Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  ‘I expect I can do that. If I'm not needed here. It'll be a real pleasure to use my knowledge and experience for once, instead of pretending I haven't any.' He regarded Flora seriously. 'Annabelle won't like it if she finds out. She's always been dead set against me doing anything except moving things from one place to another.’

  Flora inwardly protested the waste of his talent. 'I'll square it with Charles. It'll be all right.’

  Geoffrey smiled. 'Well, that's all looking very promising, Flora. You've done well.' Geoffrey was obviously very pleased at the notion of being a valuer again, instead of just a porter. 'If there's enough to give us a basis, we could do a specialist book auction. Put all the stuff up on the Internet.'

  ‘Right. I'm glad you're pleased. I just hope it's not all just book club editions and Sunday school prizes.'

  ‘Very collectable those, you know, especially if they've got good book plates in the front.'

  ‘Yes, well, I'd better go and see if anyone's missed me upstairs.’

  She met Annabelle in the hallway 'How did you get on at Burnet House?' she asked.

  ‘OK. He has some books that might be quite valuable.'

  ‘That's good. But I have to warn you, Charles was livid! I told him it was very unlikely there was a house sale in the offing, but he was really cross about you going there alone.'

  ‘But he knows I know Henry, that we've been out a couple of times.' Charles's over-protectiveness could be exasperating sometimes.

  ‘It's the going to his house thing that so upset him.'

  ‘Oh. Well, there isn't enough furniture for a house sale, but Geoffrey's going to look at the books.'

  ‘Is he now. Well, do check with Charles first. He can be so bloody difficult at times.'

  ‘I'd better go and find him, then. Do you know where he is?'

  ‘He's out. Why don't we pop across to the pub and see if they'll make us a sandwich? I know it's late but we need to eat. You certainly do.' Annabelle eyed Flora's slim figure with envy. 'It is Saturday, after all.’

  Flora thought about it. An angry Charles was possibly better not faced on an empty stomach.

  ‘Oh, OK. Just quickly. I ought to stay and work, really, as I've been out all morning.'

  ‘You don't want to get like Charles, and do nothing but work, work, work. Besides, I want to hear all about Burnet House.’

  They sat in the pub garden. It was a bit chilly, the air having not yet warmed up after the rain, but it was rather smoky inside and neither of them wanted to advertise the fact that they'd been to the pub when they got back.

  Annabelle had bought two white wine spritzers and ordered a couple of egg salad sandwiches. She took a sip.

  ‘Now, tell me about Burnet House?'

  ‘It's in awful condition. Henry says—'

  ‘There you are!' Charles's voice suddenly declared behind them. 'Flora, I was worried about you!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Why were you worried about Flora, darling?' asked Annabelle.

  ‘I just heard she went chasing off to Burnet House. There's no earthly point. There's nothing there to sell.' Charles pulled out a chair, the metal grating horribly on the flagged courtyard.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?' Flora got up. 'A pint? A spritzer?'

  ‘Oh, just something soft,' said Charles, obviously not quite happy with a woman buying him a drink and still distinctly grumpy.

  ‘A sandwich? Crisps?'

  ‘Um . .

  Flora retreated to the bar. She didn't know why Charles was in such an awful mood but she would have to tell him why she'd been to Burnet House. Learning that her visit wasn't even work-related might make him even crosser. On the other hand, he might prefer her asking to use the house for a concert to her having some mad idea about getting Henry to have a country-house sale when he knew there was nothing worth selling.

  She came back with an elderflower pressé and two packets of crisps, having ordered another sandwich. He was possibly more bad-tempered than necessary because he was hungry. Her mother had always commented that her father was impossible to deal with if remotely peckish.

  ‘I think I should tell you,' she declared, setting down her booty, 'that I went to Burnet House to see if the choir could use their orangery. I know we're frantic and I was going to work, but it was an emergency.'

  ‘And now you're in the pub?'

  ‘Charles! It's Saturday! And the girl's got to eat!' Annabelle said.

  ‘Was Henry Burnet there?' Charles tore into the crisp packet.

  ‘He was. He showed me the orangery. There's a huge puddle on the floor. I don't suppose you know of a good builder who could fix that?' She looked at Annabelle and Charles hopefully. This was really the choir's responsibility, but it would be useful to have a fall-back position, especially as it might divert Charles's mind from Henry Burnet.

  ‘Oh God yes, I'm sure we do,' said Annabelle, helping herself to crisps. 'I'm starving.'

  ‘He didn't . . . make a nuisance of himself, did he?'

  ‘Who?' asked Flora, being deliberately obtuse, annoyed with Charles for being so old-fashioned, but oddly charmed by it as well. 'The builder?'

  ‘Henry Burnet! He's got a bit of a reputation. I know you've been out with him a couple of times, but it's different you being at his house. You're my cousin and I feel responsible for you.'

  ‘For goodness' sake, Charles! Flora is an adult, and I'm sure she's been round the block a few times. There's no need to be so stuffy.'

  ‘Well?' demanded Charles.

  Flora suddenly decided she liked Charles being so indignant about Henry, even if it was just in a cousinly way. 'He did say he'd try to get a table for Grantly Manor. I don't know if that counts as making a nuisance of himself.'

  ‘Grantly Manor! Flora! How super! It's wonderful. We had a family party there for Mummy and Daddy's wedding anniversary. Henry must be really keen.’

  Charles scowled.

  ‘I think Henry's rather attractive,' Annabelle went on, either not noticing, or ignoring, Charles's reaction. 'And his wife made such a fuss. It was only one affair, after all. You could do a lot worse than him, Flora.'

  ‘You think it's acceptable for a man to cheat on his wife, do you, Annabelle?' said Charles.

  ‘Not if he made a habit of it,' Annabelle replied. 'I just think a marriage should be worked at, and there are worse things a man can do than have a little fling.' She smiled and put her hand on Charles's. 'Don't think I'm giving you permission to get up to anything, Charlie, I'm just saying I wouldn't break up a relationship for one misdemeanour. What do you think, Flora?'

  ‘I don't know, really. I've never been in a relationship for more than a couple of years, but I suppose if you've got children, a home, all that stuff, it would be a shame not to make an effort to try again.'

  ‘Well, don't think I'm so relaxed about extra-marital affairs,' said Charles, glancing at Flora, trying hard to relax.

  Annabelle laughed and for a second Flora wondered if there was an edge of hysteria in it. 'Darling, I'd never cheat on you when we're married! As if I would!’

  At that moment, the sandwiches arrived. As cutlery, napkins and seasonings were distributed, Flora hoped it would mean Charles would have to stop being grumpy. If I was his partner, she thought, I'd have fun charming him out of his bad mood.

  ‘Oh, jolly nice sandwich,' said Flora, when the waitress had finally gone, managing to ooze quite a lot of the filling out as she took a bite. 'How is yours, Charles?' she mumbled.

  ‘Excellent, thank you.'

  ‘So tell us about the house,' said Annabelle, her mouthful not quite finished either. 'I'm dying to hear all about it.’

  Flora chewed hard and swallowed. 'Well, as I said, it's in a terrible state. He - Henry - told me that it needed about a hundred grand spending on it.'

  ‘As much as that?' Annabelle was shocked. 'Shame. I thought it might do for us, Charles.'

  ‘It's enormous!' said Flora. 'You'd have to have about seven ch
ildren to justify living in it.'

  ‘Or you could just entertain a lot. And a yoga studio would be nice,' said Annabelle, becoming a little dreamy. 'Or t'ai chi.'

  ‘A yoga studio?' said Charles. 'What would you want that for?'

  ‘Oh, I just thought I could take it up. It's very calming and a good way of getting rid of negative karma.’

  Flora glanced at Annabelle, momentarily distracted. 'And the kitchen is vile, it's that very orange pine, with too many small cupboards,' she said. 'You'd have to rip that out and start again.'

  ‘Well, I said his wife was a stupid woman. No taste,' said Annabelle.

  ‘No taste but a lot of furniture,' said Flora. 'She left Henry hardly any.'

  ‘I suppose if he wanted to keep the house he had to sell off a lot of it to pay her off,' said Annabelle. 'I wonder who did the sale?'

  ‘Not us, obviously,' said Charles. `So did he say if he was likely to sell the house itself?'

  ‘He said he wanted to earn some money to do it up, then sell it. Or he might keep it. I don't think he quite knows what he wants to do.' She took another bite of sandwich, for protection.

  ‘Well, you could do a lot worse than him,' Annabelle repeated.

  ‘Don't be ridiculous!' said Charles. 'Why on earth do you think Flora should go out with Henry Burnet, of all people?’

  Annabelle shrugged. 'No need to get all worked up, Charles. He's quite good-looking and Flora needs someone to take her around, doesn't she? You told me she was a girl who liked to have lots of boyfriends.’

  Flora blushed at being referred to in such terms. 'I've really been too busy for much of a social life since I've been down here, but it is nice to have a friend.' She looked at her handbag as it moved slightly and played 'Jingle Bells'. 'Oh, so sorry,' she said, embarrassed. 'That's my phone. Do you mind if I take the call?'

  ‘Of course not,' said Annabelle.

  Flora moved away from the table. It was Henry. 'I've got a table. Grantly Manor. Are you interested?'

  ‘Yes. When for?'

  ‘Tonight. Terribly short notice, I'm afraid.’

  Flora considered. She'd lent her copy of The Rules to a girlfriend, but she was fairly sure you weren't allowed to accept an invitation for Saturday made later than Wednesday. There had to be three clear days in between the invitation and the date. No way were you allowed to accept a date for the same day.

  ‘It's extremely short notice.'

  ‘Sorry. I thought I should strike while the iron was hot. You're always so busy.'

  ‘Next week would be better.'

  ‘No tables available for next week. It's now or about three weeks away.'

  ‘I was going to wash my hair . . .’

  Henry laughed. 'That takes about five minutes. You can't use that old excuse any more.’

  Flora considered. The Rules were made to be broken and she didn't want to marry this man, after all. 'I'll wash it anyway. Shall I meet you in town?'

  ‘No, I'll pick you up.’

  Flora hesitated for a second. 'OK. I'd better give you directions. Or do you have a fax?'

  ‘I do.'

  ‘I'll send a map from the office.' She didn't necessarily want Charles and Annabelle to hear her giving Henry directions to the cottage.

  When she came back to the table she couldn't help a little smile of satisfaction tugging at her mouth. 'That was Henry. He's got the table at Grantly Manor.'

  ‘Oh?' asked Charles, frowning. 'When for?’

  Flora wished he hadn't asked that. It took the gilt off the gingerbread, somewhat. 'Tonight.'

  ‘They must have had a cancellation,' said Annabelle, who obviously hadn't read The Rules.

  ‘Well, it'll be fun, whatever. And now I must fly, I've got loads to do because I was out half the morning.’

  Flora went back to the office in a buoyant mood. She was excited about the thought of going out with Henry, she told herself. If Charles was cross about it, then too bad. He was a silly old stick-in-the-mud. She reflected that usually when men were grumpy she just wanted to tip a bucket of water over them and tell them to snap out of it, but Charles's grumpiness was quite sexy in a Mr Darcy kind of way. And she was uncomfortably aware that at the back of her mind there was a small voice asking whether perhaps Charles was annoyed at her going out with Henry just because it was Henry, or whether he'd have objected to anyone she went out to dinner with. But no, mentally she gave herself a little shake, he'd made his position quite clear on Thursday night.

  ‘Hi, Geoffrey,' she called when she got back. 'What are you up to?'

  ‘Oh, Flora, I'm glad to see you. Virginia's daughter was on the phone. She wants photos of all the good pieces for the website. I wouldn't know where to start.' 'No probs. I'll borrow the digital camera. I'm sure there's somewhere in the cellar we could rig up an area with a white cloth to set the pieces off. Shall we go and look?' They went downstairs together. 'I've done this sort of thing heaps of times. When I worked in an art gallery.' 'Charles has put stickers on the ones to be on the website,' said Geoffrey, opening a door. 'What about in here? Not too crowded. You're very cheerful.'

  ‘Just back from the pub. Charles and Annabelle are still there. Charles was in a grump, but I expect Annabelle knows how to make him feel better. They're very well suited, after all. I think this would be fine.'

  ‘Well suited, are they?'

  ‘Oh yes. Both stiff as pokers, although at least Annabelle tried to stop him going on at me about visiting Burnet House. I'll borrow that cloth over there. It looks big enough.'

  ‘Should be, it was a double sheet, once.’

  Flora found a nail to hang it on. 'Henry wants a reduction in commission. I said I couldn't give him one, that I'd have to ask Charles. I wish I had the authority to do it myself. After all, I'm an equal partner, technically speaking, anyway. But not in any other sense. Anyway, what are you doing working on a Saturday?'

  ‘I told you. And you know there's a lot on at the moment, and Edie's gone off to a plant sale with a friend.’

  ‘Ah.'

  ‘And you don't see Charles and Annabelle working on Saturday unless there's something very special on.'

  ‘Charles does work very hard. He was at a farm valuation until late last night.' She knew this because she had seen the note he'd left for Louisa when she came in. She'd been tempted to type it up herself and might have done if she hadn't gone out. In a bizarre way the thought of sitting with ear plugs, listening to Charles, was quite pleasant.

  ‘Shall we start with the chest-on-chest?' said Geoffrey. 'As it's in here already?'

  ‘Good idea. Thank heavens there's two of us, Geoffrey,' she went on as they heaved the heavy furniture around. 'It's too much for anyone on their own. Do you think we can get it in front of the sheet, or shall I try to think of something else?'

  ‘We'll manage it all right between us.’

  Flora was breathing hard by the time they had eased it out from between a couple of commodes and got it in position. 'Now I'm going to have to practically climb out of the window to get it all in. Perhaps if I stand on this chair . . . It's all right, I'll put this bit of cloth on it - it's not an antique camel rug, is it? OK. You couldn't just pull out the corner of the white sheet. It looks a bit . . . That's better. Now smile, please. Look natural.’

  Geoffrey chuckled.

  ‘Well, it's important it looks its best. I think this is the piece Charles's genuine television expert was so enthusiastic about.'

  ‘Television expert! Honestly, what do they know?' said Geoffrey.

  ‘But it is a nice piece. It might go for three grand if it's properly advertised and the buyers turn up. George the Third, he thought.'

  ‘Well, I'm not saying he's got the date wrong, but those are London prices, if you ask me.’

  The chest-on-chest duly recorded, Geoffrey and Flora edged it back to its nook in the corner. 'So why is there such a hurry to get all this photographed?' he asked again, wiping his brow with a tartan handkerchief.

&n
bsp; ‘It's partly so there's plenty of time for dealers to realise that Stanza and Stanza have decent stuff to sell. Because we've been a bit down-market in recent years, with few real antiques, we've got to build up our reputation. If the stuff is on the website, and all the links are right, the dealers will find out we're here, so to speak.'

  ‘You're not going to be working all day, are you?' said Geoffrey, lifting a table with the skill that revealed his years of experience.

  ‘Oh no. I've got a date tonight, with Henry. Grantly Manor. Charles was not pleased to hear about it. He seems to think Henry's some sort of Lothario and I won't be safe.'

  ‘He's only looking out for you, as he should,' said Geoffrey, taking on the appearance of someone about to give a lecture.

  ‘Don't you start, Geoffrey!' said Flora. 'A girl's got to have a bit of fun. Now, what's next? And don't let me forget to fax Henry a map.’

  *

  'It's always cheering, getting ready for a date,' said Flora to Imelda and the kittens. 'I'm determined to have a good time tonight. I deserve one! I've worked very hard lately, and Henry is fun.' She thought briefly of someone she would not describe as fun and then pushed him out of her mind. Henry liked her, he was very attractive and most of all he was available, so she was determined to give herself one more shot at developing a crush on him.

  She put on her prettiest dress, did her hair and her make-up carefully, and put the shoes with the peony on them into a bag. Her mother, who was a fount of slightly dubious advice, had always told her to have running-away shoes to hand, in case. She'd also told her to keep enough money for a taxi home in her bra, in case she got separated from her handbag.

  ‘So?' she asked Imelda, lacking anyone with more sartorial sense. 'Do I look OK?’

  Imelda purred obligingly, and turned her attention to Charles's favourite kitten, who obviously needed a very thorough wash.

  ‘I'll take that as a yes,' said Flora and sprayed herself liberally with scent, realising too late it was rather sexy, and was best applied sparingly. She shrugged and went downstairs to wait for Henry. She'd faxed him a map which Geoffrey, obliging but reluctant, had drawn for her.