Free A Narrow Margin of Error by Faith Martin Page A

up the cost of them, but found it almost impossible. All the bouquets were wrapped in the clear plastic cones that came from florists shops, and most had ribbon around them, so they looked professionally done. So it wasn’t someone who was a keen gardener who grew their own and thus saved much moolah by making up their own offerings.
    And even if the flowers underneath were the cheaper offerings, like chrysanthemums and daisies, saving the roses and carnations for the more visible bouquets on top, she guessed she must have been looking at easily £500-or-so worth of flowers. If not more.
    She’d been assuming that her admirer was in the lower-income bracket, but perhaps that wasn’t so. But at least she had some place to start now – no florist getting an order this big was likely to forget it. Unless, of course, he’d boxed clever and had simply taken the time to order three or four bunches at different shops around the shire until he had enough for his grand gesture. Just how many florists were there within easy driving range?
    And if he paid cash for them, there’d be no paper trail. Would he have the patience to have done that? Hillary was just gloomily contemplating the fact that he probably was when Steven’s very nice BMW pulled up beside her.
    He slowly climbed out, all lean grace in a silver-grey suit, dark-blue shirt, and electric-blue tie. His black shoes shone in the late April sunlight, and there was the glint of gold at his wrists.
    Hillary had an involuntary flashback to the other night, in the pub car park when, well aware of the watching eyes of the voyeur from Traffic, he’d pulled her into an embrace and kissed her.
    And very nice it had been too.
    He was tall enough to have to stoop just slightly to reach her lips, and he’d smelt of something gorgeous and expensive. It had been a long time since Hillary had been held in any man’s arms and his kiss had literally taken her breath away.
    No two ways about it, the man knew how to use his lips.
    ‘I take it you’re going to be late for work?’ Steven asked drily, as he came to stand beside her and look at her over-stuffed car.
    ‘Just a bit,’ she agreed just as drolly, and opened the door. Several colourful displays toppled out onto the gravel and landed dramatically at her feet. She gave them a brief nudge with the toe of her sensible, reinforced-capped shoe.
    ‘I’ve got a mate with a van,’ Steven said, already reaching for his mobile. ‘He can help you shift them.’
    ‘I’ll need to go through them for messages or florists’ names and receipts first,’ she said. ‘After that, he can pick out the best of them for his mum or girlfriend or significant other, and then deliver the rest to some old folks’ homes or whatever he likes.’
    She walked around the car, checking for any mistake her stalker might have made whilst Steven gave his friend directions. After he hung up, she had circumnavigated the car and was back beside him.
    ‘Anything?’ he asked briefly.
    ‘Nothing worth having. There’s a faint scuff-mark trail where he’s parked his own vehicle, and you can see a clear trackway through the gravel where he’s gone to and fro with armloads of flowers, but the gravel’s too thick for the mud beneath to take tyre tracks or shoe-marks. No dropped cigarette butts or chewing-gum wrappers or what-have-you, but even if there were, they could have been there for a while, or dropped by anyone. The pub is fairly well used.’
    Steven nodded. It was what he’d expected.
    ‘You think he’s watching now?’
    ‘He might be,’ Hillary agreed mildly, without lifting her head or looking around. It was one of the first things she’d thought of. ‘It’s human nature to want to stick around and see how well a grand romantic gesture goes down. I dare say right about now I’m supposed to be smiling radiantly, a look of joy on my face, and holding my trembling hand over my fast-beating heart.’
    Steven grinned. ‘Can’t manage the