Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  ‘And they get that from Charles?'

  ‘Oh yes. He's wonderful with people.'

  ‘Are we talking about the same Charles? My cousin?' Virginia laughed. 'He may seem quite reserved, but he's very good at what he does.'

  ‘I'll take your word for it.’

  ‘It's Annabelle you want to watch.'

  ‘If you don't mind my asking, how do you know so much about it all?’

  Virginia laughed. 'Well, I keep my ear to the ground - in self-defence really. We all do. And Annabelle doesn't exactly make a secret about what she wants.' Virginia took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. Flora wanted to hurry her but knew she couldn't. 'I don't suppose this business makes very much money,' she said eventually, 'even though we get paid by the buyers and the sellers, but it would be a shame for it all to disappear.'

  ‘Yes, it would. I'll have to see what I can do. After all, I'm the one with the stake in the business, not Annabelle.' Now it was obvious why Geoffrey didn't want Annabelle to have even a small share of it financially.

  Driving home at the end of a long day, very tired and filthy dirty, Flora had time to consider how much money she stood to make herself if the buildings were all turned into flats and sold. She was too weary to make a very accurate guess but it was surely a great deal of money. What would she do with over a million pounds? Maybe it was the fatigue, but at that moment she couldn't think of anything she wanted except a hot bath, a packet of crisps and a glass of wine.

  She had turned the key in the lock and opened the door before she remembered William. A wonderful savoury smell wafted out from the kitchen, and the cottage looked very cosy. There was a fresh bunch of wild roses on the mantelpiece that she hadn't put there, and a fire laid in the fireplace. Not that you'd need one in this weather, but it looked nice to have it there.

  There was no sign of William, however - he'd clearly seen that Flora was serious about her instructions to leave - so when she had dumped her bag she ran upstairs to see Imelda and the kittens. They were fine, and Imelda's litter tray had obviously been changed. The joke about the gay burglars who tidied the house and left a quiche in the oven came into her mind and made her smile. It must be William - who else could it be? But was he gay? She couldn't possibly tell.

  She dragged herself away from the little furry bundles, which were making little swimming movements to get about, and went back downstairs, aware how hungry she was, thrilled that there was something in the oven.

  She had just taken it out when there was a knock on the door. 'William,' she said, smiling in spite of her resolutions not to, 'you'd better come in.'

  ‘I just came to check you'd come home roughly when you said you'd come, and that your supper wasn't burning.'

  ‘It was very kind of you to make me supper.'

  ‘It was very kind of you not to call the police and make an awful fuss.'

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?' She was desperate for one herself and realised that she would enjoy it more in company. And he had cooked for her, after all.

  ‘That would be very nice. Shall I check on the pie?'

  ‘If you like. You might as well share it with me. What is it?'

  ‘Cheese and onion and tomato pie. I'm not a vegetarian, but you didn't have any meat. A bit of bacon goes well with it.'

  ‘I'll get some tomorrow, if I have time to slip out to the shops.’

  ‘I'll find some knives and forks.'

  ‘William,' she said once they'd settled down with steaming plates on their knees, 'how much time do you spend here usually?'

  ‘It varies, but I spent most of the winter here.’

  ‘Is that why it smells of wood smoke?'

  ‘Probably. The fire did smoke a bit when the chimney was cold.’

  Flora swallowed a mouthful of pie. It was delicious and, she thought prudently, probably very cheap. `Do Charles and Annabelle have any idea that you exist?' Then she realised that of course they didn't know, they'd be apoplectic at the thought.

  ‘Who are Charles and Annabelle?'

  ‘They own this cottage. Or at least, Annabelle does. Charles is my cousin.’

  He shrugged. 'I don't care much about that sort of thing. If a house is empty, I don't see why I shouldn't use it. I didn't do any damage, after all.'

  ‘I only have your word for that!' declared Flora, laughing. 'It could have been a palace before I moved in.’

  William regarded her seriously. 'It was a cottage, it is still a cottage and will be a cottage until some Philistine puts a huge extension on it.'

  ‘You're a fine one to talk about Philistines! Taking over houses without a by-your-leave. What are you doing around here, anyway? Are you a poacher or something?'

  ‘I'm a poet and a portrait painter, but I do take the odd rabbit or pheasant if I need it.'

  ‘And you squat in empty buildings?'

  ‘Do you know why Marxists drink herb tea?' William took a sip of his wine.

  ‘No.' She took a sip of hers.

  ‘Because all proper tea is theft,' announced William. 'Only, of course, it wasn't Marx who said that.’

  Flora laughed. 'Can I tell you what joke I thought of when I went upstairs and found you'd changed the cat litter?'

  ‘That was to ingratiate myself with you.'

  ‘I'm sure it was, but it made me think of the joke about the gay burglars, who tidy the house and leave a quiche in the oven.’

  He laughed and shook his head. 'I'm afraid I'm not gay, but I'm completely trustworthy and, if it makes you feel any better, although I think you're very pretty, I don't fancy you.'

  ‘That's all right then.' Curiously it did make her feel better. 'Is there any more of this pie?’

  *

  She was at the saleroom again at eight-thirty in the morning, and so was nearly everyone else. The sale started at ten. There was another chance to view from nine o'clock, and Virginia had told her that they allowed people to go on viewing on the stage, where the smaller, more stealable items were, until half an hour before the sale got to their lot numbers.

  As always, she found a huddle of people in the kitchen, dunking tea bags in and out of mugs. 'Hi, Flora,' said Geoffrey. 'Ready for your first sale?'

  ‘I hope so. I'm really looking forward to it. After you've spent days handling and looking at all this, you almost feel like it's yours.’

  He chuckled. 'Well, if you want to bid on anything, let Charles know, and get a card from the office. It's a good way to furnish a house cheaply.’

  Flora took a moment to consider how much fun it would be buying things for the cottage and then remembered it wasn't her cottage and that the London flat didn't really need anything extra - it was cramped enough already. 'Not at the moment, Geoffrey.'

  ‘It's how Edie and me got most of the stuff for our daughters. If you work here long enough you'll see everything you could ever want or need pass by. I bought most of the furniture for our place when I was a dealer.'

  ‘That's why you never made a mint when you were a dealer, Geoff,' said another porter. 'You couldn't resist hanging on to the best stuff.’

  Flora remembered that Geoffrey and Edie's house had some very nice pieces in it. He laughed. 'You may well be right there, lad. Now, are we going to do any work, or are we just here for decoration?’

  *

  Flora was in the yard, helping Geoffrey make a collection of garden gnomes look attractive, when he looked at his watch. 'Five minutes to kick-off. I expect Charles will start but Annabelle should do out here really, get these small lots out of the way.'

  ‘Why won't she then?' Flora felt it might be quite fun persuading people to part with hard cash for these cute little gentlemen who seemed to have fallen on hard times, judging by the state of their pointy hats.

  ‘Because it's beneath her. She only likes doing the posh stuff. Not that she's any good at it, mind.'

  ‘Poor Annabelle! No one has a good word to say for her.’

  Geoffrey snorted. 'She's a rubbish auctioneer.
She can't get the crowd on her side for one thing. You'll have to learn how to do it. You wouldn't have that trouble.’

  Flora sighed. She acknowledged that she might very well be able to get the people on her side, but even her short time at Stanza and Stanza had told her that there was a little more to it than that. And it involved sums. 'I don't think I'd fancy it. When you watch it on television it seems terribly complicated.'

  ‘Once you've learnt the steps you go up in - you know, five, eight, ten, or three, five, eight, ten, whatever is appropriate - you'd be fine.'

  ‘Geoffrey, I have difficulty with my two times table, I don't quite see myself with a gavel in my hand. Do you do it ever?’

  He shook his head. 'Very rarely. Only if Annabelle doesn't want to. She doesn't like me doing it because she thinks I'm only a porter, although I reckon I could get more for this lot than she could. Not that she'll try, of course.' He paused. 'Are you going to leave them like that?' He was referring to the gnomes.

  ‘I thought they looked rather sweet standing in a circle,' said Flora. 'Ah, here comes the boss.’

  Everything happened extremely quickly. The stuffy Charles Flora had come to know disappeared and turned into the star of the show.

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,' he said with a smile, 'and a very lovely morning it is. Now, lot number one, a very appealing collection of garden gnomes who appear to be peeing into a pond. Who'll start me then, twenty pounds? No? Ten? Five? Think how charming they'd look on your patio. Five, thank you, eight? Ten, twelve, fifteen . . . thank you. Sold! And the next . .

  Flora looked on in awe, aware that she was due to go and guard the small stuff on the stage but unable to tear herself away. It went incredibly quickly, lot after lot was knocked down and yet Charles never appeared to hurry. He had his audience enthralled, twitching their cards, eager to buy what he was selling. He seemed even taller than usual and infinitely more charming. She began to get an inkling of why all the porters seemed so fond of him: apart from the business side, he was good at his job.

  But there was no time for Flora to stand and stare at her cousin. At last she stopped watching and hurried through the crowd and the furniture to the stage, where she stood by a table full of tea sets - some beautiful, some mismatched, some frankly bizarre - and apologised to Virginia for being late.

  ‘We've managed fine. Annabelle wanted to tell one of us regulars to go home because of you being here, but Charles wouldn't let her.'

  ‘Virginia! You can't possibly know all that. You're making it up because you hate Annabelle.'

  ‘Nonsense! She was asking me which porter to lay off when Charles overheard. Honestly.’

  Flora grinned. She really liked Virginia but felt she was wasted as an auctioneer's porter and a subversive second soprano. She should have been in espionage.

  When all the lots on the floor had been sold and many of them removed by quietly working porters with trolleys, the attention of the room turned to the stage.

  ‘We've got some quite valuable lots up here today,' said Virginia. 'I expect Annabelle will sell it. I think Charles lets her in the hope that she'll get to like it, or at least get a bit better.’

  Virginia was proved right and Annabelle took over from Charles. She settled herself at the desk, cleared her throat and then took a sip of water. The room waited for her to be ready. Flora could hear Virginia, clutching a huge Staffordshire ornament, tutting at the waste of time.

  Even Flora's very limited experience of auction sales was enough to tell her that Annabelle was not good at it. Her voice was high and shrill and she behaved less like someone encouraging people to buy things and more like an irritable headmistress demanding answers to questions. It was little wonder that few people put their hands up.

  At first Flora felt self-conscious, standing at the front of the stage holding strange items above her head, but that didn't last long and she spent the time, while Annabelle laboriously sent items under the hammer, looking at the crowd.

  There were quite a lot of them. Virginia, next to her, ready to show the lot after Flora's, indicated the people she knew, talking out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘The man in the hat is a dealer. He buys loads of glass and sells lots of it on. We see the same stuff time after time. He puts quite high reserves on sometimes so it often doesn't sell. But he makes a good living so it must be worth it.’

  Flora spotted the private buyers for herself. There were a couple of women who were having a day out together and had obviously had a glass of wine at lunch. They were thoroughly enjoying themselves. The porters enjoyed themselves too, and kept going on sweets and chocolates. Although they urged each other to take proper breaks no one liked to leave the action.

  Charles took over from Annabelle quite soon. Flora had seen him at the desk, dealing with customers, and hoped he'd had time for a sandwich, at least.

  ‘They need another auctioneer,' said Virginia to Flora, who was trying not to drop a very valuable lead crystal decanter that was attracting a lot of interest. 'You should train.'

  ‘Not on your life,' said Flora through her smile.

  Before the sale was over people came up to collect their purchases. One woman took charge of the pink slips that stated the items had been paid for and found the items, while the others carried on ferrying glass, crystal, and silver from the back to the front of the stage.

  With Charles back in charge the lots whistled by and before Flora had seen it coming, the sale was over. The crowd of people wanting to collect their treasures built up. Now the selling was over everyone dealt with customers, helping them pack and finding newspaper for wrapping.

  Flora really liked this part. Now the bidding was over the hardest-bitten dealer could appear pleased with what they'd bought, although they always muttered that they'd paid too much for it.

  The pair of women were now extremely giggly, thinking up extravagant stories for their husbands as to why they felt they needed so much when they'd only come to buy a wedding present for a niece.

  Virginia and the others knew many of the people and laughed and joked with them. Flora, as a new face, received a few curious glances. After a hurried consultation, Virginia introduced her as a new porter. Flora didn't want everyone knowing she was a family member, until it was either impossible to keep secret or politic to announce it.

  She could have gone home; the others encouraged her to do so as it was her first sale. But Flora wasn't going to go until Charles and Annabelle did and she felt fairly certain Charles wouldn't leave until the floor had been swept and every last cup washed. She didn't want him accusing her of slacking.

  ‘Is there anything else for me to do?' she asked Charles when it was only him, Annabelle and Louisa, the secretary, left. It was the first time she'd had an opportunity to speak to him and she wanted to congratulate him on being so good at his job.

  ‘I don't think so.' Charles regarded her with his usual, barely-concealed contempt, all remnants of the charming auctioneer vanished. 'How did you enjoy your first sale? It's not quite like it is on television, is it?’

  Hurt that he should still be so stuffy when she had seen him be so different, she said, 'Oh no. It's much better in real life than it is on television.'

  ‘Oh!’

  She had the satisfaction of knowing she had surprised him.

  ‘It's not so bloody tiring on television,' said Annabelle. 'Or as dirty. I'm filthy. I'm going straight home for a bath, Charles. You don't need me?'

  ‘I just want to let Louisa know what's going on. We're doing a valuation over at a house in Churchfields tomorrow, Lou.'

  ‘Oh, Charles!' Annabelle broke in. 'Do I have to? Can't you do it on your own?'

  ‘I could, but it will take me ages. The tape recorder's broken. I need a note-taker.'

  ‘Take Flora, then.’

  Charles regarded his cousin, obviously debating who was preferable, a reluctant Annabelle or a completely inexperienced Flora. He pursed his lips.

  ‘Rea
lly, darling, I can't.' Annabelle decided to help him in his decision. 'I need to go over to the cottage and take a proper inventory. You don't mind, Flora, do you?’

  Flora did mind, for lots of reasons, principally William. 'But, Annabelle, Imelda and the kittens! You're allergic to cats.'

  ‘Oh, I'd be all right for a bit. As long as I don't touch them or anything.'

  ‘But do you really need an inventory? I'm hardly going to steal the furniture. And you can get Paris goblets at the local supermarket if I break any.'

  ‘Yes,' Annabelle replied, 'but I'd like to list what I've lent you. When you go in a couple of months, I might have forgotten what we'd taken out when we decided not to rent this year.' She smiled. 'It would be awful if I blamed you for losing something that had never been there, wouldn't it?’

  Not quite as awful as Annabelle discovering William in the cottage, Flora thought, but of course couldn't say. 'Do you know what time you'll be there?'

  ‘No, but you'll be out with Charles, anyway. It won't make any difference.'

  ‘Annabelle! I really don't want to take Flora. She's only just got here. She knows nothing.'

  ‘I learnt a lot today, Charles,' said Flora in a way she hoped would both convince him and warn him that he couldn't treat her like an ignorant townie for ever.

  ‘Flora! I don't mean to be insulting—'

  ‘Then don't be.'

  ‘But you are as much use to me as a chocolate teapot. Or the novelty ones that you collect.'

  ‘But they are useful. You can make tea in them. And I can take notes, or do whatever it is you need me to do. You shouldn't believe all those blonde jokes you know. Blondes are no stupider than anyone else.'

  ‘Oh, all right then! You can come with me. But for goodness' sake put some more clothes on!’

  It was only then that Flora remembered she was not wearing a bra.

  ‘You won't be wearing an apron tomorrow,' Charles reminded her.

  Flora slipped away feeling surprisingly chastened. And she'd have to warn William to stay out all day. Poor Imelda would have to survive on fly-blown Kittikins and her litter tray. Life was never simple.