by Katie Fforde
‘I'm sure she'll be fine - cats have been doing this for quite a while now. In fact, while there's no one here, why don't you let her out of her box for a bit? It may only be being shut up that's making her so vocal.’
Flora felt a rush of affection for this man; he'd said 'vocal' not 'noisy'.
‘Then would you mind watching her while I go and fetch her litter tray from the car? I'm sure she would never do anything she shouldn't, but can you imagine how much Annabelle would hate me if my cat peed on the carpet?'
‘About as much as she hates me, I should think.' He smiled. 'You go and get the litter tray and we'll let Imelda out for a bit.'
‘You obviously like cats.'
‘And so does my wife. I'm fairly sure that she'll be wanting one of the kittens when they're ready. This firm isn't the only thing which needs some young life.' He grinned broadly.
It was such a relief to be with someone who responded to her, who saw her as a person, not just a strappy dress, a pair of unsuitable shoes and expensive highlights, that Flora smiled fondly back. If this man wanted her to stay, she would stay, for his sake as much as her own. 'I'll go and get the litter tray.’
While Imelda was prowling round the office, after Geoffrey had gone back to work, Flora decided to give her best friend a call and got out her mobile.
‘Hi! It's me! Good time?'
‘Yes,' said Emma. 'I'm at home. How is it?'
‘Well, not all that promising, to be honest, but I'm determined to stick it out. For a while, anyway.’
‘What's the cousin like?'
‘Absolutely dire.'
‘Oh. That's a bit disappointing. I was hoping he would provide a bit of entertainment for you while you're out in the sticks. Is he married?'
‘Engaged. And so stuffy he could do at-a-glance taxidermy.'
‘And hideous? Or just spoken-for?'
‘Well, I suppose his features are more or less in the right place, but he has minus amounts of charm and zero sense of humour. I think,' she added.
‘So they're not exactly welcoming the new member of the family business?'
‘You could say that,' Flora said grimly. 'They've already tried to buy me off. Annabelle lied to Charles about me wanting to stay, implying she had no idea I wanted to.'
‘Oh no.'
‘And I've got to live in a cottage out in the wilds. It might be a bit spooky.'
‘But one of the advantages of being in the diplomatic service is surely that you've lived in all sorts of scary places with your parents, haven't you?'
‘Yes, but the "with my parents" part is the thing. It's easy to be relaxed about cockroaches if you have staff.' She sighed. 'I am a bit of a poor little rich girl, Em.'
‘Nonsense! You're a tough cookie. You'll be fine.' Emma knew what sort of reassurance Flora was seeking, and was quite happy to provide it.
Flora responded. 'I will, of course, and there's a sweet old man who's been really kind and asked me to join his choir.'
‘Oh yes?' Emma sounded sceptical.
‘No, really, he's terribly nice. Older than Dad, Ems. His wife might want one of the kittens.'
‘She's had them already? My God! That must have been awful! Imelda having kittens on the boardroom floor with your cousin stuffing them with his evil gaze as they came out, one by one. You'll have to make some hideous installation with them, and enter it for the Turner Prize.'
‘No!' screamed Flora, when she stopped laughing. 'She hasn't had them yet. You're right, it would have been awful. But Geoffrey's wife might have one when they are born. Annabelle's allergic to cats, of course.'
‘Of course. Which is not remotely her fault.'
‘No. Not at all. She's gone to get stuff for this holiday cottage. I hope she remembers a corkscrew. I might go and get some supplies. You'll have to come down for the weekend sometime. Quite soon, please!'
‘I'm a bit tied up for the next couple of weekends, but I promise I'll come and see you as soon as I can.' Emma paused. 'And while I know you'll be absolutely fine, you and Imelda could always come and stay with me if you need to come back.’
Being given a get-out clause stiffened Flora's resolve to stick it out and give country life a proper try. 'That's really sweet of you, Ems, but how would Dave feel about that? Me, a cat and possibly six kittens?'
‘I'm sure he'd be happy to have you.’
Something in her friend's voice alerted Flora. 'Everything all right between you two?'
‘Oh yes, we're fine,' Emma sighed. 'In fact, I must call him.'
‘I'll let you go. Oh my God! I can hear Annabelle and Imelda's loose!’
‘Which no one would ever say about you, sweetie.’
‘Oh shut up!' said Flora and disconnected.
Flora had just managed to scoop Imelda back into her box when Annabelle came in, her arms full of a plastic container.
‘Right, I've got some basics. Sheets, pillow cases, a duvet, a couple of covers. How much do you cook?' she demanded briskly. 'Or are you a takeaway person?'
‘Um - do I have much choice? Are there many takeaways in Bishopsbridge?'
‘A couple of fish and chip shops, a Chinese and a Balti, which is very good, incidentally.'
‘But no sushi bars?’
Annabelle raised her eyes to heaven just for a second, which told Flora her wind-up had worked.
‘No.'
‘Then I cook. Though not much,' she added, feeling sorry for Annabelle suddenly. It wasn't her fault she looked like a horse, and if she only dressed differently, she might be very handsome.
‘But I don't think you'll need a Le Creuset casserole. It's unlikely you'll be making stews in this weather, even if you do cook.' Unaware she was the object of Flora's sympathy, Annabelle pressed on with the matter in hand. 'There are a couple of reasonable pans. Big enough to fit a boil-in-the-bag into, anyway.’
Flora decided to call a mental truce with Annabelle. She might be the nearest thing she had to female company, both literally and figuratively, and it would be much better if they were friends. Besides, Flora was itching to make a Trinny-and-Susannah-type raid on Annabelle's wardrobe, and Flora would have to be on quite good terms with her in order to get near it. She was willing to bet there were pie-crust collars, jumpers with sheep and trousers with stirrups in it.
‘I'm sure whatever you've got is fine. Although a nonstick frying pan would be useful. You know how it is when you're tired, you just yearn for an omelette?'
‘You've got one of those, but really, you'll need a proper pan for omelettes.’
Flora shook her head. 'A non-stick one is fine. I don't want to put you out more than I have to.’
Annabelle smiled back and Flora felt she should do it more often. It softened her considerably and she had very good teeth. A bit on the large side, possibly, but white and even. 'It's no trouble, really. We should have got the holiday cottage sorted out ages ago. You can tell me if there's anything hugely wrong with it, or missing.'
‘I will.'
‘There's a dear little garden. I don't suppose you like gardening? It would really help if you had time to clear a couple of the front beds.'
‘I'm sure I could do that for you. If there's something to do it with, of course.'
‘Oh yes, I was forgetting about tools. I'll see what I can organise. After all, you won't have much to do here, will you?’
Flora smiled. Charles probably hadn't had the opportunity to tell her that she'd applied for, and got, the job advertised in the paper. 'Not just yet, anyway,' she said. 'And it's such super weather at the moment. It would nice to be out in the fresh air.'
‘Hmm.' Annabelle crossed the room and opened the window Flora had closed so Imelda couldn't escape out of it. 'Talking of which - have you noticed? - there's a terrible smell of cat in here.'
‘Ah. That might be Imelda's litter tray. I had to let her use it.'
‘Oh.' She looked disconcerted. 'You know I can't have anything to do with it, I'm afraid.'
‘Oh,' said Flora, for
getting her truce. 'Are you pregnant?'
‘Certainly not! We're not married yet. I thought you knew that.'
‘I did, but you know how it is in the country.' Flora couldn't resist. 'Very often men don't marry women until they've proved that they're fertile and can carry on the blood line.'
‘You were joking, weren't you?' asked Annabelle after a few tortured moments.
‘Yes,' Flora sighed. 'I was,' but I won't bother again, she added silently. 'Now, if you could point me in the direction of the nearest supermarket, I can go and get some supplies. Geoffrey will keep an eye on Imelda for me.'
‘Geoffrey? Whiteread? You've met him?'
‘Yes. We were chatting earlier.'
‘Dreadful man,' Annabelle muttered. Louder she said, 'But he'll look after your cat?'
‘I think so. If you could just show me where to find him, I'll ask.’
Thanks to Annabelle's remarkably precise directions, Flora found the supermarket easily. It was small, but seemed to have everything anyone could want. She was just hunting for some vegetable stock powder in among the gravy granules when a trolley wheel banged into her toe.
‘Ow!'
‘Oh my God, I'm so sorry!’
Flora looked up at the owner of a very nice voice. He had sun-streaked hair and a craggy, well-used face. His eyes were very blue against his tan. His shirt was open at the neck and had obviously once been expensive but was now faded and worn to the sort of dilapidation that was highly desirable. His trousers were similarly distressed. He was smiling down at her apologetically.
‘I'm so sorry,' he said again. 'I've got a trolley that doesn't steer. Are you all right?’
Flora smiled back. `I'm fine. It just gave me a bit of a shock, that's all.'
‘And your toe isn't broken, or anything?’
They both looked down at her toe, the nail painted bright pink, matching the peony on her shoe. 'It seems fine,' she said.
‘I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to such a pretty foot,' he said, a definite twinkle in his eye.
‘I wouldn't have forgiven you, either,' Flora twinkled back.
He laughed. 'Are you new to the area? Or have I just missed you?'
‘I'm new, but I'm glad to hear you don't hit everyone with your trolley, all the time.'
‘I only hit people if my trolley's got a wonky wheel. [ promise.'
‘I'll take your word for it,' said Flora and began to move on. Much as she enjoyed flirting, Charles would be waiting to guide her to the cottage soon, and she didn't want to keep him waiting. He was bad-tempered enough already.
‘Maybe we'll run into one another again?' said the man, grimacing at his inadvertent pun.
‘Maybe,' Flora called over her shoulder with a grin.
Rather to her surprise, Charles wasn't bad-tempered when she turned up five minutes after the appointed time, he was apologetic.
‘I'm most terribly sorry but something's happened to your car.'
‘What do you mean?' Flora asked, confused. 'What can have happened to it? It hasn't been anywhere, has it?'
‘No. It got run into.'
‘But how could it? And who ran into it?’
He looked extremely embarrassed. 'It was Annabelle. She's terribly upset about it.'
‘Too upset to tell me about it herself?' Flora snapped.
‘Yes,' he said firmly. 'Although she's very sorry. Now let's put all this stuff into the Land-Rover and I'll take you to the cottage. Your car will be sorted out very soon. There's a very efficient garage that we use. Your cat's already in and making a hell of a noise.
‘Annabelle's mortified about what happened to your car,' Charles repeated a few minutes later as they drove along in the Land-Rover, Imelda still yelling from her box.
‘I know. She told me. It's all right.’
Once Annabelle had ascertained that Flora had not gone ballistic about the car, she had come out to apologise in person. Flora, trying vainly to ingratiate herself with these difficult people, had been very nice about it.
‘Perhaps if you hadn't parked it quite so near the corner . . .' Charles said now.
Flora sighed. She was a little tired of people trying to make this small incident her fault. As she'd been in the supermarket when it happened, they were never going to convince her. 'She said that, too.'
‘She's terribly upset. Nothing like that has ever happened to her before.'
‘Oh well. I expect she's got PMS.'
‘What?' Charles was horrified.
‘Have you never heard of it? It affects women—'
‘I know perfectly well what it is, thank you. Annabelle does not suffer from it!'
‘Oh well, I expect she was distracted. By a cat or something. Perfectly understandable.'
‘Anyway, the damage is very slight. You'll have your car back in days.'
‘I know. We've been through all this.'
‘You seem very calm about it, I must say.' He glanced at her, puzzled.
Privately, Flora felt she was only being calm in contrast to everyone else, but she said, 'Well, it's not my car. Why should I worry?'
‘It's not your car!' Charles reverted to storm mode. 'Whose car is it?'
‘My parents'. It's all right,' she said for the tenth time. 'They're not over-sensitive about cars, either.'
‘Nor am I, but repairs cost money!'
‘I do hope you didn't shout at Annabelle about it.’
‘I never shout!' he said very loudly.
‘No, of course you don't,' Flora replied, looking out of the window. 'Maybe, sometimes, when really pushed.'
‘Rest assured, I will never push you, Charles,' she said, wondering how on earth they were going to get along. 'It is very kind of you to drive me,' she added meekly, to put things back on the level of boring politeness. 'And to lend me the holiday cottage in the first place.'
‘It's Annabelle's cottage. I just see to the things that involve ladders and heavy lifting for her.’
Flora wondered which of these categories she came into. On balance, she preferred to be a ladder.
‘She would have taken you now,' he went on, 'but she hates the Land-Rover. She's gone home for a cup of tea.'
‘Good idea,' said Flora, suddenly desperate for a cup herself.
‘It is quite basic in the cottage, but if you do stay, you'd probably be better off with something with four-wheel drive.'
‘I'm sure I'll manage. I wouldn't want to buy another car.'
‘The firm might have something it could lend you. In fact, that's what we'll do if your car takes too long to fix. You wouldn't want to drive this.'
‘Wouldn't I?'
‘It's very heavy.’
Flora sighed. Would she have to rescue someone from a burning building to convince Charles that she was not an airhead? Possibly in solidarity, Imelda yowled.
‘She's persistent,' said Charles, with a glance over his shoulder at the pet carrier. 'You have to give her that.'
‘She's been cooped up for hours, poor little thing,' said Flora. 'If there'd been any alternative to bringing her with me, I would have taken it, I promise.'
‘It would have been better if she hadn't been pregnant,' Charles observed.
‘Yes. Unfortunately she was pregnant when I got her.’
‘And couldn't whoever you got her from take her back? In the circumstances . .
‘Not really. It was the Grand Union Canal. I found her floating in a carrier bag.'
‘Ah.' He paused. 'I'm sorry. I didn't realise. You don't look like the sort of person . . .' He paused again, as if wary of causing offence.
‘Who rescues cats in carrier bags?'
‘Oh no.' He frowned. 'You look exactly like the sort of person who'd do that, sentimental and terribly soft hearted. I meant you don't look like the sort of person who'd ever been near a canal.’
Amused, in spite of his insulting manner, she hurried to reassure him. 'Oh, it wasn't a real canal. It was in Little Venice. It's terribl
y smart just there. I was visiting a friend on a narrow boat.'
‘That's all right then.’
Just for a moment she thought she spotted a glimmer of humour, but then it vanished.
‘I do think you've possibly been a bit unfair to me,' she suggested mildly.
‘Oh?'
‘Mm. You're assuming things about me because of the way I look, instead of finding out what I'm like under my clothes.' A second too late she realised what she'd said. 'I mean, although I'm not wearing a lot, because it's such a hot day, I am quite sensible and useful, really.'
‘I realise you're a very attractive woman, Flora.' She had to be grateful he hadn't said 'girl'. 'But you'll find that you can't rely on your charm and your looks all the time.'
‘No.' Flora felt almost as bad as if he'd slapped her.
‘I'm sure you do have valuable skills,' he said, obviously not believing a word of it. 'It's just I doubt they're relevant to our business. You have absolutely no experience, after all.'
‘I have worked in an art gallery,' she began. 'I was there for two years - up until last month. And I'm good with people,' she went on, knowing it was the sort of thing said about people who had absolutely no other talents whatsoever. 'And I worked at a management consultants' once.' She'd been a receptionist, and very good she'd been too.
‘As I said' - his manner made Flora wonder if she could get through the journey without actually killing him - 'I'm sure you're a very accomplished girl—'
‘Woman,' she snapped.
‘Woman,' he corrected himself after a quick glance at her expression. 'But I don't think your particular - very valuable - skills are suited to an old-established family business.'
‘And in what way are old-established family businesses different from new ones? Don't they need to get new business? Be efficient? Make a profit? Or don't they have bills to pay like every other business in the world?’
He sighed. 'Obviously we have expenses, although of course we own the building. We employ several people, have vehicles to maintain—'
‘In other words,' she interrupted, 'you're the same as every other business: you need to operate at a profit. Do you operate at a profit? I do have the right to ask,' she added, when he didn't reply.
‘No. But Annabelle has some ideas on how to change that.'
