By this time, things were beginning to improve a little financially. One of the members of the SVDP was a man who owned a business and I did some bookkeeping for him for a while but the job did not last long as I was still finding it hard to concentrate. However, I managed to pay off my back-rent and continued to pick up small, low paying jobs as they came along. At least I was now keeping my head above the water.
I had also had some contact with Jackie who was now well launched on an acting career. I was glad we had managed to remain friends and was careful to keep it at that level. It seemed that our friendship may also have been important to the Lord as well. Even in this, he showed His kind touch.
I was walking down Sloane Street one early afternoon and gazed at the flowers displayed elegantly in a florists near Knightsbridge station. A voice within me said, “buy Jackie some flowers.” It was quite insistent. I smiled ruefully as I was walking through one of the most expensive areas in London. Buying flowers here would cost an arm and a leg and I only had a few pennies at most in my pocket. The thought would not go away but I shrugged it off and ambled my way calmly down to Sloane Square. I was out of a job at the time and was trying to keep myself calm, desperately thinking of what sort of work I should be doing.
That evening I went to the Brompton Oratory and called on Damian. As usual, we talked about Christ, art, and everything that came to mind. Slowly my troubles seemed to dissolve and calmness crept back again.
I decided to phone Jackie and asked Damian if I could use his phone to call her from his room. Luckily, she was in and happy to talk.
Half way through our conversation she said, “thank you for the flowers.”
“What flowers?” I said, my mind racing back to the afternoon in Sloane Street. I was intrigued, if not a little taken aback. It then dawned on me that perhaps someone else had sent her the flowers so I asked her who she thought she was talking to?
“Don’t be so silly! its you, David,” she replied.
“Which David,” I asked.
“David West, of course.”
I thought for a bit and decided to ask about the flowers themselves. “What kind of flowers are they?”
“White ones,” she said, now sounding a little annoyed.
“And how do you know they are from me?” I said.
She sighed in exasperation as she told me that they were signed and she assured me she knew my handwriting which was on the card, right there in front of her.
I gave up and accepted the strange fact. All I can say is that the Angels were hard at work and God alone knows why He did this. Perhaps she needed them at that point. Praise God! Were the white flowers symbolic of the blessings brought about by future prayers? Perhaps.