s our garden became quieter and greener in the uncanny warmth of last October, I was struck by the impact of a few new dashes of red. Our south-facing dining terrace was lushly clothed with the glossy-leaved (the flowers long gone), mounds of (the honey-scented flowerheads a distant memory) and pots of shiny emeraldstill tight in bud. But ‘Empress of India’, rampaged over its hazel frame. Opposite, peeping through the leaves of an overhanging ‘Sun Rival’, a host of crimson crab apples glowed brightly, suspended in mid-air.
