Gilding the Lily

Gilding the Lily

Edna cursed inwardly. She hadn't seen the other woman until it was too
late. Had she have been more alert then the confrontation might easily
have been avoided. As it was, she was in a hurry and she wanted to
finish her shopping and return home - home to her lilies - her
beautiful lilies.

In a hurry, Edna was keen to terminate the conversation as quickly as
possible. Slim chance. Once this woman started talking to you, there
was little hope of having a short conversation.

"Good morning Miss Farley," the woman said. "How are you today?"

Briefly she stared at the woman then her countenance softening
slightly, answered, "Good morning Lorna, I am well. Thank you for
asking."

The woman who had intercepted her was Lorna Beecham, a woman that Edna
had little time for. In fact, Edna had little time for anyone. Her life
and her love were her plants, lilies especially. Her garden and her
conservatory were positively festooned with them. For years she had
been an avid collector of lilies and had recently acquired some new
species and she was keen to return home to tend to them.

"How are those beautiful lilies of yours? Still majestic I
understand."

Although Edna kept pretty much to herself: her collection was well
known and greatly admired. Often people would stop by her front garden
to look at them or to take photographs.

Edna glanced away, looking impatiently along the street to her next
port of call answered, "Yes they are doing well again this year. I'm
very pleased with the results." Edna took a pace away but Lorna caught
her by the arm.

"You know Miss Farley, I simply do not understand why on earth you
don't enter some of you lilies in the annual flower show. Your plants
are some of the best in the entire village, you'd win a medal for them,
I just know you would."

Lorna Beecham was the founder and president of the Brookett Hatch
Horticultural Society and she pestered Edna every year to enter the
show. Steadfastly Edna had refused. Each year there were only a handful
of entrants in that particular category and it was Reg Thompson who
regularly won the gold medal. Seldom was there a year when he didn't.
Other members were beginning to complain that a fresh influx of new
blood were needed, and Lorna was desperate to inject new life into an
otherwise flagging exhibition.

"Oh really Lorna, I can't, I simply can't bring myself to do it, to cut
a single bloom I mean. In all the years I've been growing lilies, I've
never once cut so much as a single stem, not even to bring into the
house. I would much rather see and enjoy them as God intended,
displayed in all their glory in the garden."

Lorna's expression dropped. "Oh dear, Please do reconsider. As I
understand it you have such a glorious showing this year."

Edna's face flushed slightly. This year was special, she thought. It
must be that new plant feed she was using. Sighing, she said, "I'm
sorry Lorna, my mind is firm."

"Please," Lorna begged, "please tell me you'll think about it. Your
entry would be the highlight of the show, I just know it."

Edna, looking at the anxious face before her, shuffled impatiently from
one foot to the other. Lorna was persistent, if nothing else but then
that was her way. Once this woman started it was difficult to get
loose. "All right, I'll think about it," she conceded, not really
wanting to commit herself.

Lorna's features shone. "Do you mean it?"

Edna felt herself losing the battle. " I never said I would but I will
give it some thought.'

"Oh how wonderful," Lorna enthused. "I'll send you an entry
form."

Instantly she regretted her decision. "Lorna, I haven't said I was
going to, I merely said I would consider it."

Lorna pounced, not want to let the opportunity pass. "I'll send you one
anyway, in case you should decide to go ahead."

Edna smiled thinly. Slowly she had begun to inch away from Lorna, keen
to finish her business in the village and to get away from this
overbearing woman. "Thank you Lorna, now really, I must be getting on."
Clutching her bags ever tighter she stepped past her.

"Remember, the show is only two weeks away," Lorna called after
her."

"Yes, yes," Edna called back over her shoulder, giving a cursory wave
of her hand. Walking briskly, she berated herself. "Edna you
chicken-livered idiot," she muttered, "why didn't you just ay no, right
out and that would have been that. Now look what you have gotten
yourself into." She hurried along the street; picked up the few
groceries she needed from the small store she then went two shops along
the road and entered the small gardening store to purchase the new
liquid fertilizer that she had been trying. Turning away from the
counter and as she slipped the bottle into her bag, Lorna Beecham came
into the shop, the small bell above the door clanging loudly and
sounding like a death-knell to Edna when she saw whom it was who had
entered.

"We meet again!" Lorna gushed, when she saw Edna.

"Or cursed," mumbled Edna.

"You know Mr Knowles," Lorna said to the aging man behind the counter,
"Edna's agreed to enter the flower show this year."

Edna's face exploded then paled. "I never said . . ."

"Really!" Frank Knowles boomed, stopping Edna short. Well I have to say
that this is a turn up for the books. I'll have to let old Reg Thompson
know he'll have some fierce competition this year."

Edna's face went from white to red as her frustration and indignation
mounted. "I'm sorry," she blurted, "but I really must be getting along,
I've so much to do this morning."

Striding across the floor towards the door, she was about to grasp the
handle when she heard Lorna say, "I told her that I would send her an
entry form."

"No need, I've got one here."

Edna's eyes closed with utter resignation. There seemed to be no
escaping it now.

"Oh, isn't that wonderful," Lorna enthused, "that'll save me a
stamp."

"Oh yes, just marvellous," mumbled Edna.

Frank's head disappeared momentarily behind the counter as he searched
for the forms. Reappearing he cried out, "Here they are!" He waved one
aloft in triumph and came from behind the counter and approached Edna,
waving the piece of paper in front of him like a flag of truce.

Edna snatched it from his hand and without glancing at it pushed into
her jacket pocket. "I have to dash now," she announced and pulling hard
on the door, so that the bell clanged violently, she sped from the
shop. The door thudded shut behind her. Muttering angrily, she marched
along the street.

Getting to her small cottage, she closed the gate carefully. Pausing,
she looked about her garden. It was looking an absolute picture this
year. Stepping up to the front door and going inside, she leant back
against the door as it closed. Putting her hand into her pocket, she
felt the crumpled piece of paper. Annoyed, she pulled it out and looked
at it like it was a bomb about to explode. Leaving her shopping in the
hallway, she put her jacket on the back of a chair in her living room
as she swept past it on her way to the conservatory at the rear of the
house. "Hello my pretty ones," she called out as her eyes feasted
themselves on her pride and joy. A smile of contentment played on her
lips as she breathed in the heavy scent. Her mind returned to the
morning's events. I suppose it wouldn't hurt, not just this once, would
it? She thought.

Walking over to her newest addition to her collection, she held and
caressed the bloom like it was the face of a small child. "And how are
you my precious?" Edna bent forward and examined closely the flower,
the first of many. "My, you are looking gorgeous. I didn't think you
would have done a well as you have. But you are, aren't you." She
passed from one plant to the next, talking to and encouraging each one.
It was a ritual she carried out each and every day. Talking to her
plants, she was convinced, was the reason why they did so well, that
and the playing of classical music. A stress free and tranquil
environment was why her lilies did so well. She was convinced of
it.

"You are so beautiful, all of you," she said with a contented sigh.
Going through to her living room and sitting in her favourite chair,
she turned her attention once more to the flower show. "Just this
once," she muttered to herself. "I don't suppose any harm could come of
it." Silently she pondered which variety she should show. It would be a
difficult choice. It wasn't urgent; she had two weeks to decide. Easing
herself out of her chair, she crossed the floor to the cocktail cabinet
and poured herself a small sherry and returning to her seat, thought
about Reg Thompson. It didn't matter to her that he won year after
year. Edna smiled smugly. She would show, as her prize exhibit, her
Lilium Taliense, they were notoriously difficult to keep. She knew that
Reg went in for the more common varieties. My 'Brushmark' would cast
his into shadow; she mused as she warmed to the idea.

The next day she had an uninvited, but not altogether and expected
visitor. Reg Thompson arrived on her doorstep.

"Hello Edna," he said smoothly, "a little bird tells me you're entering
the flower show this year," he said, trying to peer past her and out
into the conservatory beyond.

"Perhaps Reg," she said testily, "you should change your birdseed, they
appear to attract pests."

Reg stared flatly at her for a few moments, and then his craggy face
broke into a toothy grin. "Very droll Edna, very droll indeed," he
said, still trying to gain a peak over her shoulder.

"Was there something you wanted Reg?" although she well knew the
answer.

Hovering on the doorstep he said with an air of innocence, "I just
thought I'd pop round and offer a few words of advice, seeing as this
is your first time of entering."

Edna regarded him sternly. "Reg," she boomed, "you're as transparent as
a pane of glass. Why don't you have the backbone to tell me what you
really want," she said, regaining a lot of her usual vigour.

"Now Edna, I really don't know what . . ."

"Stop babbling man," she rebuked him. "You've come around here to size
up the competition, haven't you?"

Reg's face turned bright red. "Edna, you can't possibly imagine for one
moment that I would stoop to such a thing."

"Yes I can Reg, and I do.

Edna took a pace back and widened the door. "Stop prattling man and
come in."

Reg's eyes widened like a schoolboy who'd just been given free reign to
a sweet store. Swivelling his head, first one way then the other, to
satisfy himself that no one was watching, he crossed the threshold into
Edna's house. Shutting the door, she marched ahead of him though the
house and into the conservatory. Entering her shrine, Reg's eyes went
out on stalks. Looking sideways at him, Edna saw him pale
visibly.

"There you are Reg! Feast your eyes all you want," she said gloating at
his limp expression.

Licking his dry lips, the tongue working its way several times around
his mouth, he stared in awe. "My goodness Edna, you truly do have a
magnificent display," he whispered, with genuine reverence. Cocking his
ear he noted the soft music. "What's that I hear?"

Edna paused as she recognized one of her favourite tunes. "It's
Mendelssohn's violin concerto, second movement," she said
matter-of-factly.

"Really?" he replied.

"Yes, really," she answered, irritated by his ignorance.

"Is that his first or second concerto?"

Edna rolled her eyes in utter contempt. "He only wrote the one
Reg."

His face flushed slightly. "Oh yes, how silly of me." He threw more
anxious glances around the room. "You play music in here often, do
you?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, of course, don't you?"

Regaining some of his composure, he said condescendingly, "No, no I
don't. I can't see the point." He spoke quietly, his gaze still
wondering around the room. "They don't have ears, do they, I mean it's
not like that can hear you, is it?"

"How do you know?" She snapped indignantly.

"What do you do Edna, ask them for requests?" He laughed heartily at
his own joke.

"You can scoff Reg Thompson. But no one is entirely sure what plants
are capable off," she said to him with acute irritation.

Reg smiled within himself. The old bat's gone cuckoo, he thought
smugly. "Well," he said, "I know there are certain schools of thought
that give credence to what you yourself believe, but I'm not one of
them. I myself don't believe in such things, all a load of dribble if
you ask me."

Edna looked blandly at him. That's what you think, she thought.

"I have to be getting along now Edna, thanks for the sneak peek. He
threw one last look around then his gaze fell on one particular bloom.
He walked slowly over to it. His chin dropped. "I see you have a
Taliense," he whispered with obvious envy.

"Yes, do you like it?"

Reg was dumbfounded. He had tried several times himself to grow one but
never succeeded. He looked at her with a defeated expression on his
face. Nothing he had in his collection could compete with what Edna had
to offer. "I wish you every success Edna," he said meekly. He offered
his hand, then left, his shoulders visibly sagging.

Edna peered out of her living room window and watched the hunched
shoulders of Reg disappearing along the road. His visit had confirmed
what she already had decided. But she thought she enter a few extra
ones just for the fun of it.

Over the next two weeks she paid more than the usual attention to her
plants, while continuing to play her music to them. The lilies thrived,
each glorious trumpet giving her endless hours of joy.

On the morning of the show, she dressed in her finest tweed suit and
went out into the conservatory. They looked even more splendid than
they had ever before. Edna's heart burst with pride. Taking her
secateurs from her cupboard she looked fondly at the blooms. "Just this
once all right my sweet?" Mildly she scolded herself. "What am I
doing!" she exclaimed. Quickly she went back into the house and filled
four glass vases she had bought for the occasion and filled each with
water and carried them back to the plants. "That's better isn't it? I
can't have you going thirsty now, can I?"

Delicately she took one of the stems in her fingers and grasping the
secateurs snipped the stem of the bloom she wanted. Instantly, she
heard and ear-piercing scream. Short and shrill. Her head snapped
round. Where did that noise come from? She asked herself. She scanned
the conservatory but could see nothing or anyone that might have made
the noise. Tentatively she snipped another stem. Again her ears were
pierced by a similar shrill, blood-chilling shriek. Edna dropped the
secateurs as the realization of what had happened dawned on her.

Backing away, the second stem shaking in her trembling hand, she stared
in abject horror at the plants. "Oh my goodness," she cried tears
falling down her cheeks, "I've killed them." Looking with tear-soaked
eyes she exclaimed, "Oh my babies, my poor babies. What have I done?
What have I done?"

With increasingly shaking hands, she placed the two severed stems in
one of the vases and carried them carefully to the house. Looking at
the water she saw a faint green tinge discolour the water. "Oh," she
wailed, "you're bleeding. I am so sorry, so very, very sorry." She
broke down, almost sobbing. "What have I done?"

With every fibre of courage she could muster, she lifted the telephone
receiver and dialled Lorna's number. "Hello, Lorna?" she said, gulping
back her tears. "I am most dreadfully sorry but I shan't be able to
make it today after all, something dreadful has happened." She rested
the receiver back in its cradle without waiting for a response and
looked once more at the cut flowers. In deep remorse she buried her
face in her hands. "Oh my poor babies . . ."