Celia Pomeroy pressed the intercom. ‘Yes?’

‘Mrs Pomeroy?’ Whoever was at the front gate sounded cheerful. Celia wished she could muster such bonhomie. ‘It’s Rebecca. From Landscape Cleaners?’

‘Lands…? Oh are you here about our aspect?’ Thank heavens, she thought. Hosting Gerald’s financiers would be hell enough without the right view. It was why they bought the place after all. 

‘That’s right. We will soon have you ship shape and visually credible.’

‘Come In. Do you want to drive round the back and I’ll show you want we need.’ The girl, Rebecca was it, had better be as good as she’d heard. Pulling on her sou’wester and heavy duty wellingtons Celia headed for the back of the house.

As Celia emerged from the French windows, Rebecca was easing herself out of her van, while gripping an enormous parasol. She smiled enthusiastically. ‘You’ve got yourself a bit of a nightmare, haven’t you? Has this been going on long?’

Celia wrapped her arms around herself trying to make herself small inside her coat. ‘We bought this place a few weeks ago. We had no idea that this might happen.’ She waved at the trees. ‘I mean how do they do that?’

‘Oh it’s quite common around here, all those sprites and trees faeries. If they haven’t been shown  due fealty they can get quite,’ she shrugged, ‘cheeky. So you need me to unknot those branches and defrustigate your arbours?’

‘Can you do anything about the sky? I mean it’s so… so…’

‘Rumpled?’

‘Exactly. I sent it off to be cleaned and clouded and look at it.’

‘I know. Dreadful. But fear not, my boys will reel it in, give it a good shake and an iron and when we put it back, we’ll tuck it in properly. That way it will act as a perfect backdrop to whatever light show you have in mind.’

‘I do hope you can. I’ve spent a fortune on a weather spectacular and I really don’t need my guests thinking I can’t even organise a decent firmament for an evening.’

‘We’ll rein in the wind too, unless you’re planning a total blow out?’

‘A phantasm of zephyrs after coffee.’

‘Lovely. Anything else?’

‘You don’t do flowers, do you?’

‘Flowers?’

‘You know, arrangements, bouquets, that sort of thing.’

‘Gosh no. I didn’t know that was even a thing. I suspect you need specialists for that.’

‘No don’t worry. It was just something I heard about. It does sound a bit fantastical, doesn’t it?’ Celia giggled. ‘I mean, the way I heard it, they actually cut the flowers and…’

‘Cut them? That’s barbaric!’

‘My thinking, too. We’ll stick to the tried and tested. You can’t go wrong then, can you?’

This was written in response to Sue Vincent’s latest #writephoto prompt