“She did,” Lady Meade says. “But apparently she’s changed her mind.”
“We’ll need to change the swans to black ones,” Cordelia barks at me, whatever connection we had forgotten.
“Cordelia,please,stop this nonsense,” Lady Meade pleads. “You’re only being difficult with the flowers because you’re trying to get back at me over the guest list.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cordelia says innocently.
“We can’t remove them from the guest list, you know that! It would be unimaginable. It would be a scandal, talked about among our friends for the rest of time. Your father won’t let it happen.”
Jonathan shifts in his seat, glancing at Cordelia nervously.
“Remove who from the guest list?” I ask.
“I don’t care about the scandal it would cause,” Cordelia snaps at her mother, ignoring me. “They’re not coming to my wedding.”
“Yes, they are,” Lady Meade says, with such authority I get a shiver down my spine.
Cordelia’s jaw clenches as she glares at her mother, who holds her gaze with steely determination.
“We can talk about this later,” Jonathan says, as brightly as he can, attempting to defuse the tension. “Let’s focus on the flowers. Cordelia?”
He places a hand over hers and she breaks away from the staring contest with her mother to look at him impatiently. He smiles encouragingly.
Cordelia’s anger seems to dissipate a bit. She sighs, standing up and grabbing her handbag. “I don’t have time for this,” she says, under her breath, marching across the room toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lady Meade asks sharply. “We haven’t finished.”
“I have. I’m done,” Cordelia replies, and slams the door behind her.
We hear her stomping down the stairs. Jonathan looks down at his hands in his lap.
“Shall I?” I gesture to the door.
“No, don’t follow her,” Lady Meade instructs. “Let her have her moment.”
“I’ll go,” Jonathan says, pushing his stool back, the legs screeching across the floor. “Thank you so much for your time, Nicole. I look forward to working with you.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Meade,” Nicole begins, once Jonathan has left, “but I cannot accept your request for me to undertake the floral design of this wedding.”
“Nicole, do be reasonable,” Lady Meade says, stunned.
“I will not work with your daughter,” Nicole says firmly, Francis nodding vigorously next to me in agreement. “She clouds the clarity of my vision. The answer is no. But thank you for coming today. It is an honor to meet you.”
“I see.” Lady Meade stands up and I nervously follow suit. “I must say I’m disappointed, but I respect your wishes. Thank you for your time.”
They shake hands, and Francis leaps to his feet to usher us out. Lady Meade doesn’t speak until we’ve left the house and have walked a good few meters down the road. She stops and lets out a long sigh, beside an empty parking space.
“I’m guessing they took the car,” I say, biting my lip. “Do you want me to call you a taxi?”
“That’s quite all right. I’ll call our driver. Would you like a lift?” she asks, getting her phone from her handbag. “Ah, a text from Jonathan. He apologizes for taking the car and has called my driver, Joe, who is already on his way. We can drop you anywhere you’d like.”
“No, thank you. That’s really kind but I can walk to the tube. It’s not far.”
“Very well. What a pity to have lost Nicole Percy,” she says wistfully. “I thought she would be the perfect choice. She’s the best.”
“We’ll find another florist,” I say confidently, deciding I should wait with her until her car arrives. It would be rude to leave the Marchioness of Meade stranded on her own.
“Anyone who’sanyonehas Nicole Percy as their florist,” Lady Meade informs me, with a hint of tongue-in-cheek. “Maybe that’s why Cordelia was against her from the start.”
