Update: After I posted this, I realized that I do, sort of, know one person in the city where the flowers were ordered. My new landlord. Who doesn't live here; he lives there. I met him person when he was in town two weeks ago, working on the house - he's a good landlord that way. But then he left, and that was that. And the florist found out that the order had come from a guy named [Name.] Which happens to be the name of my best friend, S., but he lives in London and wouldn't be sending me flowers out of the blue from a random city. The name has, well, the first three letters - and thus the same general sound - as my landlord's last name. So 50/50, it's him. The florist did, after all, completely mangle both my first and last name. Maybe they can't spell. Or hear.
But I damn well hope it's not the landlord - I'd find that a little creepy, noteless flowers. So today I emailed my landlord a friendly but distant note asking if the flowers were from him. I haven't heard back. My cell phone did just ring (it never does; I don't use it anymore), showing a number in the City of Flowers. I couldn't bring myself to answer it - and they didn't leave a message. Ah well, the drama continues.
I have received a delivery of purple flowers. With no card. It's not R - I checked with her (making her mildly jealous). I can't tell you how weird I find this.
I called the florist to ask whether they had a record of who ordered them. She told me that all she could see was that it came through a florist in [Canadian city].
I don't know anyone in that city. I once did, but they were the family of my ex - with whom I broke up six years ago.
So the florist is going to see if she can trace them. With no guarantees, of course.
I have to say that I find it a disconcerting feeling - something like being watched. There's also an element of discomfort because I don't know who to thank - and we are, of course, we good girls, meant to thank people for the flowers they give us.