Her greatest wish I should think was that I would remain exactly as I was, and how I regret that that was not to be. It was only for her roses that she wished for change, the strange moment of floral enchantment when the branch of a rose mutates, and shows a ‘sport’, something new arising from the known rose. A leap in beauty. ‘I’m going out to the garden to see if there’s any news,’ she would say, at almost any time, because she had roses going the whole length of the year.
