Free Anne Douglas by The Handkerchief Tree Page B

Shona had a moment of panic. Everything seemed to be going out of her head, yet she knew she must remember, must say something; otherwise it would seem she’d been making everything up in her letter, just to get the job. ‘Roses,’ she gasped. ‘The roses are beautiful.’
    ‘Roses. Yes. Anything else?’
    What else? Why couldn’t she think? She knew the flowers, of course she did, she watched for them every year, blooming in their season . . .
    ‘There were so many,’ she stammered. ‘It’s – hard – to pick ones out –’
    Mrs May said nothing. Just waited.
    And then, like an answer to a prayer, an image came into Shona’s mind. An image of a tree, covered in white flowers that were not exactly flowers, more like leaves, yet not only leaves, either. Sitting up in her chair her strength returned to her, and she knew what she must say. ‘I think my real favourite in the garden does have flowers, but they’re leaves as well, growing on a tree. It’s called the Handkerchief Tree.’
    A little spark seemed to flash in Mrs May’s dark eyes, and up rose her eyebrows again in a kind of wonder. ‘You know the Handkerchief Tree? That’s very unusual; I didn’t know they had one in that garden. Do you happen to know what those strange flowers are called?’
    Yes, Shona knew. Mark had told her, on her very first day at Edina Lodge. She’d been eleven. Who’d have thought she’d need to know what he’d told her then all these years later? She almost smiled at the memory, but only said, quietly, ‘They’re called bracts. Leaves that bear flowers.’
    And Mrs May for a moment or two seemed to have nothing to say. Then she nodded and rose, Shona with her, and looked at her watch. ‘I think I’ve just time to tell you about the name of the shop before I show you the workroom. In case you’ve been wondering, it is of course made up from our surname, “May”, plus the word “Bel”, which my husband thought would sound like beautiful.’ Mrs May gave a little laugh. ‘We hope it describes our services. Oh, I should mention: you haven’t asked, but we’re offering a wage of eighteen shillings a week, with lunches provided. All right, Miss Murray?’
    ‘Oh, yes, Mrs May.’
    ‘Well, now, we’d better make haste if I’m to show you the workroom. I have another candidate to see at a quarter to three. This way, please.’
    Another candidate. Quarter to three. Oh, well, she’d always known she wouldn’t be the only applicant. Yet Shona, following Mrs May, was still feeling a slight kick of dismay. As there hadn’t been anyone else around, she’d rather hoped she might have been the only one in for the job. Now, here was definite news of at least one rival. Probably there were others, so what was the point of her seeing a workroom she might never work in? Once again, she had to dig deep for confidence. Who knew what would happen? She might be lucky, eh? Better look interested, then, she told herself, in seeing this workroom.
    And it was worth seeing. A light, airy and spacious room with long windows, white walls and a tiled floor. There were fresh flowers standing in tall buckets, bunches of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, baskets, jugs, metal containers and a wide trestle table covered with rolls of twine, pliers, scissors, wire – everything, Shona supposed, a florist might need. And where a florist was in fact sitting, for here was the blonde girl again, smiling as she trimmed leaves from long stemmed golden flowers.
    ‘This is Willa, one of our senior assistants,’ said Mrs May, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘Willa, this is Miss Murray – Shona, perhaps I might say.’
    ‘Oh, yes, please!’ said Shona, feeling sudden hope of success at the use of her first name. But then, it might mean nothing at all. There was still this other candidate arriving, at a quarter to three . . .
    ‘My husband’s had to visit our supplier today,’ Mrs May was saying. ‘Usually he works here on