Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  ‘It's not that she'd worry about selling the house. In fact, I think she's had some idea of doing that, too. It's what we did with the money that would worry her. And Flora, she's been involved for a while. She does have a right to her opinions.'

  ‘Oh.' Crossly, Flora poured boiling water on to the coffee. 'I could do with a coffee grinder if I'm going to have a dinner party. Or a cafetière, or something.'

  ‘I'll see what I can do. I'm sure Annabelle's got a spare one.’

  Neither of them were really thinking about coffee or how to make it. 'Shall we use the table and chairs and take it out into the garden?' suggested Flora.

  ‘I really mustn't be long. Annabelle will be expecting me.'

  ‘We'll stay in the kitchen then.' Flora sat down and picked up her cup. It must be hard for Annabelle, being engaged to a man whose life was so taken up with a business she was part of but didn't enjoy.

  ‘That house has been in the family a very long time,' said Charles.

  ‘I know,' Flora replied, although she hadn't known, really, but only guessed.

  ‘But we can't afford to be sentimental, I suppose. Annabelle is .'Is what?'

  ‘Unwilling to put capital into the business—'

  ‘She was willing enough when she wanted to buy shares from me.' Flora felt a rush of indignation. 'That was different.'

  ‘Why?'

  ‘Because Annabelle would get something tangible for her money. She's helped a bit in the past but just putting money into the business generally wouldn't be the same at all.’

  Flora sighed and sipped her coffee, which wasn't very nice. It wasn't that she wanted Annabelle investing in her family business - she might have to become a director or something. But if Annabelle could invest enough to make Stanza and Stanza profitable without selling the house, she should be encouraged to do so.

  ‘Why don't you tell her about the Antiques Roadshow idea? If she could see that having a bit more capital, to advertise further a field, would make better stuff come in, it would be more interesting for her.'

  ‘But if we sold the house or raised money from it, we could buy up a couple of auction houses owned by people who want to retire. Someone asked me only the other day if I'd be interested in buying them out. I had to refuse, but it would be a good way of getting more business.'

  ‘Talk to Annabelle about it. And while you're on the subject, let's get a proper website. It's ridiculous not having one in the twenty-first century. And don't forget the proper ad in the Yellow Pages.’

  Charles looked exhaustedly at Flora. 'We'll have a meeting soon. You, me and Annabelle.'

  ‘Fine.' It wasn't fine, really. Annabelle wasn't a partner and had no real right to be there. But if Charles wanted his fiancée present, she could hardly complain.

  ‘Changing the subject . .

  ‘Yes? This coffee's disgusting, isn't it?'

  ‘Yes, but I wasn't going to say that. I was going to ask if I could bring an old friend to your dinner party.’

  ‘A male or a female friend?'

  ‘Male. It wasn't my idea, I have to say.’

  ‘Annabelle's?'

  ‘Yes. She thought it would be nice for you to have someone to show you about the place.'

  ‘It's a kind thought. And of course he can come, but I do have Henry.’

  Charles stiffened. 'Oh yes. So you do. But Jeremy would be far better than Henry.'

  ‘Really?' She was longing to tell her mother about this. Her mother knew that this sort of statement was destined to send Flora catapulting away from Jeremy into Henry's arms.

  ‘Yes. He's a good, steady chap.' He frowned, as if he wanted to say something else, but then thought better of it.

  ‘Yes?'

  ‘Nothing.' He got to his feet. 'I should be getting along. Annabelle will be waiting.’

  Flora smiled. 'Thank you for bringing the gardening tools.'

  ‘That's all right. Have a pleasant Sunday, Flora.' Later, she rang Emma and told her with satisfaction that things were going much better with Charles.

  *

  Monday morning found Flora awake early and full of energy, if a little stiff after her gardening. William had not appeared the night before so she had had a bath and gone to bed early with her book.

  ‘I must have early nights more often,' she told Imelda, as she gave her a last cuddle before leaving for work. 'I feel great!’

  It was only when she reached town and realised there was very little traffic about, that she looked at her watch. 'It's only seven o'clock!' she squeaked to herself, horrified. 'I must have got up at about half past five! I'm such a dilly - how could I not have realised? Still' - she swooped the Land-Rover round in a generous curve -'it gives me the whole yard to park in!' Thank God she had a key and didn't have to sit on the doorstep waiting for someone to let her in.

  By the time she had got into the building, unset the alarm, and put the kettle on, she decided it was time to stop talking to herself and do some work. There was no point in turning up hours early if there wasn't anything dramatic to show for it.

  Sipping her tea, she went back to the files she was sorting out, but after she'd consigned several years' worth of garage bills to a file, she decided it was too lovely a day to spend among ancient dust. She went into the main office and looked around.

  The first day she had arrived she'd thought the place looked dingy. And while there was no spare money for major refurbishment, surely a little decorating was not out of the question? There was a piece of peeling paper on the ceiling that had been driving her mad since she got here.

  Determined to be safety conscious, she carefully cleared the computer off one of the desks and put a chair on it, so she could easily reach the paper. She was glad she'd put on a pair of loose linen trousers today. She couldn't have done this if she'd been wearing a little strappy dress and frivolous shoes.

  The first piece came away beautifully and Flora started to think about colours. A subtle yellow, to bring sunshine into the room? A pale straw, stylish and light? Or a fresh green? She dug her fingernail under the next strip and found that too was easy to remove.

  She was making good progress and tugging away merrily when suddenly there was a crash followed by what felt like a minor landslip. Dust, plaster, paper and quite large chunks of stone showered down. It felt as if someone had emptied a rather lumpy bag of flour over Flora's head. Coughing, she stood still until everything stopped. 'Oh my God,' she said aloud. 'The paper must have been holding everything else up.' She looked around her as the dust slowly settled, and took in the chaos. What on earth had she done? A large chunk of ceiling had come down and a substantial part of the wall was bare. And a thickish layer of dust covered everything - including the computers. Oh no, the computers! Please let them be OK.

  She glanced at her watch. Half past eight. Her heart sank. Charles could appear any time from now. She had to do something. She felt a rising panic, and tried to swallow it.

  First, she clambered down and ran to get a dustpan and brush, then she swept up as much as she could easily. The place had to stop looking like there had been an earthquake before anyone else arrived. She dumped the debris in the bin, then she regarded the paper, hanging from the ceiling in a way that no one could possibly avoid seeing - or indeed bumping into. However much she swept and dusted, that paper would betray her. What a disaster.

  Drawing pins? Could she pin it up out of the way? No, they would never hold in all the crumbling plaster. Then she remembered seeing a tub of Copydex in a drawer. That would be perfect! She could stick the paper back up, stuff what she'd already pulled down in the bin, and then wipe and polish away all traces of her abortive attempts at decorating. Fingers crossed Charles wasn't in too early.

  She was just standing on the chair, teetering a little as she reached up, holding the glue in one hand, the brush in the other when the door behind her opened.

  ‘What the blazes are you doing?' Charles demanded loudly, making Flora jump and dislodge the chair.
>
  He caught her before she fell but before she could thank him he took a deep breath and started. 'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? You could have broken something if you'd fallen!' Thinking he was concerned for her, she was about to reassure him, but he thundered on. 'The place is covered in rubble! Is that you thinking you'd move on from Bargain Hunt and play at Changing Rooms or something?'

  ‘Charles! Calm down! I—'

  ‘For God's sake, Flora. Those computers aren't paid for yet! If anything happens to them, we're stuck, we can't buy new ones.'

  ‘I was just trying to help!'

  ‘Trying to help? Trying to sabotage the whole caboodle more like! Honestly, Flora, I've had enough. The sooner you go back to London and leave us to get on with our work, the better!’

  As she'd slithered through Charles's arms on to the floor, Flora had felt guilty. She had been foolish, she could have damaged the computers with falling dust and detritus and she had been quite willing to apologise. But not now.

  ‘Leave you to rot in your own failure more like! There are breweries round here that haven't had piss-ups for years because you couldn't organise them! This business is going from bad to worse because you have less business sense than my cat!'

  ‘Less business sense than your cat! Grow up, Flora. You're being infantile. You—'

  ‘Infantile!' Now Flora was really furious. 'How dare you? From the moment I walked in here, you've behaved appallingly. You took one look at me and decided I was just young and silly and pointless.'

  ‘Well, if the cap fits—'

  ‘And you were determined not to listen to a word I said. You're so stuck in your ways that you can't even imagine that a fresh pair of eyes can see something you can't. Yes, I'm younger than you, but I'm not a child! And I do have something to contribute.'

  ‘Don't be ridiculous. You're playing at country life and country living. You're just a spoilt little princess used to getting her own way and as soon as you get bored you'll run off back to London.’

  Spoilt little princess? Flora couldn't believe it. 'What on earth makes you think you know me so well? You know nothing about me – because you and your bloody fiancée can't think further than getting rid of me. But you're destroying Stanza and Stanza in the process!'

  ‘You have absolutely no right to say that!'

  ‘Oh yes I have, because in case you've forgotten, I'm the senior partner here!’

  A look of shock passed across Charles's face and Flora herself felt rather shocked that she'd been so blunt. She hadn't meant to say that. 'You're nothing of the kind!' he shouted. 'You just happen to own more than me owing to the blundering of a poor old man who must have been suffering from senile dementia when he left anything to you, let alone half a business!'

  ‘He had not got senile dementia, he was perfectly lucid and perhaps he left it to me because he knew what a crap job you were making of it!'

  ‘I doubt that! I expect he was just seduced by your big brown eyes and pretty ways. He was just manipulated by you, same as every other sucker you get your claws into!'

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?'

  ‘You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Don't try and play the innocent with me, because unlike most of the people round here, I'm not fooled!'

  ‘And nor am I! Just because you're your father's son, the women round here seem to think you're God Almighty. Well, not me! I know what a hopeless businessman you are.’

  They confronted each other, both breathing hard. Flora felt a little dizzy, possibly because she'd used up so much breath shouting at Charles. Charles was flushed; his usually ordered hair was falling over his forehead.

  ‘I may not be Richard Branson but at least I never pulled the building down about our ears! Now could you try and get this lot cleared up before Annabelle gets here.' And he stormed past her out of the door.

  Flora shook her head to clear it. Anger lent her wings and very quickly she got the office looking more or less as it had been. She turned on both computers and, much to her relief, they both worked. But once the adrenaline faded, she felt exhausted and horribly near tears. She went into the Ladies', to wash, and then slipped out to the shop to buy a bar of chocolate. There was something in chocolate that made it good for you, she told herself.

  She met Charles in the passage. He looked down at her, as frosty and far away as Everest. 'I apologise if I said anything inappropriate,' he said formally.

  If? 'I accept your apology, if that is what it is,' she replied, thinking that 'I apologise' is what you say if you're not remotely sorry. 'I probably said things I shouldn't have, too.’

  He nodded, and then stalked out of the back entrance to the car. Flora suddenly longed to go home to bed.

  Chapter Ten

  Flora spent most of the rest of the day in a mild state of shock, with her files, where she could do no damage. She left promptly, while Charles was out, and said goodbye to people briefly. She was fairly sure she'd hidden the fact that anything was wrong, but when she got home, she saw that there was still quite a lot of plaster in her hair. 'This job can turn you white overnight,' she said to her reflection, in an attempt to cheer herself up. It didn't work, she still felt rotten.

  The following day she crept in, but was pleased to see Louisa, who didn't work on Mondays. At least she could be normal with her.

  ‘Hi, Louisa. Nice weekend?'

  ‘Lovely, thanks. My husband takes my children swimming and to the library on Saturday mornings so I got a lot done in the garden. You were in on Saturday?'

  ‘Only in the morning. I went out for lunch with a friend in the afternoon.'

  ‘Well, you did a very good job on that valuation. Are you a typist, then? No one told me.’

  Flora checked to see if anyone else was in earshot. 'Well, I can type. It's useful, but I wouldn't want to do it for a living. I temp from time to time if I can't get anything more interesting to do.'

  ‘So what did you do, actually?' Louisa settled herself at her desk. 'Before you came here, I mean.’

  Flora shrugged. 'Nothing specific. I just had jobs, really, not a career. The longest I've ever stayed in a job was two years in an art gallery. This is the only thing so far that I've really enjoyed. It's hard work but it's so varied. You're doing a valuation one day, being a porter the next, and typing up stuff the day after.’

  Louisa smiled enthusiastically at her. 'You can help me type the next catalogue. They were supposed to be getting me an assistant but nothing ever happened.’

  Flora bit her lip guiltily. 'Oh, I think I'm supposed to be doing that. When I first came, Charles didn't want me to be here at all, so I applied for the job as assistant so he couldn't send me back to London. And I haven't really assisted you at all.'

  ‘Well, be around for the next catalogue and I'll forgive you. And you did do the valuation.' Louisa got up out of her seat and peered out of the window. 'Here's Annabelle. Goodness, she's looking very . . . different.’

  Flora rushed to see what Annabelle was wearing. It was the long, slim-line fuchsia skirt and the black V-neck top. Her hair was held back by a black velvet band, which was against the rules, but on the whole she didn't look at all bad. 'We went shopping the other day,' said Flora. 'I was doing a Trinny and Susannah on her.'

  ‘My God! That was brave! Did she kick up a lot of fuss? And why on earth did she agree to let you?' Annabelle disappeared through the front door at that moment and they knew she would be with them in seconds. 'Oh, here she is.'

  ‘Annabelle, what is that thing on your head?' asked Flora, on the attack.

  ‘My hair kept flopping all over the place, it distracted me.'

  ‘What's wrong with her hair?' asked Charles, who came into the room a few steps behind, looking daggers at Flora. He obviously hadn't forgiven her.

  ‘It's lovely hair,' said Flora, realising that she was not going to win this one. 'It's just that Alice bands aren't usually a good idea for anyone older than Alice in Wonderland was.'

/>   ‘I'm sorry, Flora,' said Annabelle briskly 'I've got to be able to see.’

  Flora sighed, 'OK. It does look quite sweet, I suppose,' reluctantly relinquishing her position as the style Nazi. 'Charles says you want a meeting?’

  What else had Charles said, she wondered? And how much of it would have been repeatable? 'Well, I have got some ideas I'd like to discuss.' Although she'd much rather discuss them when Charles was actually speaking to her.

  ‘Oh God,' said Annabelle with an exasperated sigh. 'Your ideas are so expensive. I spent a fortune the other day.’

  Flora gave a tense little smile. Annabelle had asked Flora to help her with her clothes, and she herself had donated two very expensive pairs of knickers to the cause. 'You have to speculate in order to accumulate,' she said, more breezily than she felt. 'So, when can we have our talk?’

  Charles glanced at his watch. 'I have to go over to a farm a bit later. If we're quick, we can do it now.' The heat in his expression made it very clear to Flora that if she said anything he didn't agree with, he'd be down on her more heavily than the office ceiling had been.

  Annabelle smoothed down her new top, revealing a well-defined waist. 'I wish you wouldn't do those farm sales! They're so dreary! All that plastic binder twine and fertiliser sacks, and there's never anything remotely valuable in the house.'

  ‘Annabelle, you're going to love my idea.' Flora took hold of Annabelle's arm, prepared to bully her even more thoroughly than she'd bullied her before. If Charles was more set against her than ever, Annabelle was her last hope.

  ‘Let's talk about it in the boardroom,' said Charles, sounding impatient, and led the way to the room where Flora had been interviewed what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  ‘I thought,' said Flora, anxious to cut to the chase and wondering if Charles would let on that she'd told him her plans already, 'that if we had our own antiques road-shows, got people to bring in their forgotten treasures for a valuation, they might be willing to sell them sometimes. It would get a better class of item to the auctions.'

  ‘Flora, that's such a romantic idea!' For 'romantic' Annabelle really meant 'ridiculous'. 'What you'd really get is hundreds of people with car-boot finds and Barbie dolls without their boxes, wondering if they're collectors' items yet.’