Clarisse smiled as she spoke into the cordless phone. Some part of her was still amazed that such technology as this existed. She remembered when phones were still these foolish rotary things, and now within her same lifetime she could hold it and be out in her garden, talking easily to her best friend while he was on a cellular phone in a different country.
Some part of her was still amazed at all this, but not the part she was focused on right now. That part was just enjoying hearing the comforting laugh of her best friend and the man she loved as she regaled him with a nostalgic tale about some of her summers spent in England, where her mother's family was from and where her head of security currently was.
"And I honestly just stood there looking as stupid as I could, not saying a word, until they finally shook the reigns and moved along, heading in entirely the wrong direction!"
Joseph laughed. "Did they ever figure it out?"
"Oh, I don't know, probably, but what would they do? If an eight-year-old girl refuses to talk to a gaggle of men on horseback, who could blame her? I certainly wasn't telling them which way I'd seen the fox go! That poor thing looked so exhausted. Honestly, Joseph, I've never understood the point of such things."
He laughed again. "To tell you the truth, neither have I, but then, my brief periods of time gone over the border to my mother's homeland tended to involve tormenting much larger animals than foxes."
"Oh, Joseph, don't tell me you spent your youth wishing to be a matador!"
"Oh, no, not I. The one time I attended such an event, it took every ounce of my being not to leap out of the stands and run to the bull's protection! Of course, I was a little older than eight at the time - a teenager, actually - but I sincerely doubt the bull would have appreciated my protection nonetheless."
Now it was Clarisse laughing at Joseph's stories. "Oh, dear, always the protector, aren't you?" They both laughed together another moment but she found hers quickly turning to a sigh. It had been only recently that she'd finally started to laugh again, at least on occasion. But somehow the melancholy always came back in.
"Clarisse? Are you alright?"
"Oh, yes, Joseph, I'm sorry. I don't mean to put a damper on the conversation, it's just . . . I so wish I could have accompanied you. I realize there were things I needed to tend to here, and your trip couldn't be put off, it's just, it's been so long since I've been there." There was no way she was going to tell him she was thinking yet again of her recent losses, though she was sure he knew.
"Well, if you were with me I'm afraid you'd find it rather disappointing."
"I'm sure I wouldn't." She latched onto that and tried to infuse excitement back into the conversation. "Where are you right now? In London proper?"
"Not exactly . . . ."
"Outside it, then? Describe what you see. Please. I'd love to see it through your voice."
He paused, just a moment, before saying, "Well, I see . . . flowers. A lovely garden, actually."
"Oh, what flowers?" Then, before he could answer, she thought of something she'd always loved when she'd been a boarding student in England. "Oh, Joseph, are there London's Pride? I know they really aren't usually in gardens, but have you seen any at all? In the city or anything? There's something about those little flowers that just gives the city such an ethereal, almost fairy-tale appearance." She gazed over her own garden, considering the beauty and trying not to be too wistfully nostalgic for the tiny flowers that sprang out of every crack and crevice throughout London.
"As it happens, I did see some, but those aren't what I'm looking at right now." As his voice washed over her, she bent to inhale the fragrance of a rose, vaguely acknowledging in her mind that his voice and the scent of a rose were two of the most calming influences in her life. "Actually," he continued, "there's a woman in the garden. Rather a lovely woman, in fact."
She straightened quickly and tried to hide the sting of jealousy in her voice as she said, "I'd rather hoped for a description of the sights themselves."
"Oh, trust me, she is a sight in herself. She's just bent to smell a rose a moment ago, but now she's standing up with one hand on her hip and looking rather annoyed."
Clarisse opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again as she took full stock of what he'd said, and finally swung around as she demanded, "Where are you?"
And she saw him, laughing as he walked toward her, flipping his cell phone closed with one hand while the other was conspicuously tucked behind his back.
"OH!" she cried and even she wasn't entirely sure if it was in frustration at his little game or delight that he'd returned. "Joseph! You're back! When did you return?"
"Just now. I'd wanted to deliver something to you while it was still fresh." With that he withdrew his hand from behind his back, revealing a bouquet.
"London's Pride! Oh, Joseph, how did you get these? They never grow in bunches like this!"
"Suffice it to say, there are a good many sidewalk crevices and corners of stone steps that are now bereft of the flower, and one policeman who I think may have preferred my diplomatic immunity extended to something more violent rather than be used to shield me from his ire at my picking so many flowers."
"Honestly, I can't entirely blame him, but I'm rather glad you did it anyway. They're lovely." She contemplated them for a moment. "It's a shame the roots aren't attached though. I don't know that we could get them to grow here, with the richness of this soil and all, but I do think maybe Yolen could make something of them, maybe create a hybrid flower. Genovia's Pride. Don't you think?"
"I don't, actually, your majesty."
She arched an eyebrow, slightly annoyed that he was so readily discrediting her fantasy. "Oh? Why not?"
"Two reasons, really. For one, I'm quite certain, when you're done splashing about in nostalgia, that you'll realize it may not be the best idea to base both a flower and its name on something from another country, even a country with which we are so closely allied."
She rolled her eyes slightly, a little irritated with his flippant and teasing tone, as she said, "I suppose. And the other reason."
He leaned against a stone pillar, crossing his legs casually, as he continued. "Well, the other reason is, we already have a flower that is Genovia's Pride. A slender, tender flower, rather like something spun from gossamer by a fairy. A flower everyone loves and to which every eye is drawn instantly."
"Oh really? If my country had such a flower I'm rather certain I'd know of it, and probably have my garden well-stocked with it. We have nothing called Genovia's Pride, Joseph."
"No, no, you're right. It's not called that. It goes by a different name."
"And what's that?"
"It's a wild rose known as Queen Clarisse."
She fought to prevent herself from rolling her eyes again. "Joseph, my rose is not wild, thank you very much. It was very carefully cultivated. And while I am fond of it, and honored to have a rose named for me, it's hardly the pride of Genovia."
He winked lightly as he said, "Oh, that's right, there's a plant by that name too, isn't there? No, my dear, I meant the person."
And with that he turned to stroll away, leaving her staring in stunned silence at his retreating form.
To a Wild Rose
Slender flower, tender flower
Gossamer and airy
Every eye seeks thee
Where the hedge grows
Slender thing, tender thing
Fashioned by a fairy
All folk love thee
Little wild rose
When the winter's gone
Spring is heard a calling
Then all the world is fair
Love is in the air
Slender flower, tender flower
Gossamer and airy
Every eye seeks thee
Where the hedge grows
When the winter's passed
Come the days enthralling
April's here at last
Spring is heard a-calling
Awake wild rose
Wild rose