She sat clutching the wheel with sweaty hands, her heart pounding, poised to flee like a bird. She did not want to face this. Not tonight, not when Ryanâs reentry into her life had shaken her up so much.
But then a dark figure loomed up next to her van, and it was too late to flee.
She lowered her window slowly. Ryan leaned down, his handsome face speckled with snowflakes, and smiled at her. âIâm glad you came,â he said softly.
âYou wretch,â she retorted. âYou didnât tell me there would be anyone else.â
âTheyâre leaving in a short while,â he told her. âIn any case, you know them both, Penny. And theyâre dying to see you. Switch off your engine and come in.â
IT STARTED being a bad morning when Hippy Dave backed his van into the workshop door at five oâclock in the morning.
Hippy Dave was one of Pennyâs less orthodox suppliers. He and his wife, Chandra Dawn, roamed the country, haunting village fairs. They also collected natural things that Penny could use for her arrangements, like interesting pieces of driftwood, bark, dried moss, dead bulrushes and the like.
They often came up with unusual material that Penny couldnât easily find elsewhere, so she welcomed their irregular visits. But she also suspected that Dave and the ethereal Chandra Dawn had other uses for the natural things they harvested; so when she heard the crunch of her workshop door being splintered by Daveâs fender, she went out in a thoroughly bad temper.
âDave! Have you been eating those magic mushrooms again?â
His tousled head emerged from the window of the rainbow-coloured van. âSorry, Penny,â he said shamefacedly. âWasnât concentrating.â
âOh, Dave,â she said as she examined the damage. âThis is all I need!â
Dave hopped out of the van, wearing overalls and a pair of yellow boots. âJust didnât notice the door was open, Pen.â
The workshop of Pennyâs florist shop opened into a mews, which was useful for deliveries, and where she parked her own smart little red van with its proud logo, PENELOPE WATKINS, FLOWERS & DéCOR. It had been while manoeuvring round her van, to get his own vehicle as close to the workshop entrance as possible, that Hippy Dave had caught the opened door. It now hung mournfully off its hinges.
âIâll fix the door, I promise,â Dave said, squatting to take a closer look at the damage.
âNo, thank you,â Penny said firmly. Sheâd had previous experience of Daveâs odd-job capabilities and knew sheâd be better off getting a carpenter. And it would be useless asking Hippy Dave to foot the bill; he and Chandra Dawn were perennially broke.
As though reading her thoughts, Dave spread his grimy hands. âTell you what. You can have all the stuff in the van for free. Make it up to you, at least in part. OK?â
âYouâd better get out of here before Ariadne arrives,â Penny said. âSheâll skin you alive.â
Daveâs watery blue eyes widened as he contemplated the wisdom of this advice. Pennyâs associate Ariadne Baker, half-Greek and with a Homeric temper to match, was not one of his biggest fans. She had expressed her opinion of his shortcomings loudly and pointedly on previous occasions.
âYeah, youâre right. Look, letâs get the gear out of the van. I brought you something real special this time. Itâs yours for nuffink.â
âOh, donât bother. Just clear off.â
âTake it off my hands. Nobody else will buy this old rubbish,â Dave whined. âI mean, this lovely natural object, sculpted by natureâs own hand. Have a look, Pen!â
âLetâs see what youâve got, then,â Penny sighed, too depressed to want to look at the ruined door any longer.
Hippy Dave threw open the back door of his van to reveal what looked like an entire tree crammed in among boxes and crates.
âWhat am I supposed to do with that?â Penny asked blankly.
âItâs lovely,â Dave said, hauling the thing out of the van. âYouâll see. There! What do you think of that?â
âIâm a florist, not a tree surgeon,â Penny said, looking at the enormous branch Dave had produced. âThis is no good to me!â
âLook at the shapes in there,â Dave said, half closing his eyes and waving his hands vaguely, the better to visualise natureâs handiwork. âThat silvery bark is beautiful, and look at those strands of moss. Thatâs magic, that is!â