by Katie Fforde
FLORA’S LOT
KATIE FFORDE
Published by Arrow Books in 2006
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Katie Fforde 2005
Katie Fforde has asserted her right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of
the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or
otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the
publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published in the United Kingdom in 2005 by Century
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To The Thameshead Singers,
especially the subversive second sopranos.
Thank you for letting me be a member.
Acknowledgments *
None of this would have been possible without the following people. You know what you've done and I thank you.
*
Chris and Jean Arnison, Lindsey Braune, Elizabeth Poole, Paul Wakeman, Catriona Aspray, and all the staff at The Cotswold Auction Company. Elizabeth Lindsay and Cheryl Gibson for car boot sale help.
*
From Random House, in no particular order, Kate Elton, Georgina Hawtrey-Woore, Charlotte Bush, Justine Taylor, the wonderful sales team, Mike Morgan and everyone else who makes being published by Random House so much fun.
*
To Richenda Todd, as always a meticulous and sensitive copy editor and worth her weight in rubies.
*
To Sarah Molloy, Sara Fisher and the rest of the A. M. Heath team, who are kind, supportive and money grubbing in a good way!
*
And lastly, my family, who inspire me, support me and keep me on the straight and narrow (sometimes).
Chapter One
A yowl from the plastic box at her feet made Flora look down anxiously. Was Imelda actually having kittens, or was she still just complaining about being shut up in a pet carrier on a hot summer day?
‘Not now, sweetie, please!' Flora implored through gritted teeth. 'Just hang on until I've got this meeting over. Then I'll find you a nice bed and breakfast where they like cats.’
Aware that her pleadings were really a displacement activity, Flora picked up the yowling Imelda, hooked her handbag over her shoulder, hitched her overnight bag over her arm and went up the steps. She was slightly regretting her new shoes. They were divinely pretty with a heavenly fake peony between the toes, but not worn in and therefore killingly uncomfortable. Not one to sacrifice prettiness for comfort, Flora ignored the incipient blisters and pressed the bell. Seeing her own surname on the brass plate above it gave her a strange thrill. The family firm, and she was joining it.
The door was opened by a tall woman wearing a lot of navy blue. She was a little older than Flora, and had a no-nonsense look about her which inevitably made Flora think of Girl Guides. My shoes may be not quite suitable, thought Flora, to give herself confidence, but nor is that colour in this heat. In other circumstances, Flora realised, she would yearn to do a Trinny and Susannah on her.
‘Hello,' said the woman, smiling professionally, 'you must be Flora. Do come in. We're so looking forward to meeting you. Especially Charles.’
Flora smiled too. 'I hope you won't mind, but I've got my cat with me. I can't leave her in the car in this heat. Apart from anything else, she's very pregnant.’
A little frown appeared between the woman's eyebrows as she looked down at the box. 'Oh, well, no, I'm sure it will be fine for a short time. Although I'm terribly allergic, I'm afraid.'
‘Oh dear. I suppose I could leave her outside the door . . .' Flora bit her lip to indicate that in fact she couldn't leave Imelda anywhere except at her feet. 'But she might have her kittens at any moment.'
‘You'd better come in,' said the woman, her professional manner beginning to fray. 'We're in here.' She opened the door of a room which was mostly filled with a table, around which were several empty chairs.
The room's sole occupant, a tall, conventionally handsome man wearing a dark suit and a very conservative tie, got up. Obviously Charles, her cousin fifteen million times removed.
Not promising. Flora depended on her charm to ease her way through life and had learnt to spot the few with whom this wouldn't work. He was a classic example, she could tell; he didn't like girls with pretty shoes, strappy dresses and amusing jewellery. He liked sensible girls who wore driving shoes, or plain leather courts with medium heels. His idea of good taste was a single row of real pearls with matching earrings, and possibly a bangle on special occasions.
When the woman who had brought her in (displaying all these signs of proper dress sense) touched his arm and said, 'Darling, this is Flora,' Flora wasn't at all surprised to see the sapphire and diamond engagement ring on her left hand. They made the perfect County couple.
‘Flora,' said Charles, holding out his hand. 'How nice to meet you after all these years.' He didn't sound all that pleased.
‘Mm.' Flora shook the hand, smiled and nodded; she wasn't that pleased, either. She had totally reorganised her life to take a part in the family business with, she realised now, desperately inadequate research. Charles and his worthy, conventionally dressed fiancée didn't want her, wouldn't make her welcome, and her spell in the country could turn out to be horribly dull. Still, she'd made her bed, and she'd have to lie in it - at least until the sub-let on her London flat expired. 'It's very nice to meet you, too. I can't think why we haven't met before.'
‘You spent quite a lot of your early life out of the country,' he said soberly, as if she might have forgotten.
‘I suppose that explains it. We did miss out on quite a lot of family weddings.' She smiled. 'Though perhaps I won't miss out on the next one?'
‘Oh yes, haven't you two introduced yourselves? This is Annabelle, Annabelle Stapleton. My fiancée and possible future partner in the business.' His smile, though conventional, did at least prove he brushed his teeth, which was something.
‘How nice,' said Flora, wishing she'd made more enquiries about the business before telling that nice man of course he could have her
flat for at least six months, she wouldn't be needing it.
‘Yes,' agreed Charles. 'Now, let's sit down and discuss your part in Stanza and Stanza.'
‘Would anyone like a glass of water first?' suggested Annabelle.
‘Oh, yes please,' said Flora. 'And could I post a little to Imelda? In the box? I need to check on her anyway.' Flora delivered one of her most appealing smiles to her distant cousin, a last-ditch attempt to get him on her side. 'I wouldn't have brought her if there'd been any alternative, I assure you.'
‘That's fine,' said Charles smoothly, almost, but not quite, concealing his impatience. Then, when the water had been dispensed and the cat seen to, he said, 'Tell me, Flora, I hope this isn't a rude question, but how much do you actually know about antiques and the auction business?’
Flora took another sip of water. 'Ah well, you pick up things like that as you go along, don't you?'
‘Do you?' asked Charles, who had, she now noticed, rather strange grey-blue eyes which, beneath his sceptical eyebrows, had the look of the North Sea in winter.
‘Well, yes.' Flora tried to think of a suitable phrase, to indicate she knew more than what she had gleaned from a lot of recent, frantic watching of various afternoon television programmes on the subject. 'Cheap as chips' didn't seem to apply. 'Of course,' she said airily, 'having spent so much of my youth in Europe, I'm not so up on English furniture.'
‘But you must be au fait with all those glorious ceramics,' said Annabelle. 'I adore ceramics.’
Just for a moment, Flora felt unsure what ceramics were. 'Oh, you mean china and stuff? Yes, I love it too. I collect teapots, funny ones, you know?’
Charles winced visibly. 'I think we'd better get on.’
‘Well, yes, we'd better,' said Flora rashly. 'But I do wonder if we will.'
‘What on earth are you talking about?' said Charles. 'Now . . .' He opened a file and drew out a sheaf of papers. He was not a man who would get behind with his paperwork. He had that look about him. He was a filer and a putter-into-alphabetical-order-er. It was painfully clear.
‘Now,' he began, 'our mutual great-uncle left things slightly awkwardly'
‘Did he?' asked Flora. 'I thought it was all quite straightforward. You'd already inherited forty-nine per cent from your father, and I got fifty-one per cent when Uncle Clodio died. Clear as sixteenth-century window glass, or something. Although I realise I wouldn't normally have been expected to inherit,' she added as consolation.
‘Yes,' explained Charles, openly irritable now. 'But it is awkward. You own more than me. And you know nothing about the business and I've been running this auction house all my life, more or less.'
‘Well, obviously I'm not going to sweep in here and make huge changes!' Flora made an extravagant gesture with her arms, observing at the same time that a good sweep, on the floor at least, would be a good idea. 'I want to learn about the business I'm going to be part of.’
Charles and Annabelle exchanged questioning glances. 'That's encouraging,' said Charles warily, 'but it still doesn't quite settle the matter. I can't have you having more shares than I have. It doesn't make sense, on any level.’
The cat yowled, possibly showing solidarity with Charles.
‘Sorry, I must have a peek. In case this is it.’
‘It?'
‘The moment when she really is going to give birth. It's her first litter, you see, and the kittens can come in about thirty minutes from when she starts. I've read all about it.’
While Flora fussed with the cat she thought about her own situation. She was obviously totally unwelcome and Charles was horrible. Which was a shame - she hardly ever disliked people. She'd probably better make an alternative plan. Staying in the depths of the country with a couple who deeply resented her presence was not going to be a lot of fun. 'If it wasn't for you, Imelda,' she breathed inaudibly, 'I'd hightail it out of town right now.'
‘Tell me,' said Charles, when Flora was again upright, sitting back in her uncomfortable chair. 'What exactly do you hope to get out of your trip down here?' The grey-blue eyes were penetrating and cold - they really were just like the North Sea. Flora felt she was being interviewed for a job for which she had no qualifications - which, in a way, she was. She struggled to remind herself that, technically at least, she was more powerful than Charles.
She took a breath and didn't let herself be distracted by Imelda's yowl. 'I haven't been brought up in the business like you have, but I have known about it. I didn't expect to inherit, as- I said. It was such a shock to everyone when Niccolô was killed in that car accident and even then, I never thought Uncle Clodio - did you know him, by the way? He was lovely - would leave it to me.'
‘No. I didn't know him.'
‘It broke his heart when Nicki died, obviously.'
‘It must have been terrible,' murmured Annabelle.
‘But really, we - my parents and I - were totally surprised when we heard about how he'd left things.'
‘Then I absolve you of forcing him to change his will on his death-bed,' said Charles dryly. 'But it still leaves us in a difficult position. In theory you could come in here and upset everything.’
Flora smiled. 'Yes I could, couldn't I?'
‘Of course you won't,' Charles informed her firmly. 'But it would be much better if we could arrange things differently.'
‘And how would you do that?' asked Flora, sensing they had the perfect plan all worked out.
‘Annabelle could buy three per cent of your shares, so I would have one per cent more than you. Which, considering I am the senior partner, is only right and proper.'
‘And Annabelle would have three per cent?’
‘Yes.'
‘And you're going to get married, so between you, you could do what you liked?'
‘Yes, but you'd still have forty-eight per cent which would bring you in a nice amount of money, when we make a profit.'
‘Which you're not doing now?' Actually, Flora knew they weren't doing that well. She and her father had discussed it at length, but Charles was so prim and bossy that she wanted to make him say it.
‘Not at the moment, no,' Charles admitted, 'but we do have plans to improve things.'
‘Oh good. And now you've got me! I don't know all that much about the business, obviously, but I can learn. And two heads are better than one - or should that be three heads are better than two?' She glanced at Annabelle, who did not seem to be enjoying herself.
Charles frowned. 'Have we got you, Flora? I was under the impression' - he glanced questioningly at Annabelle again - 'that you were only down here for a visit.'
‘Well, yes, but I was planning to stay for quite a long time. Six months, at least. To see if I can stand - like -country life.'
‘Six months!' said Annabelle. 'But where are you going to stay?’
Flora had been faintly hoping for an offer of someone's spare room, for at least a couple of days. As this was obviously not going to be forthcoming, she said, 'I thought a nice little bed and breakfast? Where they like cats?'
‘Flora, before we get into the ins and outs of where you can stay, and I'm sure we can put you up for a short time—'
‘No, Charles!' interrupted Annabelle. 'I'm terribly allergic to cats. You must have forgotten.'
‘Sorry, yes I had.' He looked pained for a moment.'But anyway, putting all that aside for one moment, I think I should make myself perfectly clear. There's really nothing for you to do in this business. It'll be better for us - I mean Stanza and Stanza - and ultimately you, if you just sell three per cent of your shares—' Imelda yowled again. 'Have a short holiday if you must, and then take yourself and your cat back to London.'
‘Ah - well,' began Flora, not willing to admit to being temporarily homeless.
‘Your parents still own that nice little flat in Lancaster Gate?'
‘Yes.'
‘And you live there?'
‘When I'm in London, yes.' And I'm not in London now, you prig, and I've sub-let i
t for slightly more than I pay in rent to my parents so I can pay off my credit cards, she added silently, knowing not even thumbscrews would make her admit any of that to Charles.
‘So you could go back?' asked Annabelle.
‘I thought I was coming down here to live. For the time being, anyway. Downsizing!' she added glibly, not feeling remotely glib. 'It's terribly fashionable!'
‘But if you sold me the shares, you'd have quite a lot of money. You could rent another flat, pay off your overdraft,' said Annabelle, who also had grey-blue eyes and an irritatingly patient tone of voice.
Bitch! thought Flora, she knows I'm short of money. She and Charles deserve each other. 'Well, put like that, your offer does sound quite tempting. Of course I will have to consult my father. Although I'm over twenty-one - obviously—'
‘Not that obviously, actually,' murmured Charles, and earned himself a flicker of a frown from Annabelle.
‘I do usually discuss things like this with him. My parents aren't in the country right now, but we talk on the phone and email all the time.'
‘Good,' said Charles. 'I'm sure he'd advise you to accept Annabelle's offer.'
‘He might if he knew how much that was,' said Flora and smiled. 'Have you got a figure in mind?'
‘Ten thousand pounds,' said Charles. 'Quite a lot more than three per cent is worth, of course, but we want to be generous.'
‘That does sound generous,' said Flora, who had no idea if it was or wasn't. `Do you mind if I think about it?'
‘How long do you need? To get in touch with your father, discuss it, etc.?' asked Charles.
‘A trip to the loo would be a good start.' Flora not only needed the loo, but to rinse her wrists in cold water, to clear her head a little. It was hot and she was tired. She didn't want to find herself bullied into something against her wishes by this Country Life couple with colour-coordinated eyes.
‘Of course,' said Annabelle. 'Sorry, I should have offered when you first arrived. Stupid of me.’
‘No, that's fine,' Flora replied graciously.
‘Follow me,' said Annabelle.
‘If you could just keep an eye on the cat?' Flora smiled endearingly at Charles, knowing it would annoy him.
