by Katie Fforde
‘They might like coffee too,' suggested Henry, greatly to his credit, she thought.
‘It would have been fun, but I don't think now is quite the time.’
Edie and Geoffrey had taken on the closed, solid appearance of parents in the presence of an unsuitable boyfriend met in the street, and moved round Flora protectively.
‘Another time, perhaps?' said Henry.
‘Perhaps,' said Flora. 'If you bump into me again.' He laughed. 'I'm almost sure to. I'm terribly clumsy.
I only came in to buy a birthday card for my sister.’
‘And I'm being a tourist. The abbey is beautiful.’
‘We are all very proud of it.'
‘Are you ready to go now, Flora?' asked Geoffrey, pointedly.
She smiled at Henry, silently explaining why they had to part. He smiled his reply and Flora couldn't help thinking what fun it was to be able to communicate so easily with someone. Every single word was hard work with Charles.
‘That's Henry Burnet,' said Geoffrey. 'He's got a bit of a reputation.'
‘Oh. What for?'
‘Womanising,' Geoffrey went on darkly. 'He's a philanderer.’
Flora sighed. 'Philanderer' was a very appealing sounding word.
‘He's got a very nice house, though,' said Edie. 'But he's probably a bad lot. His wife left him.’
Well, at least he was single, she thought as she followed Geoffrey and Edie out of the abbey and they made their way to the pub to have lunch.
After she had been delivered home, and Edie had had another long goo over the kittens, Flora collapsed on the sofa with her new book. It would have been nice if she and Henry had been able to exchange numbers, but Bishopsbridge was quite a small place. They were bound to run into each other sometime. He did know her name, after all, and could contact her via the office, if all else failed.
She was going to have Sunday lunch with Geoffrey and Edie and felt quite content, but she was very glad when Monday morning came.
*
'We're going directly to the salerooms,' said Charles as he and Flora travelled down the track. 'We're having a sale the day after tomorrow and we're still getting stuff in.'
‘Right. Good.' It was hard to know what she was expected to say.
‘I'm sorry I didn't come and see you over the weekend. I know you were all right because Geoffrey told me.'
‘I was fine.' Flora decided to be silent on the subject of whether it was right that Geoffrey, not after all a blood relation, should have been left with the responsibility of her welfare.
‘We had to go to Annabelle's parents.'
‘For the entire weekend?'
‘Yes.' Charles's jaw took on the stubborn aspect of one who knows he is in the wrong. 'It was unavoidable. They're not as young as they used to be and they were very good to me when my own parents died.’
She refrained from comment and just said, 'Well, I was fine. Geoffrey and Edie were very kind.'
‘I knew they would be.'
‘Did you ask Geoffrey to look after me?'
‘No, but he mentioned he was going to.'
‘So that absolved your conscience?'
‘No! I mean, I didn't have a conscience - why should I have? You're an adult, you're not helpless.'
‘I would have been slightly less helpless if I'd had a car.’
Charles exhaled deeply. 'I know. I'm really sorry about that.'
‘It wasn't you who smashed it.'
‘No, but—'
‘The cottage is a long way from the nearest shop.’
‘Not if you're wearing the right shoes it isn't.’
Flora was not buying this one. 'When did you last walk from the cottage to the town?’
Charles gritted his teeth. 'I've never walked it.'
‘It's a long way.' Thanks to Geoffrey and Edie she hadn't actually had to walk the distance herself, but she felt that Charles was being unacceptably blasé about abandoning her miles from anywhere.
‘Well, don't tell me you had to buy cat food. You had mountains of the stuff the other day.'
‘Imelda had her kittens.’
Charles frowned. 'Oh. I suppose that makes her eat more.'
‘Yes. She had four,' she went on, furious with his blatant lack of interest. 'There's a ginger one, a tabby, a very pretty one with ginger and black patches on white, and a plain black one. Apparently cats can have kittens by different fathers in the same litter.'
‘Oh.'
‘Yes. I'm afraid Imelda must have been a bit of a slapper, although she's taking her responsibilities very seriously now.'
‘Well, that's something,' he said absently
‘Can I have a cat flap in the cottage?'
‘It's hardly worth installing one, is it?'
‘What do you mean?'
‘You might not stay long enough for the kittens to be able to use it.'
‘Oh, I will. The kittens are far too small to move. I'll have to stay at least until they're bigger. Possibly for eight weeks, when they'll be ready to leave their mother. Anyway, Imelda will still need one.' She frowned, suffering a pang of sadness at the thought of the kittens living anywhere but with her.
‘Well, if you insist and really think it's worthwhile.’
‘I do. To both.'
‘Very well.' He frowned again. 'How will Imelda manage until we get a cat flap organised?'
‘She has a litter tray and—' She suddenly realised what she was about to confess.
‘What?'
‘I left the back door ajar. Only a tiny bit and I'm sure there are no opportunist thieves within miles.’
Charles sighed heavily - she was obviously living down to his expectations. 'Well, it's mostly your stuff they'd steal if they did break in, but don't for God's sake tell Annabelle you've left the door open. She'll have a fit! She's very hot on security. All her parents' cottages have burglar alarms and she was very cross with me when I didn't put one in there. I pointed out that there was no point in having something that shrieked like a banshee if no one would be able to hear it.'
‘Thank you, dear cousin Charles. It's very nice to be reminded that if I'm attacked no one will be disturbed by my screams.’
He winced. 'I'll get on to the phone people straightaway. And you can certainly have an alarm if it would make you feel safer.'
‘What would really make me feel safer is a car. Is there any news on mine?'
‘I rang this morning. They're waiting for a part. They have to send away for it. I'd told them they'd better hurry, or there's no point in doing it.'
‘I know what you're implying, but I'm not buying it. I'm staying, at least for the time being, and you might as well get used to the idea.'
‘You realise you'll just be working as an office junior, the lowest of the low?'
‘Yes. I don't mind learning from the bottom up. It's the best way.'
‘And you'll stick it out for a while even though the cottage is very isolated?'
‘Yes!' Too late she realised that she'd been tricked into revealing her feelings that the cottage was, indeed, very isolated. Still, she couldn't say anything now.
Charles didn't respond immediately. 'I'm sure Annabelle would offer to lend you her car if she knew how isolated you feel.'
‘I don't want to borrow Annabelle's car . . . Though it's kind of you to offer,' she added, moments too late. Charles's firm mouth twitched. 'Well, that's a good thing because I'm not sure she would have offered, actually. I really need an estate car or I'd offer you mine.'
‘What about this Land-Rover? Is this needed for anything special?’
He laughed. 'I can't see you driving this behemoth.' It shuddered noisily to confirm its reputation. 'Even Annabelle finds it quite difficult to handle.’
Flora suppressed a sigh and tried very hard to keep all the sarcasm out of her voice. 'I think you might find I'm a better driver than Annabelle.'
‘You think?' Charles pulled up at the side of the road. 'Then put your money where your
mouth is and prove it.' Biting her lip to conceal her grin of pleasure, Flora slid down from the vehicle and ran round to the driver's side. This was something she knew she could do. He'd have to lend it to her now.
Charles made the swap with slightly less alacrity. 'It'll probably be all right on the country roads but you might find driving through town a bit more difficult.’
The engine shuddered as Flora turned the key. She turned to him and said seriously, 'I think now is the time to confess that I haven't been a natural blonde since I was about ten years old. I think I'll be all right.’
Flora had to give Charles huge credit for letting a smile force its way from the corners of his eyes and one corner of his mouth. It turned a conventionally good- looking man into an extremely attractive one. Interesting. If she was Annabelle, she'd make strings of jokes so he'd smile more often.
Henry, on the other hand, going on what little she'd seen of him, smiled quite a lot. She did hope he'd manage to get in touch.
After Flora had negotiated the crowded High Street, got through a very narrow lane with cars on both sides and parked in an awkward spot in the yard behind the auction house, circumnavigating two removal vans as she did so, Charles said, 'I'd like to see you do all that with a trailer.'
‘I'm sure you would.' Flora smiled sweetly. 'But unless you lend me the Land-Rover, you're not going to get the opportunity.'
‘For that reason alone you can consider it yours until your car is ready’
Flora got out, mentally thanking her father for letting her back his Land-Rover, with a trailer and boat attached, on to a crowded car ferry. It wasn't that Flora was overconfident, she just loved to see strong men with their mouths open.
‘Thank you, Charles,' she said, coolly. She made to hand him the keys.
‘No, they're yours now.’
She dropped them into her bag with a little skip of glee. They were her independence. She would no longer be marooned on her own, miles from anywhere.
The salerooms were seething with people and furniture and Flora followed Charles through the wardrobes, sofas, tables, chairs and rugs, all of which seemed to be on the move in contrary directions, to where low tables were set up to make an office area. Two women sat at computers and Annabelle stood between them, a clipboard in her hand, dealing out instructions.
‘Oh, hi,' she said coolly to Flora, ignoring Charles. 'Good weekend? Lovely,' she went on without waiting to hear Flora's reply. 'I'm afraid, as you see, I'm far too busy to deal with you. Would you like to hang out with the porters? You may be able to help them shift furniture or something.’
Charles frowned. 'Couldn't she go through some of the boxes? Or there are the pictures - she could divide them into prints and paintings, watercolours and oils.'
‘I did work in an art gallery once,' put in Flora. 'I could do that easily'
‘No! Looking decorative in an art gallery is not sufficient qualification for this job. I'd just have to do it all again. She'd be better out of the way with the boys.’
Flora suppressed a sigh, but it was her first day. Annabelle might trust her a bit more when she'd had a chance to prove herself. 'Hanging out with the boys sounds fun,' said Flora, glad that Geoffrey had told her to wear old clothes and bring gloves. He'd warned her that Annabelle wouldn't let her do anything except the most menial manual work.
‘Annabelle is in charge of the saleroom on sale days,' said Charles.
‘That's fine. I want to learn all about the family business, and, as I said, bottom up is best.' Flora delivered Annabelle a dazzling smile designed to disconcert her. 'I'll go and find Geoffrey, shall I?’
Annabelle frowned. 'He's not really the best person. He thinks he knows everything.'
‘He was very kind to me over the weekend,' said Flora.
‘Oh. Yes, I'm sorry we couldn't get over.' Annabelle didn't look as sorry as all that. 'Family commitments, you know.’
The insincerity in Flora's smile matched Annabelle's. 'That's OK. After all, I'm not very close family, am I?' She held back from suggesting that owning half the business strengthened the tie somewhat.
A few wrinkles appeared in Annabelle's otherwise smooth brow, fully exposed by the Alice band she used to keep her hair back. 'Well, go and see if you can help Geoffrey then. I'm certainly too busy to supervise you.'
‘I'll take you to him,' said Charles.
‘No, no, I'm sure you've got lots to do. I'll find him myself.' Flora smiled and waggled her fingers in a way guaranteed to make Annabelle want to shoot her. Unable to do this, Annabelle turned her irritation on one of the two women beside her, who produced the required piece of paper with admirable calm.
As she made her way through the furniture she wondered if it was worth trying to get on with Annabelle. Would she ever be able to drink instant coffee at a kitchen table with her, or share a bottle of wine in an overgrown garden and talk until it was too cold to stay outside any more? It seemed terribly unlikely, but she did so want to get her hands on Annabelle's wardrobe. Today she was wearing a shirt-waister that was just the wrong length, and not quite on her waist, with a Puritan collar. And in spite of the heat she was wearing quite thick navy blue tights. As for the navy blue velvet Alice band - was the woman stuck in a time warp? Perhaps that was it, Bishopsbridge was in a time warp where people still made 'good marriages' to people chosen by their parents, and fashion never dared encroach in case it frightened the horses.
Flora tracked Geoffrey down. in a kitchen off a side hall. He was making tea for, it appeared, about twenty. With him were several people she vaguely recognised.
‘Hello, Flora,' one woman said warmly. 'Do you take sugar?'
‘Hello. Sorry, I don't think I know your name.'
‘We're in the choir,' the woman explained. 'Several of us work as porters, part time. Not like Geoffrey, who's full time.'
‘I thought porters were men, on the whole, so they could shift things.' Flora then blushed, worried in case she'd said something enormously politically incorrect.
‘There's lots more to portering than moving furniture,' said another familiar face. 'We spend hours sorting the boxes, sticking on labels, making lists. You don't need brute strength for that.'
‘While we're on the subject,' said a woman wearing a badge with 'Jenny' printed on it, 'don't forget that Dennis likes the bag left in his tea.'
‘Come and help us up on the stage,' suggested the woman from choir who Flora was fairly sure was one of the subversive second sopranos. 'That's where the smaller stuff is: valuables, collectables, things like that. There's a mountain of things which need labelling. If you get confused about which vendor sent what, you're in real trouble.'
‘Annabelle said I should be with Geoffrey—'
‘Don't take any notice of her. She doesn't know what she's talking about.' Jenny leant in confidentially. 'She's not qualified, you know, or even working for her exams.’
‘Oh?'
‘She just thinks she knows everything because she did a bit of china mending at a course she went on once, when she was a girl.'
‘She's still quite young,' protested Flora. Annabelle was almost certainly a bitch but she was probably still in her twenties, early thirties at most.
‘And because she's got Charles twisted round her little finger. My name's Virginia, by the way,' the woman from the choir added. 'I was standing behind you in choir. I don't know what Charles sees in that woman.' She sighed.
‘Oh, you know it's because their parents were such friends,' said Jenny helpfully, 'and then Charles's parents died - were they related to you, Flora?'
‘Oh yes. Can't quite remember how,' said Flora. 'It was awful when they died. I was very young, but my mother was really upset.'
‘So they've known each other all their lives.'
‘Ah,' said Flora, trying to imply she thought this was sweet, when actually she thought it was a shame to miss the fun of the chase. Of course one often went chasing off down blind alleys, but it was fun all the same.
>
‘We'll take our teas now, Geoffrey, save you carrying them up the stairs,' said Virginia. 'Flora, grab that packet of biscuits, will you?’
Flora exchanged glances with Geoffrey, to check with him that this plan was appropriate, and he nodded. 'The girls will look after you,' he said.
‘Geoffrey!' they chorused. 'That should be "pre-women"!'
‘Away with you,' said Geoffrey, unchastened. 'Or I won't make you tea again.’
Virginia flapped her hand, obviously not remotely concerned by political correctness from Geoffrey. 'Girls" is OK among friends.'
‘Are you lot going to do any work today?' Geoffrey demanded.
Up on the stage, amid piles of boxes, crumpled newspaper and more extraordinary items than Flora could have imagined existed, she was given a sheet of stickers. Virginia, who seemed to be loosely in charge of the others, said, 'All these items need a sticker with "KGC" on it. Make sure nothing gets left out. Charles will come along later and do the lotting, and we can put things together in boxes, but until we know which of this rubbish is valuable and which isn't, we mark everything.'
‘But can't you tell what's worth selling?' Flora regarded a box with a stuffed and mounted Jacob's sheep's head in it. The horns had fallen off and were lying next to the glassy-eyed face.
‘We have a fair idea but there's often a jewel among the junk and we can't take chances. Imagine if you're the vendor, wanting every penny from the sale. It would be awful if something really valuable got missed and sold in a miscellaneous box.'
‘I see.'
‘And of course we have to make sure there's something tasty in every box, not just rubbish, or no one will buy it.'
‘I see.'
‘And you can't mix up the vendors, even if there is the missing jug from the tea set from another lot. The buyer just has to buy both lots and make up the set himself.'
‘Do you ever buy anything yourselves?' Flora asked, putting a sticker on to a plastic cuckoo clock.
‘Oh yes. My husband says I get paid in antiques. You develop an eye, and if you wait long enough you'll get your bargain. Then you can do it up and sell it, if you don't want it for yourself.'
