Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  ‘I'm glad Annabelle didn't come. She'd be retching and heaving and having a fit.'

  ‘It is a bit gag-making,' said Flora, who was breathing through her mouth so as not to have to endure the smell. 'Have you really seen much worse than this?’

  Charles shook his head. 'I don't suppose so, although you do get used to some pretty dire situations.' He sighed. 'It was nice of you to buy the biscuits.'

  ‘It was nice of you to tell them to go for a walk.'

  ‘We'll get on much quicker without them.' He shrugged off her compliment as if it were a cobweb.

  ‘Shall we make a start, then?' said Flora, a little hurt, but determined not to show it. She had just started to warm to him, because he'd been so nice to the people, then he went cold on her again. 'Here are your rubber gloves.'

  ‘Right,' said Charles, when he had pulled them on. 'A collection of enamelware. Twenty to fifty pounds. A nineteen-thirties kitchen cupboard, it's in fairly good condition under the grime, possibly fifty to seventy.’

  Flora started writing, hoping she'd be able to read it later.

  *

  Charles took Mr and Mrs Jenkins to the pub for lunch, an expense Flora was quite sure would never be claimed from petty cash.

  ‘We're going to need to go back in there this afternoon,' he explained, 'but I suggest you stay out of the way. When we've done our valuation and you've decided what to keep, I'll contact the removal firm, the house-clearance people and the cleaners.'

  ‘I'm sure we don't want anything from there.' Mr Jenkins put his glass down with a shudder. 'It would never feel clean.'

  ‘There are some quite valuable pieces,' said Charles and Flora remembered removing half a dozen bottles of sour milk so he could inspect a sofa table. She had retched but Charles had carried on with the work.

  ‘It would be wonderful if you could arrange all that,' said Mrs Jenkins. 'My husband's right. I'm sure we don't want anything and I just can't cope with the mess. It's so squalid, I feel ashamed.'

  ‘We all have eccentric relations,' said Charles, casting a quick glance in Flora's direction so she was in no doubt about whom he was referring to. 'They often have eccentric wills, too.'

  ‘We're spared that,' said Mrs Jenkins. 'I'm his only surviving relative. Really, Mr Stanza, you've been very kind. I don't know how we're going to repay you.'

  ‘Well, there's a seller's premium and a small letting fee,' said Charles with another of his charming smiles. 'So I'll be making lots of money out of you.’

  Seeing the way he was with this upset, embarrassed woman made Flora warm to him. He had a stuffy and conventional veneer but not far beneath it was a man who could be very kind and very tactful. He would just never be like that with her.

  *

  They were on the way home, both exhausted and in need of steam cleaning and sterilisation (or at least, that was how Flora felt), when Flora's phone went.

  ‘Is that you, Flora?'

  ‘Annabelle? Do you want Charles? I'll just wait till he's pulled over and pass him the phone.'

  ‘No! It's not him I want, it's you! But not when Charles is there, I want to speak to you alone.’

  She sounded rather odd and Flora's stomach churned. What could be the matter? Had Imelda taken a fit and ruined the cottage? Or worse, and much more likely, had she discovered William? But if so, why would she want to talk to her on her own about it? Surely Annabelle could rant and rave on that subject in Charles's hearing. 'Of course, Annabelle,' said Flora meekly. 'When would be convenient?'

  ‘What does Annabelle want?' asked Charles. 'Hang on, I'll pull over.'

  ‘No, it's me she wants.’

  But it was too late. A handy lay-by had appeared and Charles had swung into it before Flora had finished speaking. He took the phone from her. 'Darling? What is it? Ghastly valuation. I'm so glad you weren't there.’

  Flora harrumphed in her seat. He wouldn't want Annabelle having to deal with sour milk and filth, rat droppings and cockroaches, but for her it was considered good training.

  Charles handed back the phone. 'She wants to discuss the inventory with you. She'll meet you in the Coach and Horses. It opens at six. I'll drop you off and she can take you to the office to pick up the Land-Rover.'

  ‘Hang on! Annabelle?' But Annabelle had disconnected. 'I'm filthy, Charles! Besides, it's choir night.’

  He frowned. 'Is that so important to you? You've only just joined, after all. You can't be making such a huge contribution yet.’

  This hurt, but she ignored it. 'Maybe not, but they welcomed me in. I can't just not turn up.'

  ‘And you can't leave Annabelle at the Coach and Horses. I do think you should make some effort to get on with her, Flora.'

  ‘But I'm filthy! I probably stink! Wouldn't Annabelle understand if I told her I needed to go home and change?'

  ‘I'm sure she'd understand but I'm not sure she'd appreciate it. Give her a call and say you can't be long. Shall I find the number for you?' He made to take her phone from her.

  ‘No, it's OK,' she snapped, 'I've got it. Annabelle? I won't be able to stay long because I'm really grubby and must check on my cat. It's choir tonight or I'd do that all first and meet you later.'

  ‘In my experience you always get dirty doing valuations,' Annabelle said loftily. 'It's one of the reasons I hate doing them. OK. We'll sit in the snug. There won't be anyone we know in there.’

  If Flora hadn't been suffering from a guilty conscience about allowing William to stay, she would never have agreed to meet Annabelle.

  ‘It looks like it's my turn to cook tonight again,' said Charles a few moments later, making what would qualify for anyone else as polite conversation.

  ‘Oh.' In spite of herself, Flora was surprised. 'Do you cook often?'

  ‘Oh yes. Annabelle always cooks if we entertain, but the humdrum stuff gets left for me, mostly.’

  Flora felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. He'd had a very long day. He probably didn't want to start cooking the moment he got home. 'If I were you, I'd get a takeaway, or go out.’

  Charles sighed. 'I probably will. I've got a lot of phoning to do when I get in and I won't have time to do much in the way of cooking.'

  ‘You went the extra mile for those people today, didn't you? You could have just given them the names of the house-clearance people, and the removal firm. You didn't have to say you'd arrange it all.’

  He shrugged. 'I felt sorry for them, that's all.' He brightened up. 'Although there's quite a valuable estate underneath the squalor.’

  *

  Flora did the best she could in the pub's Ladies', but apart from getting the streaks of dust off her face, there wasn't much she could do. Already her standards had slipped, she thought, turning up at a pub wearing clothes she'd been doing a mucky job in all day.

  Annabelle had already ordered two glasses of mineral water and was looking quite untidy too. She was fiddling with her hairband, trying to put it back in, but not doing very well, for some reason.

  ‘Here,' said Flora, taking it from her. 'Let me help.' She put the Alice band on the table. 'Much better.'

  ‘Oh, but . . .' began Annabelle, and then said, 'Perhaps you're right.'

  ‘What did you want to see me about?' asked Flora.

  Annabelle sat forward in her seat. 'Well, when I was at the cottage, taking the inventory, I saw a man.'

  ‘Oh no,' said Flora nervously, unable to decide if she should admit to knowing William or not.

  ‘He was in the garden, doing some sort of exercises. He was stark naked.'

  ‘Oh my God!' Flora was genuinely shocked this time. 'Did you call the police?' Really, William was the giddy limit! He had the whole damn forest to prance about naked in, why did he choose to do it in her garden?

  ‘No!' said Annabelle, leaning closer. 'He looked - I mean, he didn't look like a criminal, or anything. He wasn't doing any harm. It was just very odd.'

  ‘Oh,' said Flora again, surprised. She hadn't expected Annabelle to di
scriminate - any naked man in the garden was trespassing, surely?

  ‘Flora' - Annabelle gave her a hard look - 'do you know him?’

  Flora took a long sip of her mineral water, wishing for a minute that it was something stronger, like a magic potion that would spirit her away. 'I may do,' she said cautiously. 'Of course, I don't know for sure.'

  ‘Flora! How could you?' Annabelle looked furious. 'I lend you my cottage, and within a week you've got strange men moving in!’

  Flora flushed angrily. 'Well, that's not exactly—'

  ‘I'm honestly shocked, Flora, I really am.' Annabelle was clearly determined not to let her get a word in. 'And I can't imagine what Charles will say!'

  ‘Oh, for God's sake, Annabelle. Stop over-reacting,' Flora snapped, and then took a breath to regain her temper. She couldn't quite imagine what Charles would say either -and didn't particularly fancy finding out. 'I think,' she said in a calmer tone of voice, 'that he may be . . . er .. . a friend of a friend,' she improvised. 'Perfectly harmless,' she added in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

  ‘Well, I don't know, Flora.' Annabelle didn't look reassured. 'Will he be back?'

  ‘It's possible,' Flora admitted. 'But I'm not at all sure Charles needs to be bothered with something like this. I know he's terribly busy, and . . .' Her voice trailed away as Annabelle gave her a long stare which made it perfectly clear that she knew full well that Flora wasn't thinking about Charles's best interests.

  ‘OK then,' Annabelle said after a moment's thought. 'But if you're going to have a strange naked man hanging around my cottage I need to meet him. I'll have to check him out.’

  Flora frowned. 'Check him out how, exactly?’

  Registering Flora's confusion, Annabelle erupted into a peal of nervous laughter. 'Oh, don't be ridiculous! I don't want to check him out like that! Just check he's not a burglar.’

  Flora was very tired. She wanted to go home, see her cat, have a proper drink and something to eat before she had to rush out for choir. 'I'll see what I can do, Annabelle, as long as you promise never to wear that Alice band again.'

  ‘Don't you think it suits me?'

  ‘I think it makes you look like a horse.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘You don't really think I look like a horse, do you?’

  Annabelle's expression of horror filled Flora with compassion and guilt. She shouldn't have been so outspoken, and if Annabelle hadn't been so annoying about William, she wouldn't have let her mouth get away with her like that. But the truth was out now and nothing Flora could do could put it back in again whole. She'd just have to backtrack as best she could.

  ‘Well . . . not really. No, of course not, Annabelle, I'm just awfully tired. I spoke without thinking.'

  ‘Oh.' Annabelle still sounded despondent; it was strangely pathetic.

  ‘And I was a bit - surprised - by you telling me there was a man in my garden,' she added.

  ‘A naked man,' said Annabelle.

  ‘That's it. A naked man. Very shocking. I'll do my best to—'

  ‘Although he was rather beautiful, in an aesthetic way.'

  ‘Was he?' Flora squeaked. She would not have put Annabelle down as someone who saw men's bodies as aesthetic.

  ‘Mm. The thing is, what am I going to say to Charles about him?'

  ‘Well, I definitely wouldn't mention you thought he was beautiful,' said Flora, knowing this was not the right answer.

  ‘You know what I mean, Flora. Charles is already very unhappy about you being here. If I tell him I saw a naked man in your garden, he'll pack you off to London before you have time to put on your lip-gloss.’

  Flora took a deep breath, then a sip of mineral water. She needed time to think. 'Charles could hardly blame me if - the man - is nothing to do with me. Just a friend of a friend.'

  ‘Charles could blame you if there was a cyclone and the crops were ruined.’

  This was the plain truth, there was no denying it. 'Unless you didn't tell him,' suggested Flora, not at all happy to find herself at Annabelle's mercy.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Flora frowned. 'But why wouldn't you tell him? You don't want me here either, do you?’

  Annabelle flapped a hand. 'Look, shall we get proper drinks?'

  ‘I shouldn't.' Flora got to her feet. If she really hurried, she should have time to get back home to feed Imelda and throw another layer of clothes on top of her dirt. 'It's choir night.'

  ‘Sit down, Flora.’

  Flora sat.

  ‘I won't say anything to Charles because relations are already bad enough between you, but you must arrange for me to meet this man so I can check him out. If he's a bad lot, I'll have to report him to the police.'

  ‘But supposing when I get back I find out he's not this friend's friend. Suppose he's nothing to do with me?’

  Annabelle looked her firmly in the eye. 'I think what would be a good idea would be for you to arrange a little dinner party, so Charles and I can meet this man under civilised circumstances.' She paused, to make sure Flora knew that any stories she might come up with of finding no trace of anyone when she got home would not wash with her, then she said, 'I'm going to get us both a glass of wine now.’

  She certainly went in for straight talking, thought Flora, while she waited. You had to hand it to her.

  When Annabelle came back with the wine and sat down again she said, 'Now, there's something else I'd like your help with.’

  Although her words were her usual 'order-poorly disguised-as-a-request' type, there was something a bit more tentative in her manner than usual. Flora sipped her wine.

  Annabelle sipped hers, too. 'I wouldn't usually ask you about anything as you're obviously much younger and completely . . . I mean, well . . . Anyway, you are quite pretty.'

  ‘Yes?' Flora wasn't going to waste time arguing about her looks.

  ‘I've been invited to a school reunion.'

  ‘Oh.'

  ‘And' - Annabelle looked momentarily embarrassed - 'and I really want to look my best. I wonder if you could give me some tips on how to improve my appearance?’

  Flora translated this as: 'You're a complete nit-wit but men seem to fancy you - tell me your secrets.' She sighed. She was often dismissed as being pretty and blonde asif these two things combined precluded any ability in any sphere except shopping.

  ‘Well . .

  ‘I was just wondering if it's a bad thing that I always go shopping with Mummy?’

  Flora thought how best to phrase her reply. 'I don't think it's a bad idea in principle. I quite often go shopping with my mother when we're in the same country, but the difference may be that she always takes my fashion advice, not the other way around.’

  Annabelle sighed. 'I've never much cared about fashion. I just want to look tidy and reasonably smart. But . .

  There was a horrible pause while Flora waited for what she knew would follow.

  ‘I think men may like women to be pretty, don't you?'

  ‘There won't be any men at your school reunion, will there?' If Annabelle had gone anywhere that wasn't a clone of Benenden or Roedean, Flora would eat her filthy dress.

  ‘Well, no, but women are more critical, don't you think?'

  ‘Well, yes, but Charles obviously likes you the way you are. You don't need to change anything for him.'

  ‘I know that!' Reassuringly, Annabelle reverted to type. 'I just don't want to turn up at the school reunion looking . . . like a horse.’

  Flora resigned herself to missing choir. She would go and ring Geoffrey in a minute. 'I only said that—'

  ‘I know, but many a true word spoken in jest, or something. I have become aware, since you've been here, that perhaps I dress a little . . .' She paused again.

  Flora waited, not daring to fill the word in for her. 'In a rather old-fashioned way and if you could see your way to helping me, I would be very grateful.'

  ‘Of course, I'd be happy to help.' Particularly, Flora added to hersel
f, if that stops you telling Charles about my houseguest.

  ‘Would you?’

  Mischievously, Flora was suddenly struck by a vision of Charles's face, confronted with an Annabelle decked out in strappy dress and kitten heels. 'But you don't think Charles would mind if you looked completely different?'

  ‘Well, I won't look completely different and even if I did, our relationship is very solid, you know. It's not likely to be affected by mere clothes.’

  That was clothes put in their place! 'Oh?'

  ‘Our relationship is based on all we have in common: companionship, a business we share. Well, nearly share,' Annabelle added.

  ‘What about love?' asked Flora rashly. Possibly love was too frivolous an emotion for the likes of Charles and Annabelle.

  ‘Of course I love Charles,' said Annabelle. 'And I know he loves me, very much.' She paused for a moment. 'Look, Flora. I know you think Charles is stuffy and old-fashioned, and I know you think I'm far too uptight.’

  Flora started to protest, but Annabelle was on a roll.

  ‘I can see it in your eyes every time we talk, and it's fine. Really. I can't imagine being you, and you can't imagine being me. You can't appreciate what Charles sees in me or what I see in him. But I have to tell you, Charles and I are completely committed to each other. We've been friends for ever - I can't remember a time I didn't plan to marry him - and knowing that we're going to be together for the rest of our lives makes us both very happy.’

  Flora didn't think they looked very happy, but Annabelle's little speech was the most passionate thing Flora had ever heard come out of her mouth. She felt rather guilty over her musings about whether their engagement was almost a business arrangement.

  ‘And so I don't think a few new clothes and a haircut are going to change any of that, do you? Charles has been in love with me his whole life.’

  Flora finished her wine. She hadn't the heart to go to choir now, even if she would just make it if she ran.

  ‘So shall we make a date to go shopping sometime, then?' went on Annabelle, unaware of Flora's low spirits.