A Springtime to Remember by Lucy Coleman

Author:Lucy Coleman [Coleman, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

16

Twists and Turns

Standing on the pavement outside the florist’s shop, we tip our heads back and stare up at the tiny first-floor balcony. Whoever lives there now certainly loves their plants. The balcony is a riot of spring colour with baskets and tubs full of red and yellow tulips.

‘Stay here,’ Ronan says, looking at me rather pointedly. ‘I won’t be a moment.’

I continue to gaze upwards, ignoring the flow of people weaving around me. It’s the address in the back of Grandma’s notebook. Amazingly, it’s less than a five minute walk away from where I’m staying. When I head up to the palace I’m literally following in her footsteps, and the thought of it sends a little quiver of excitement coursing through me. Taking a half-step backwards, I inadvertently bump into a pedestrian. Mumbling an apology in my best French accent, the man gives a courteous reply in return in English. I guess my accent isn’t quite as liltingly French as I’d hoped.

The white and green awning over the shopfront adds to what is a very colourful picture. An abundance of shades of green, pink, purple, yellow, white, pale blue… and that smell. There is a heady mixture of perfumes and earthy notes from the woody bark of cut stems, mingling rather tantalisingly in the tightly packed space. Pots of fragrant spring bulbs, everything from grape hyacinths to crocuses, and buckets full of freesias and irises extend out, taking up half of the pavement. It’s the perfect framing for a magnificent window display, which is burgeoning with a myriad of colours and textures.

While I love the more formal displays around the palace, this is a riotous, tumultuous display that delights the eye as it searches out hidden treasures. A trailing ivy hangs down over some clipped bay standards in elegant pots, which are covered in the start of the new season’s growth. A bucket full of vibrant yellow daffodils partly obscures a common Buxus, shaped into a ball.

I’m so caught up with my thoughts that I don’t notice that Ronan has returned, until a bunch of sweet-smelling narcissi is thrust under my nose.

‘These are for you,’ he says with a flourish. ‘And I have a surprise. Come this way.’

He steps back inside the shop and I follow a pace or two behind him. He introduces me to the woman behind the counter, who gives me a big smile. I’m surprised to discover she isn’t French, at all, but German, and she indicates for us to weave behind the point of sale and out through a door to the rear.

It’s a large room with several tables, where they assemble the bouquets and prepare the flowers for display. An older Frenchwoman greets us, and Ronan enters into conversation with her. She pulls a bunch of keys from her pocket and leads us out through the exit and up a metal staircase. Inserting the key and swinging open the door, she indicates for us to go inside.

‘Madame says before her family took this over the flat above the shop was rented out.

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