Forget Me Knot Read Free

She went to Leeds instead, where she studied politics. After graduating summa cum laude, she was taken on by one of the broadsheet newspapers. She spent a year as a junior reporter before being promoted to parliamentary lobby correspondent. She stuck it out for another eighteen months before confessing she was finding the job distinctly lackluster. And Soph was one of those people who craved luster. In the end she abandoned political journalism and went to work for a major West End PR company. After a couple of years she decided she’d learned all she needed to and left to set up her own company.
    Some people didn’t take to Soph’s interrogatory style and the way she came out and said precisely what was on her mind.
    Her outspokenness had never offended Abby, though. If anything it made her jealous.
    Chez Crompton, straight talking was unheard of. It led to confrontation. Even the prospect of confrontation made Jean and Hugh anxious. It created waves, which in turn caused arguments and bad feeling. Since Abby’s parents didn’t have the foggiest idea how to deal with bad feelings— their own or anybody else’s—they buried them. The upshot was that they were always jolly, optimistic and looking on the bright side—even when the sink in their cabin kept filling with sewage.
    On the rare occasions that a negative emotion overtook her father, he would withdraw to the garden shed to tidy his tools. When Jean felt “a bit miffed,” she went in for a spot of vigorous weeding. Or, if it was the right time of year, she would give the Christmas pudding a “good old stir.”
    By contrast, in the Weintraub household, people were constantly emoting. And what extreme emotions they were. Nobody—in particular Soph’s mother, Faye—could grasp the idea that an emotional response should fit the event. It didn’t matter if the baker had sold the last marble cake before Faye could get to it or if there had been an earthquake in Pakistan that had killed tens of thousands—she was equally “devastated.”
    On top of that, everybody was permanently on everybody else’s case. “Sammy! How can you put all that saturated fat inside you? Don’t come running to me if you drop dead of a heart attack!”
    “Mum! For Chrissake, can’t you just stop nagging Dad for five minutes?”
    “Stop yelling at me! I’ve got a brisket in the oven!”
    “Anyway,” Soph said, “the reason I was ringing was to wish you luck for tonight. How you feeling?”
    “Bit nervous,” Abby replied by way of understatement.
    “Abs, listen to me. It’s going to be fine. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, successful woman. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Come on—who just came in at number twelve in the Sunday Time’s ‘Style’ section’s ‘Hundred Hottest Shops’?”
    “I did,” Abby mumbled.
    “Er, didn’t quite catch that. Louder, please.”
    Abby could practically see Soph standing with her hands on her hips. She gave a soft snort. “I did.”
    “And what did the blurb say about you?”
    Abby’s face was turning crimson. “C’mon, you know what it said.”
    “Yes, but maybe you need reminding. It said: Abby Crompton, the inspiration behind Fabulous Flowers, isn’t so much a florist as a supremely gifted floral artist who is capable of turning a simple bunch of flowers into a design statement . Have I got that right?”
    “Near enough.”
    “OK. And was the Sunday Times accolade followed by the London Evening Standard naming you London Boutique Retailer of the Year?”
    “Yes, and that’s all fabulous and wonderful, but as far as tonight is concerned, it’s irrelevant. Tonight isn’t about my creative and business skills. It’s all about me as a person and whether I’ll measure up.”
    “Please. How could you possibly not measure up?”
    “By coming from Croydon, for a start.” By now Abby was heading down the steps into the tube station. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m about to lose my phone signal. Thanks