Floral design with gerbera and chrysanthemum

The crate from Port Natal came up the Thames on Tuesday with the gerbera still alive in its tin, which Mr Pallister says is nothing short of a miracle and I say is simply what happens when a man stops swearing at the cargo. It sat in the glasshouse all afternoon with its orange face turned to the glass, as though it had been waiting for us to notice. I have not yet had the heart to press it.

Yesterday the chrysanthemums arrived from the Yokohama agent, forty roots packed in damp moss, and the hibiscus from the Caribbean boat, and a single morning glory that somebody in Liverpool had insisted on sending as a curiosity. Pallister wants them sorted by continent for the catalogue. I told him flowers do not care for continents. The hydrangea was the only thing that had come up from the Kent cuttings, and it had the grace to be blue.

Mr Pallister is taking the Duchess's gardener to dinner tomorrow to talk about the bargain, so I am left to arrange the lot for the portrait Lady Ashdown has commissioned. She wants everything in one bouquet, as if a flower could be made to sit still for a painter. I have started it anyway. The gerbera goes at the crown where the light is best, the chrysanthemum in the middle where it can sulk without being noticed, and the morning glory I have let climb wherever it likes, which is how it has always been.

I will post the finished arrangement on Friday, if the hibiscus holds. Keep the kettle warm for me. Your loving sister, Clara