Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  Flora had watched enough afternoon television shows to know this was true. 'Well, yes, there would be a bit of that, of course, but it would raise our profile.'

  ‘But if we got any amount of people, they'd be queuing for hours,' went on Annabelle. 'Charles is the only one who can do valuations. I'm not qualified.' She managed to say this with the air of someone who declares they don't smoke, or drink, or anything else dubious but fun.

  ‘On the other hand,' said Charles, carefully addressing Annabelle rather than Flora, 'I suppose I could ask Bob Butler - he's been an auctioneer for years - if he'd help.'

  ‘Why would he do that?' demanded Annabelle. 'He hasn't retired yet has he? Although he's about a hundred. We're in direct competition.’

  Charles hesitated before answering. 'There's something else we need to talk about, darling. Flora and I had a discussion.’

  If he was calling it that, he couldn't be referring to their row, thought Flora with some relief.

  ‘As I said, if Flora's involved it'll be expensive,' repeated Annabelle, as if to make quite sure Charles saw her as an extravagant dilettante who was bound to cost the firm money.

  ‘Or, a much cheaper idea, we could ask Geoffrey to help with the valuations,' suggested Flora, biting her lip.

  ‘But he's just a porter!' protested Annabelle.

  ‘Not "just a porter",' Flora contradicted her. 'He used to be a dealer and is extremely knowledgeable.’

  Charles pursed his lips, clearly reluctant to agree with anything Flora said. 'If we used Geoffrey, we could get going on the roadshows right away,' he conceded reluctantly.

  ‘Well, if you insist on employing him full time, he might as well do something for his money,' said Annabelle. 'So you think the roadshows are a good idea?' If she hadn't still been reeling from her row with Charles she might have clapped her hands with glee.

  ‘How would they work, exactly?' asked Annabelle, oozing scepticism.

  ‘Well,' said Flora, 'we'd rent a room somewhere, if we weren't in Bishopsbridge, advertise, and people would flock to us with their valuables, which we would then sell.'

  ‘I think "flock" might be putting it a bit strongly, Flora,' said Charles.

  ‘Oh. Well, yes. I suppose it's the television that brings all those people.' She fell silent, but the word 'television' had lodged itself in her brain. No idea concerning it had come to her immediately, but she was prepared to be patient.

  ‘It's not a bad idea, I suppose,' said Annabelle.

  ‘Flora also wanted to discuss rethinking the buildings,' said Charles, apparently leaping in to prevent Annabelle thinking any good of Flora.

  ‘What do you mean?' Annabelle suddenly sat up very straight.

  ‘Flora thinks we should sell the house and use the money to put some capital into the business.’

  Annabelle was silent for a few moments. 'Of course, I can see that having this whole house for just the office does seem a bit wasteful, but there is Charles's flat at the top.'

  ‘Or we could divide it up into flats and he could keep it. Anyway, why does he need a flat? You live together.'

  ‘That's Annabelle's house,' said Charles firmly. 'I like to have somewhere that's mine.'

  ‘If we did that,' said Annabelle, who hadn't noticed Charles's statement, 'we could buy another house and do the same thing. Bishopsbridge is such an up and coming town - practically commuting distance from London, the music festival—'

  ‘I thought we should invest the money in the business, the auction business,' snapped Flora.

  Annabelle took a sharp breath. 'Which would just be throwing good money after bad. It's about time you faced that. There's no money in auctioneering.'

  ‘There isn't a lot of money, I admit,' said Charles, forced to come over to Flora's side. 'But we employ a lot of people and the hall is used by all of the local community, in one way or another.'

  ‘Oh, wake up and smell the coffee, Charles! You can't really keep a failing business going just because a few old-age pensioners and children use the hall! That building would be worth an absolute fortune if it was divided up and sold off ! It would raise even more money than this house would.’

  Flora opened her mouth to wonder how many flats in large houses a town like Bishopsbridge really needed, but closed it again. This was between Charles and Annabelle.

  ‘Stanza and Stanza is a very old, established business, and while I'm prepared to consider selling this house, or dividing it into flats to raise capital, I am not even going to think about selling the hall and converting that to flats.'

  ‘Well, I think you're mad. You're letting sentiment rule you,' said Annabelle.

  ‘I'm sorry you think that, but I'm not budging on this one.’

  The two confronted each other. Flora felt she should have left the room a few minutes before, but was far too interested to do anything of the kind. Now she let them stare at each other for a few moments before clearing her throat.

  ‘Well,' she said. 'We could have the first roadshow without having to sell anything. An ad in the paper isn't going to break the bank, is it?'

  ‘I suppose not,' said Annabelle.

  ‘And nor would getting a website,' Flora added, while the going was good.

  Annabelle turned to Flora. 'Haven't you got any money you could invest in the business? After all, it's half yours.'

  ‘I'm afraid not.' She didn't think now was the time to remind Annabelle that she owned slightly more than half.

  ‘What about your father, couldn't you ask him for some?’

  Flora was outraged. 'No, I could not! I've just become an heiress, for goodness' sake! I'm not going to ask Dad if he could put money into a business which should jolly well be able to afford to pay to market itself!'

  ‘Oh,' said Annabelle. 'I know for a fact that if I asked my father for a bit of capital he'd be only too keen to let me have it.'

  ‘Well, I'm thrilled for you, Annabelle,' said Flora, still furious. 'But I'm still not going to ask him.’

  `So we'll go ahead with the roadshow idea,' said Charles, attempting to smooth things over. 'Flora, you write the advertisement and I'll speak to Geoffrey about helping with the valuations.'

  ‘And Bob Butler?' asked Flora. 'In case he was willing to help, too?'

  ‘I hardly think that will be necessary, Flora,' said Annabelle nastily. 'It'll only be two damaged Staffordshire figurines and a fake Steiff bear.’

  Flora pulled back her lips in a fake grin. She would get people there in their hundreds, if she had to sell her body to do it!

  ‘Well,' said Charles tensely, looking at his watch. 'I must go.’

  When the two women were left alone, Annabelle said, 'I'm really looking forward to your dinner party. Have you got a date yet?’

  Flora couldn't believe the way Annabelle changed track so fast. 'I need to check when Emma can come down,' she said cautiously.

  ‘And have you found out anything else about that man? Why he was in your garden?'

  ‘Actually, I have! Well, I was right - he's a friend of Emma's from university. She told him where I was and he came to look me up, only of course I wasn't in.'

  ‘But he didn't leave a note or anything. I checked.'

  ‘No. Emma explained he couldn't find anything to write with, or something.' Flora regarded Annabelle firmly. 'It wasn't as if he was in the house, or anything.'

  ‘No,' Annabelle admitted. 'Have you seen him again?'

  ‘He's gone away, but he should be back for the dinner party.'

  ‘Oh good.'

  ‘But I must get a dining table before then.'

  ‘I'll see to it,' said Annabelle. 'And did Charles ask if he could invite Jeremy?'

  ‘Yes, but I'm not sure—'

  ‘Good.' She smiled, suddenly refreshingly girlish. 'I must think what to wear for it.'

  ‘What? The reunion?’

  Annabelle's forehead wrinkled a little. 'Oh yes! I must think what to wear for that. But the dinner party comes first.’


  Flora nodded vaguely. Either she or Annabelle seemed to be losing the plot a bit, and she had a horrid suspicion it was her.

  *

  The next fortnight flew by. The kittens seemed to grow daily and would be killing their own prey and dragging it back to the lair any day now. And Flora'd been for drinks with Henry twice after work. The more she saw of him the more she liked him, although in spite of his obvious attractions - and he was a very attractive man - Flora wasn't convinced there was sufficient spark between them for it ever to be much more than a bit of fun. And she was pretty sure he felt the same. He was always wildly flirtatious and certainly quite persistent, flatteringly persistent in fact, but she thought it more than likely that he was like that with a lot of women, which was a relief, in a way. But she'd played it safe by always keeping things low-key: she'd refused all his dinner invitations, sticking to casual drinks and suppers in the pub where she could pay for herself and it didn't feel too much like a date. The last thing she needed was him misreading her signals. Plus, if she was really honest with herself, the degree to which her appearing to date Henry annoyed Charles was part of the pleasure of seeing him.

  Charles, unfortunately, had still not forgiven Flora. The little glimpses of a nicer, more human Charles she'd seen at the auction and at the valuation had completely disappeared. Or they disappeared the moment Flora walked into the room, anyway. He only spoke to her when absolutely forced to either by extreme necessity or politeness - he was always icily, meticulously polite - and so Flora, inexperienced as she was, was reduced to trying to organise the roadshow pretty much single-handed. If they'd actually been on speaking terms she might have been able to persuade herself that his leaving her to it was a gesture of faith, but as things were it was quite clear that he wanted her - expected her - to fail. Worst of all, Flora was feeling horribly guilty about everything she'd said in their row. How could she have thrown the fact of her owning more shares at him? It was a terrible, childish thing to have said and Flora felt desperately ashamed of herself.

  And now the dinner party loomed. The date was set, although Emma was still not definitely coming.

  Flora was writing Emma another begging email from the office computer when Annabelle who, self-involved as she was, had remained blissfully unaware of the tension between her fiancé and his cousin, came into the room.

  ‘You type awfully fast! No one told me you could do that.'

  ‘No I don't! I'm not typing! I'm just exercising my fingers. It's good for the nails.' Flora checked her nails to see if in fact they'd survived her flurry on the keyboard.

  ‘Oh, Flora! You're so vain!' said Annabelle, pleasingly gullible. 'I just came to remind you to write the advert for the paper about the roadshow. They have to have it in by today, or it won't make this week's paper. Charles and I decided that Wednesday the week after next would be good. Almost two weeks' notice should be enough, don't you think? Do you think we'll need the big hall? Or just the small one at the back, where the playgroup is? If so, we need to tell them.'

  ‘Don't they meet on Wednesdays then?'

  ‘Oh yes, every day, unless there's a sale on. This would count as a sale. It's in their lease that they can't use that room if we need it.’

  Flora thought of all the mothers and children who would be inconvenienced if they couldn't go to playgroup and said, more grandly than she felt, 'Oh, we'll definitely need the big hall. No one uses that on a Wednesday, do they?'

  ‘Not during the day, no. But that shouldn't make any difference. We own the hall. We should use the space we need.'

  ‘You seem quite keen on the idea, anyway,' said Flora, pleased that her idea had proved popular even if it was unacknowledged as hers.

  ‘Quite keen' wasn't part of Annabelle's vocabulary when connected to the auction house but she shrugged. 'Well, you never know. Doesn't hurt to try. Don't suppose many people will come.'

  ‘I'd better get on to it,' said Flora. She turned away from Annabelle and laboriously started a new document. When she was alone again she thought guiltily about the advertisement she had already written and dispatched to every local newspaper in the county. She had also made posters which she had gone round the town begging shops to display. She was determined to fill that hall with people desperate to sell their family heirlooms.

  Her phone rang as she drove back home. She knew it was Emma without even looking, and pulled into a convenient lay-by to answer it. The reception was better there, anyway. Emma was initially full of reasons why it was out of the question for her to come and stay the weekend after next, but eventually she said, 'Sounds quite fun, anyway. Dave won't like it when I tell him he's not invited.'

  ‘It'll do him good for you to do something on your own for a change,' suggested Flora hopefully.

  ‘Mm,' said Emma. 'I wonder what I should wear.’

  ‘I wonder what I should cook!'

  ‘Oh, don't worry about that yet. It's a fortnight away. But clothes - they take thinking about.’

  It occurred to Flora, as she made the rest of the journey home, that country life had already changed her. Not long ago she'd have shared Emma's priorities. But not long ago she had shared Emma's access to wonderful little shops that sold food it was easy to pass off as home-made. Down here, 'entertaining-lite' was not an option. Here it would have to be hard-core cooking.

  When she got home, she rang Henry. He'd left two messages on her phone and she wanted to ask him to the dinner party. He'd be jolly, open the wine, see everyone was happy and if Charles didn't like it, well, too bad.

  ‘Hello, you,' he said when he heard her voice.

  ‘Hello, you, too,' she said, smiling. He had a nice voice and was soothingly non-confrontational.

  ‘Do you fancy coming out for a drink?'

  ‘I'd love a drink. I need some cheerful company. It's been so hectic at work lately.'

  ‘Well, why not make it dinner, then?'

  ‘Oh, I'm glad you mentioned dinner,' Flora replied, gaily side-stepping the invitation. 'I want to invite you to come to a dinner party at mine. The weekend after next.' She crossed her fingers.

  ‘Oh Flora, I'm going to be away.’

  Flora's heart sank. 'How can you be away? Can't you change it?’

  Henry chuckled. 'I'm afraid not, but I could take you out to dinner tonight, instead.'

  ‘That is not at all the same thing!' Flora said grumpily, knowing she was being unreasonable.

  ‘No. It's better from my point of view.’

  Flora suddenly felt very tired. 'Are you sure you can't come to my dinner party?'

  ‘Quite sure. Big meeting in Switzerland; I can't possibly miss it, or change it. I am sorry.' He paused. 'But I could take you out for a very nice steak and hand-cut chips.'

  ‘It sounds very tempting, but I'm just too tired to go out tonight.'

  ‘You weren't too tired a moment ago.'

  ‘I know, but I am now. Can we do it tomorrow?’

  ‘What, steak and hand-cut chips? Certainly.'

  ‘I meant the drink. I'm better at going out if I haven't gone home first. It's like the gym.'

  ‘What?'

  ‘Oh, never mind. Shall I meet you in the Fox and Grapes at six?’

  ‘Great. And I'll try and talk you into dinner, too.’

  ‘We'll see, shall we?’

  When Flora had put the phone down she wondered if her reluctance to have dinner with Henry was her subconsciously punishing him for not coming to her dinner party. But then she decided she didn't have enough emotional energy for a deeper relationship just now. He was good company, though, and it was lovely to spend time with someone who didn't disapprove of her all the time.

  Flora hadn't envisaged life in the country being quite so busy, but now she was wondering how she was going to get everything done, what with choir rehearsals, Henry, and everything that needed doing at work -which included a little light decorating. She did it after work one evening, very carefully.

  Charles caught her yawning, the mor
ning after she'd stayed on into the evening to redecorate, and said sourly, 'Henry keeping you up late, is he?’

  Flora delivered a very sarcastic smile but said nothing, perversely pleased that he hadn't noticed either the repaired ceiling or the paint on her nails.

  Choir had suddenly sprung voice tests on everyone, too. Geoffrey had to physically drag Flora to the rehearsal they were taking place in.

  ‘Every choir has to do this from time to time,' he insisted. 'It's only sensible. It'll be very low key. James won't make you do anything terrifying, honestly’

  Although she wasn't asked to leave (in fact her small but tuneful voice received a grave compliment from James), Flora's palms sweated for days afterwards, just thinking about it.

  If it hadn't been for William, who had come back to his place on the sofa, Imelda and the kittens would have almost been neglected. The following Friday Flora went home, planning to have a very quiet weekend - organising the roadshow all by herself on top of everything else had left her exhausted - refusing even a Sunday lunchtime drink with Henry. She would do a little light gardening if the weather held, lots of reading and have plenty of little naps.

  Geoffrey had other ideas. He rang her up on Saturday night.

  ‘There's a good car-boot sale on tomorrow.'

  ‘Is there?' Flora said without much enthusiasm. 'Edie and I are going and we're planning to take you.’

  ‘Are you?' Flora was still a novice at country life but even she knew that car-boot sales started very early and that Geoffrey would probably want to be one of the first people there.

  ‘Can you get here by seven? We'll go in my car.’

  Flora felt even more exhausted just thinking about it. 'Geoffrey, I'm awfully tired. I was hoping to have a lie-in. Sleep a little,' she added, in case the concept of staying in bed was so foreign to him that he didn't know the jargon.

  ‘It's a valuable part of your training, young woman. There'll never be time for me to teach you much when there's a sale on. A car boot, a good one, is a very good place for you to get your eye in. We might even buy some things for the next auction. Make a bit of money.’