‘Why begonias? Why not roses or petunias?’
‘Well, his dad, Big Les, was a prize grower.’
Emma can’t help wondering how tall Les’s father was; Les himself stands well over six feet. ‘And he grew begonias?’
‘Begonias and sweet peas. He won prizes for them all over the county. My Les went with him, carrying the plants and helping his dad keep the displays tidy.’
‘It’s funny though, love,’ Betty goes on. ‘Les can’t abide the smell of sweet peas. Won’t have them in the house. Says they remind him too much of his dad. They make him too sad.’
There it is again: fragrance. Emma thinks of the smell of flower shops and of the lilies her mum sent to Will’s funeral, and how the smell of burning leaves and Jasmine always brings her father back. With Will it was sandalwood. Something else occurs to her. ‘I was reading that one passenger said being on theTitanicwas like being on the Riviera, because of the fragrance from the flowers.’
Betty looks up. ‘My goodness, I imagine that was wonderful.’ She pauses. ‘It really is interesting, this research of yours. It feels like you have discovered something special.’
Emma shrugs. ‘I don’t really know what I’m doing… Even if I did write a book, I’m not sure what angle I would take. But I know what you mean about the flowers– it brings theTitanicto life somehow.’ She thinks of Guy’s comment about how it changed how he imagined the ship. Perhaps the title of Les’s talk would even fit:Secrets of theTitanic? After all, the scent and sight of a ship full of flowers was a secret known only to those who had been on board.
Betty interrupts her thoughts. ‘Emma, love, don’t go all quiet on me again.’
She looks up at Betty. Thinking of Guy takes her back to her family, to her mother. ‘Betty, do you think we can choose who we are?’
Betty looks confused.
‘It was just something Clem said.’
Betty laughs. ‘Well, I can’t choose to be a blonde with legs up to my armpits.’ She pauses and twirls her wine glass in her hand. ‘But I can choose not to be a stuck-up madam who looks down on her family.’
Emma doesn’t say, ‘like your sister?’; instead she asks, ‘So you think wecanchoose?’
‘Oh, love, I think most of us can. Not all the time perhaps, and maybe not those poor souls, children and the like, who’ve had it so bad they don’t even know they’ve got a choice. But the rest of us? Well, as Les says, “You can’t go much wrong, Betsy, if you always treat others as you’d like to be treated”.’
Not for the first time, Emma thinks that Les is a very wise man. It makes her sad to think that he and Betty are so worried about the garden centre.
‘Look, thinking about the business, Christmas is coming– we could do door wreaths and arrangements? Surely that’s a busy time?’ She tries to keep her mind on this rather than Santa’s Grotto.
‘Well, maybe. Yes, yes, I’m sure things will pick up.’
Clearly, Betty doesn’t want to dwell on the garden centre, so Emma leaves it at that– for the time being, at least. Instead, she tells her what Clem concluded about the florist on board.
‘I see,’ Betty responds with interest. ‘A part-time florist who worked on other things as well. Now that is fascinating. I’m glad Clem was of some help, love.’
‘Oh, she was,’ Emma replies, thinking–in more ways than one. ‘She certainly gave me lots to think about.’
Betty doesn’t ask any more, but there is a degree of understanding in her look.
The meal is good, and Betty decides to finish with a coffee. ‘I don’t normally drink coffee this late, love, but that was such a nice meal, and I suppose I am on holiday, really. You know I haven’t been able to go away for a while, what with Mum and everything. This has been such a treat.’
They finish their coffee and Emma insists on accompanying Betty back to Clem’s flat. As they walk, they speculate on what might have happened to Tamas, both admitting to being uneasy, and then the conversation turns back to Will. Betty asks, ‘Did you ever suspect he was having an affair?’
Emma knows the answer to this one. ‘No.’
‘Or understand why it happened?’
Emma has shredded this one until there is nothing left of it, trying to find reasons, blame– alternately with Will, the associate or herself. ‘I don’t know…I’vethought about how absorbed I could get in my work and about the fact we couldn’t have children, but I don’t honestly think it was because of either of those. The only thing– and it’s just a vague feeling– is I think Will found it hard when he turned forty. He was such an active man– I mean he still ran and everything like that– but I wonder if maybe he was anxious about getting older. I know it sounds ridiculous me saying this, but Will just wasn’t the sort of man who had affairs.’
They have reached the door to Clem’s flat, so Emma wishes Betty goodnight and walks away, dwelling on her and Les.
There is no way around it: whichever way she views it, she still can’t believe Les used to be a punk.
Chapter 42
