Fragile Blossoms Read Online Free

the connection other than a route to security the cottage had no meaning. Now it wears a loving face and not that of a spinster’s fading dream.
    Matty has given his approval. Saturday afternoon a fur cap on his head and sturdy boots on his feet he came to view. ‘Mumma, look!’ he cried. ‘It’s smiling.’ Preoccupied with mice and mould Julia missed what a child would never miss water-logged thatch over an attic window created a winking eye.
    So much work needed inside and out and Matty so cherished at the Nelson it was a while before they moved in. Renovation is to be undertaken by Albert Roberts & Sons. So far Julia is only aware of one son, Luke, the grim-faced individual who sheltered that night under eaves and whose imperious hand commanded her retreat. The Roberts soon proved worthy of hire, arriving early and staying late, the son tackling heavy work while chivvying labourers along, and the father, an amiable fellow, more inclined to chat. Even with a biting wind coming off the Wash Julia kept to the garden. Muffled in furs, her hands and feet developing chilblains, she pulled weeds, hoed borders and shivered, only going in when her opinion was sought.
    With only an estimate to go by and a diminishing purse she worried about mounting costs. ‘Is this really necessary?’ she asked Monday through a haze of dust, the upper rooms gutted and pipes laid bare. Luke Roberts paused in hammering. ‘It is if you want water on tap and a decent plumbing system.’
    ‘I do want such things but am conscious of escalating costs. Last night looking at the upper floors and new bathroom fittings I wondered if we were not exceeding the original intention.’
    ‘Did you not like what you saw?’
    ‘I did. I thought it exceptional work.’
    ‘And do you know what we need to do to make it exceptional?’
    ‘Well no.’
    ‘Then rest easy. You’re right to worry about cost but spare a thought for your future peace of mind. We’re on the brink of a new century. The modern and fashionable lady needs to move with the times.’
    ‘That’s all very well, Mr Luke, but after all this will I be able to afford to be either modern or fashionable?’
    He shrugged. ‘Can you afford not to be?
    Julia is perplexed by the man’s manner. He rarely speaks and when he does it is to challenge. ‘What were you thinking for the walls plain white-wash?’
    ‘I thought to have them papered.’ She passed a scrap of wallpaper. ‘There is this William Morris damask that would look well in the sitting-room.’
    ‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘I’m not putting that on the walls.’
    Taken aback by the blank refusal Julia stared.
    ‘This is heavy stuff,’ he said. ‘It’ll drag on the size.’
    ‘Then perhaps a lighter paper? He does a lovely Japanese print. I saw it at an exhibition last year.’
    ‘English or Japanese it makes no difference. I’m not hanging William Morris on any of your walls.’
    ‘Then perhaps you’ll suggest someone who will!’
    ‘I can hang wallpaper. I didn’t say I couldn’t. I won’t hang William Morris. We stopped using it years ago. The paper has arsenic in the patterning. In time it would make me sick to hang it and you to watch it.’
    ‘Good Lord! Is that true?’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘I didn’t know.’
    ‘Why would you? It’s not common knowledge. Find me paper you like that isn’t Morris and I’ll hang it for you.’ A blood-blistered thumb caressed the scrap of paper. ‘Do you usually carry bits of wallpaper in your pocket?’
    A memory too intimate to be picked over by a hostile stranger Julia took back the sample. It was Freddie Carrington who did this, tore a strip of wallpaper from his sister’s dining room. Julia had watched in horror.
    ‘For heaven’s sake!’ she’d whispered. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Tearing a strip off the wall.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because you like it and might need it to match the pattern.’
    ‘I do like it but not for you to do this!’
    ‘Evie won’t