. The L-shaped kitchen is three times the size of mine, and I don’t
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