Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  Was there something a little cold in Charles's voice when he said this? Perhaps they'd quarrelled on the way over. Except they'd had Jeremy with them in the car. That would cramp Charles's style, if not Annabelle's. 'I'll try not to worry about it then.’

  She wasn't really worried, just a bit uncomfortable. She racked her brain for a neutral topic of conversation.

  ‘Just relax, Flora,' said Charles, putting a hand on the small of her back for just a second as he came round to sit on the sofa next to her. 'I know entertaining is stressful, but I'm sure William's got it all under control. And if not, Annabelle's very capable.’

  Flora sighed again. If only it was William, Annabelle and nature's bounty that was worrying her. Fortunately, William and Annabelle both appeared just then, carrying plates.

  ‘A few little nettle quiches to keep you going,' said William.

  ‘He's so clever!' said Annabelle enthusiastically. 'He's created the whole meal out of things he'd gathered from the hedgerows. Oh, and some aubergines.’

  Flora, who knew this, had been hoping to keep the information from her guests and had sworn Emma to secrecy. Still, the cat was out of the bag now.

  ‘I hope that doesn't mean we're having hedgehog,' said Jeremy, guffawing in a way Flora feared would put Emma off for ever.

  ‘Oh no. It's strictly vegetarian,' said William. Flora had vetoed rabbit pie, although William had said he had a wonderful recipe for it. The thought of the skinning and disembowelling was all too disgusting.

  ‘Oh!' said Jeremy.

  ‘But not vegan,' added William, by way of reassurance. He and Flora had agreed that while they were keeping costs down, as Emma had brought a hunk of very nice Parmesan cheese with her, it would be a shame not to use it.

  ‘It's nice to try something different,' said Emma, who'd had a sample quiche earlier and knew they were nice. 'Mm! These are gorgeous.'

  ‘Here goes, then,' said Jeremy, putting one into his mouth whole. 'Actually,' he said a moment or two later, blowing crumbs. 'These are excellent.'

  ‘Don't sound so surprised, Jeremy,' snapped Annabelle. 'William's a brilliant cook.'

  ‘The secret with nettles,' said William, 'is to only pick the top two leaves, like you do with tea.'

  ‘Have another quiche, Jeremy,' said Emma, seeing his slightly horrified expression. 'And don't worry about the food. I happen to know that the pudding's quite normal.'

  ‘I'm sure it will be delicious,' said Jeremy, looking at Emma. Emma looked back.

  Observing this, Flora felt pleased. It would do Emma's ego so much good to be admired and it would do Dave good if he discovered that Emma wasn't above a little extra-relationship flirting. Maybe he'd start to appreciate her.

  ‘So, what are we having?' asked Charles.

  ‘I think it should be a surprise,' said Annabelle. 'Then we can all guess!'

  ‘As long as none of it's poisonous,' said Jeremy.

  ‘Of course it's not poisonous!' said Annabelle, who obviously found Jeremy irritating, in the way that women often found their partner's male friends irritating. 'William's been doing this for ages!'

  ‘And I think I should go back and check on it all,' said William. 'I'm not used to having to leave my cooking and make polite conversation.'

  ‘I'll come with you!' declared Annabelle and dashed after him.

  Flora looked up at Charles. He didn't seem remotely bothered. 'Don't you mind Annabelle spending all her time in the kitchen?'

  ‘No. It'll make a nice change for her.’

  And so, with Emma and Jeremy deep in the exchange of information that goes on when people meet and fancy each other, Flora was left to entertain Charles. She still couldn't think of a word to say to him. Her guilt loomed between them and she couldn't get past it. She'd have to find an opportunity to do it. This was too painful. She put her glass down on the coffee table, which was a bit wobbly on the grass, and sank back into the sofa, wishing she could go to sleep, then wake up and find that everyone had gone home.

  ‘So, what are we having to eat?' Charles asked. He was sitting on the arm now.

  ‘Do you really want to know?' Flora wasn't quite sure of the details, having blanked out a lot of what William had said about the rules of picking from the countryside and what you could eat when. He could get a bit obsessive.

  ‘No. I was just making conversation.’

  Flora chuckled. 'We could talk about work.'

  ‘We could, but I don't think we should.' But he did smile as he spoke.

  ‘No. And I can't show you the kittens because really, they haven't changed at all since you last saw them.'

  ‘They were very sweet. I wouldn't mind seeing them again.'

  ‘Well, you could pop up and have a look. You could see how tidy my bedroom is now. But I won't come with you. I must stay down here and see to things.'

  ‘What things?'

  ‘Oh, you know, just unspecified "things".'

  ‘Then I won't bother with the kittens again.’

  Flora wondered briefly if this was a good moment to get her apology out of the way. She and he could nip up, she could say sorry, and they could nip down again. But Emma would notice and perhaps say something embarrassing.

  ‘I think I need another drink,' she said. 'And I'll make it wine, this time.’

  He took her glass. 'Red or white?'

  ‘White, please.’

  He was back with it in an instant. If Flora hadn't known better she'd think that Charles was being gallant. It couldn't be, it was impossible. Charles couldn't be gallant with her any more than she could hang-glide, but he was doing quite a good impression of it.

  ‘Here's to us, then,' she said, taking a gulp, realising too late it was probably quite the wrong thing to say. 'To Stanza and Stanza, I mean.'

  ‘To Stanza and Stanza.' Charles raised his glass and looked down into her eyes. 'Which is comprised of "us".’

  Fortunately, before Flora succumbed to her desire to scream and go running out into the woods, William and Annabelle emerged bearing between them a basket of bread rolls and a pile of soup plates.

  ‘It's ready,' said Annabelle. 'People should sit down. Have you a placement, Flora, or would you like me to do one?'

  ‘No, I've worked out where everyone should sit,' said Flora, grateful for her mother insisting that this was an essential part of entertaining. 'Now, as William did the cooking, he should sit at the end, as host.' She sent him a smile she hoped conveyed her gratitude for this. 'I'll go the other end, of course. Emma and Annabelle, you go next to William, and Jeremy and Charles sit next to me.'

  ‘As long as I don't sit next to Charles, that's fine by me,' said Annabelle.

  Jeremy managed to hide any disappointment he felt in not sitting next to Emma and everyone sat down except William and Annabelle.

  ‘Shall I see to the wine?' asked Charles.

  ‘Yes, that would be lovely. I should go and help William bring stuff out, really.'

  ‘I think Annabelle's doing that,' said Charles.

  Flora subsided, deprived of her duties as a hostess. She fiddled with her cutlery. 'The little garlands round the napkins look very pretty, Emma,' she said. 'It must have taken you hours,' said Jeremy.

  ‘I really enjoyed myself.' Emma looked across the table at Jeremy, obviously still enjoying herself.

  ‘I hope it won't get chilly later,' said Flora, more anxious about the food than the weather, but unable to express that. 'I've got a couple of pashminas upstairs if it does.'

  ‘Are you cold now, Flora?' asked Charles, putting his hand on her upper arm, as if to check.

  ‘No, I'm fine! It's just later it may—’

  Before she could blunder on with more boring prognostications about the temperature of the glorious summer evening, William appeared with a tureen that Flora and Emma had bought that morning from a junk shop. Annabelle was holding a butter dish.

  ‘Right,' he said. 'We're having cold watercress soup to start with, and some rolls I made earlier
.'

  ‘Wow,' said Emma. 'Home-made bread! You are good!'

  ‘Then what are we having?' asked Jeremy, still a little anxious. 'After the soup?’

  Annabelle glowered at him, but William said, 'It's a sort of pudding made with—'

  ‘I thought you weren't going to say until they'd tried it, William,' said Flora briskly, glad the meal was actually going to start at last. 'William, you serve the soup. How's everyone's wine?’

  Charles got up and refilled glasses, including Flora's. She knew perfectly well she should have put her hand over her glass, but she didn't.

  ‘This is fantastic!' said Jeremy, when everyone had been served and were taking their first tentative sips.

  ‘It is, William,' said Flora. 'Thank you so much for doing it all.’

  Her anxieties about the meal subsided a little. A good bowl of soup, which was full of cream and therefore filling, with bread and butter, should keep people going until the chocolate mousse, if the main course was disgusting.

  ‘William was telling me he's been hearing nightingales in the wood,' said Annabelle excitedly

  ‘But not recently. They've pretty much stopped singing now.'

  ‘But I thought you said you heard one last week,' said Annabelle.

  ‘How long have you been down here?' asked Charles. 'I thought you came with Emma for the weekend.'

  ‘Oh I did,' said William smoothly, 'but I live quite near. I know this wood well.'

  ‘No need to stay the night then, really,' muttered Jeremy, looking at Emma possessively

  ‘So, where do you live, exactly?' asked Charles.

  Flora got up. 'Excuse me, I've just forgotten something really important.' She almost ran into the house.

  Once there, she went upstairs to her bedroom. What on earth would William say? If it was the wrong thing, it would be worse for him than for her, but she still didn't want to witness his lies. She glanced out of the window. Everyone seemed to be chatting, and just as she peeked out further, laughter broke out among her guests. A moment later, she rejoined them.

  ‘Sorry,' she said, as everyone regarded her questioningly 'I realised I hadn't put any lip-gloss on for hours. More soup, anyone? Jeremy, you'd like some. And another roll.’

  As Flora took the soup plates into the kitchen and put them down on the floor, the only surface available to her, she consoled herself with the fact that everyone was almost full already. She met William coming in with the empty tureen followed by Annabelle with the empty bread basket.

  ‘Annabelle! You shouldn't be helping still. Go and sit down and enjoy yourself. William and I can manage fine, now.'

  ‘Oh no, I insist. I find this whole "food for free" thing fascinating.' Annabelle giggled, positively girlish. Flora went out to join her guests.

  ‘So, Jeremy, what do you do now you're not in the Army?' she asked.

  ‘Computer consultant,' he replied.

  ‘Oh! Emma's in computers, too. What a coincidence.’

  Jeremy leant forward a little. 'What does William do again? I'm sure someone's told me, but I seem to have forgotten.’

  Flora swallowed. 'He's a poet and a portrait painter. Did he do art at university, Emma?’

  Emma opened her mouth as if seeking extra oxygen. 'No. Something to do with the environment, I think,' she said eventually. 'You'll have to ask him yourself, Jeremy'

  ‘I was just wondering what sort of a living you could make painting people's pictures.’

  Both women hoped passionately that Jeremy wouldn't ask William this as he'd probably just tell the naked truth, which in his case could be very naked.

  ‘Ta da!' carolled Annabelle as William put a plate on the table. On the plate was something resembling a cloche hat swathed in green material.

  ‘Now will you tell us what it is!' Jeremy was half pleading half impatient.

  ‘Dock pudding,' said William.

  ‘And salad, all picked from the hedgerows,' announced Annabelle proudly.

  ‘I'll just go and get the potatoes,' said Flora, who'd insisted on a nice substantial dish of them, cooked in the oven with cream and onions. It may have been mostly 'food for free' in a financial sense, but certainly not in a calorific one. There was also a tomato salad, that Emma had made, which added a little colour to the table.

  ‘More wine, anyone?' said Charles.

  *

  'Well, that was super!' said Annabelle, sitting back in her chair and looking extremely relaxed. 'Now I want to hear the nightingales.'

  ‘It's really very unlikely you'll hear any. They stop singing at the end of May.'

  ‘But you said there might be a rogue one. Oh, do take me, William. It's such a heavenly evening.’

  Annabelle, Flora thought sourly, had clearly decided William wasn't a criminal.

  ‘What about you?' Jeremy asked Emma. 'Would you like a walk in the woods?’

  Emma obviously would like one, judging by the look she gave Flora.

  Flora felt like the head girl. Was she to forbid the expedition? Or condone it? Personally she didn't care what anyone did, but she found she didn't want Charles to be upset.

  Although he was the only member of the party who was not now on the drunk side of tipsy, he seemed quite relaxed. As the driver, he could have announced it was time to go home.

  ‘I really don't feel like a walk myself,' said Flora. 'But I'll pop up and get a couple of shawls for you two. It is getting chilly. What about you, Charles?'

  ‘I don't need a shawl, thank you. But I'll help you clear up if the others want to go.'

  ‘Thank you.’

  When the others had set off into the trees Flora started to clear plates. Charles put his hand on her arm and stopped her. 'Why don't you just sit down and look at the stars while I clear up?'

  ‘I couldn't possibly do that. Besides, I can't recognise any of the constellations.' In spite of her protest she sank on to the sofa and stared up into the heavens. 'Why don't you sit down too, or I'll worry about you washing up without me.’

  He remained standing. 'I don't mind doing it.’

  Flora shifted herself to the edge of the sofa so she could confront him. 'No, don't. I really want to talk to you.'

  ‘Oh? I didn't realise I was your favourite agony aunt.’

  ‘This is no time to develop a sense of humour,' she said sternly. 'I want to apologise.'

  ‘What for? You didn't step on my foot, did you?'

  ‘Charles, please! You've never been funny before, please don't start now. I want to say how sorry I am for saying those dreadful things. The other week, in the office, when I pulled the ceiling down.'

  ‘I thought you knew that I'd forgiven you for your attempts at decorating.'

  ‘Yes, but that wasn't what I wanted to apologise for.

  It was for saying you couldn't run a piss-up in a brewery and that you were hopeless, and that I was the senior partner, things like that. I do think we should work hard to advertise and all that stuff, but I don't think you're bad at your job. At all. I was just angry and said the most hurtful things I could think of.'

  ‘I was angry too,' Charles said quietly. 'I probably said unforgivable things.'

  ‘Well, not totally unforgivable, but I was a bit upset that you thought I was heartless and manipulative.'

  ‘I don't think that now. And I must say, I'm glad not to see Henry here. He's not the sort of man you should be spending time with.'

  ‘Oh.' Flora was a bit thrown by that. 'Well, I did invite him, but he couldn't come.'

  ‘Oh.’

  Flora wondered if she should have admitted this as Charles reverted to his normal state of buttoned-up inaccessibility. She sighed. 'So why did you think I was a heartless bitch?'

  ‘I didn't say that.'

  ‘Not in so many words but it's what you meant.' It was his turn to sigh. 'It was Justin.'

  ‘Justin?'

  ‘Justin Mateland. You broke his heart, you know. Or at least, that was what he told me.'

  ‘I don't th
ink Justin's heart was remotely involved,' Flora said crossly. 'He just got annoyed because . . 'Why?'

  ‘Because he obviously expected me to . . . Well, he'd bought me dinner and assumed . . . I really don't want to go into details.' Flora shuddered at the memory; it had been so sordid. She'd had to fight him off and she'd been extremely frightened.

  ‘Oh.' Charles blanched as he suddenly realised what she meant. 'I didn't realise. I had no idea. When he got in touch with me he was very upset. Now I realise he was angry.'

  ‘He was certainly angry when he left my flat.' And bleeding, she remembered.

  ‘God, I'm sorry, Flora. I shouldn't have made the assumption that he was right without getting to know you first.' Charles did, to his credit, look genuinely abashed. 'What Justin had told me about you, that you were a . . .' He coughed, unable to think of a polite way to put it. 'Well, anyway, what he told me about you meant that I'd made up my mind before you even arrived. I suppose I didn't want anyone new arriving and sticking their nose into what, I'm afraid, I do still think of as my business, and particularly not a spoilt little girl who would come in and mess everything up and then disappear off as soon as she got bored.' He shook his head. 'Annabelle and I didn't exactly give you a warm welcome, did we?’

  Flora smiled. 'No, not exactly. But you're not the only one guilty of going on first impressions. I should have seen beyond the "at-a-glance taxidermy".'

  ‘The what?'

  ‘I thought you were so stuffy that one look from you and any living creature would become glassy-eyed and full of sawdust.'

  ‘Good God! I hope it's not how you see me now.'

  ‘I can't see you at all, Charles. It's too dark.' She opened her mouth to ask him again to come and sit down on the sofa next to her, but shut it again. The summer night was having a strangely sensual effect on her and it wouldn't be a good idea to have him sitting next to her, in the near-dark, when she'd had too many glasses of wine.

  He came and perched on the arm of the sofa. 'Perhaps we should clear up. Or at least, perhaps I should.' 'No, don't. There's nowhere to put anything.'