“What’s going on in here?” Archie shouted, one hand clutched to his head showing us that he had very important matters on his mind and simply mustn’t be disturbed by trivialities. “Move? Move – are you mad? It’s out of the question. Take my family away from our home? Impossible.”
I noted that he glared at me as he spoke but I took great comfort in the fact that I was at least included in the family. How nice. Perhaps the Ritz, or even The Savoy. Although I don’t like being quite so close to the river – creeping damp and all of that. Still, needs must when the devil drives and we must all pull together in a crisis.
Hal was about to speak when were all distracted by sounds of sobbing coming from the hallway. Hal and Archie moved to see what was happening and I reluctantly joined them.
The priest and Maria had, it seemed, come a calling to tell the Ambles the news that Jack Blair, their gardener for decades, had died in hospital. Kind Bella was sniffing and holding on to Sylvia who seemed to have taken the attitude of a consoling widow.
“Oh mummy, and we never went to see him!”
“Damn shame. Fine man.” Archie sounded very captain of the regiment, proving that even being distracted beyond his measure that manners were a thing never to be forgotten.
“Of course we’ll be at the funeral, we’ll have tea or something afterwards, perhaps not here –“
“He was a good man, a fine man, he tell me of his church and I of mine until this, this woman you have here came along, he only had a cough –“ Maria’s rising voice echoed around the hallway.
“Well,” I said, jumping in before the lamentations reached Greek chorus level, “He was rather old, wasn’t he? He looked most unwell the last time I saw him. The lawn isn’t really up to the mark, is it? And I’ve spotted dandelions and a touch of goose grass. Probably a jolly good thing all round.”
There was a general drawing aside of petticoats by the crowd in the hallway and for once I was actually quite glad to see Victoria the shoe woman trot up to the front door, a smile on her face, and no doubt joy in her heart. The very person to take everyone’s mind off a very inconsequential death. Just why everyone carries on so is quite beyond me. Gone to a better place and all that. So I’d heard.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to pop upstairs and do a little packing. After all, we had to leave the house anyway, hadn’t we? Might as well be ready. Under normal circumstances I’d have my trunks sent on, but, I do like to work as part of a team and I decided that I would pack myself. I know, I know, but there you are, it’s my nature to be helpful. I tripped as softly as I could up the stairs.
I reached the turn in the stairs that until recently had held a quite hideous Wedgwood vase on a pedestal table, but now was a catchment area for spare floorboards, when my spike heel caught in a gap in the floor. I bent down to slip my shoe off, when, with a sharp cracking sound my foot, ankle and leg seemed to disappear from view. My other leg bent accordingly, and there I was, trapped by the gaping maw of the floor. The wood clamped around my thigh like a jagged vice was uncomfortably tight, and the net skirt was a hindrance for the other leg which was now in an exceedingly painful kneeling position. I made a mental note to consume more oily fish if this was the condition that my joints were in. Perhaps kippers for breakfast at the Ritz would count? Or is it only things like sardines, which I can never digest easily, help ease the ligaments?
Shouts of alarm alerted me to the suspected thought that my foot had indeed gone through the plaster to the hall below and was no doubt waving at them all from the ceiling. Lucky for them. At least they had something nice to look at.
Soon the whole family, including shoe woman and the priest with attendant Slavic maiden of doom were gathered around me.
“Good god, woman, what have you done?”
“Oh, Flora! Does it hurt?”
“Archie go and get someone –“
“Who? No bloody builders around, are there –“
“Oh Daddy, phone Fiachra, I’m sure he’d help –“
“No, phone John Taylor –“
“Perhaps a prayer would be –“
“Oh yes father, let’s pray-“
“Just get a bloody saw and I’ll saw her out.”
“Darling, she’s not a magician’s assistant –“
“What?”
“You know, sawing the lady in half-“
“Sylvia don’t be so bloody silly –“
“Not in front of the vicar darling –“
This nonsense continued for some time and I bravely bore the brunt of their prattle whilst surreptitiously wriggling my leg. Unfortunately this only had the effect of making me sink deeper into the hole. I was now thigh deep and very, very uncomfortable. Not to say undignified position as well. At least the voluminous black net bustle was hiding some of my flesh, but, as you know, I never wear undergarments, far too vulgar.
Gristle and bones and parsons.
Eventually, and with much encouragement from moi, Archie and Bella toddled off to get a saw, whilst Sylvia and Victoria, who wanted to stay with me and comfort me for goodness sakes, went to stand in the hallway and see if I was in fact about to fall through the ceiling. Maria was having a nicely judged case of hysterics and being given a glass of water by the priest. This left me with Hal.
“Well, Flora, it seems you’re stuck here,” Hal said, staring at me.
“Could be worse,” I valiantly replied whilst tugging my leg and trying to ease my aching back.
“Not much worse,” Hal said, with a look of grim determination on his face.
If I’d had the energy I would have pointed out to Hal that I’d been in much worse positions than this. The time with the Duchess in that musty hotel room in Vienna for instance when her husband walked in unannounced, or the time that I had been caught hand in till, so to speak, at the casino in Biarritz, when the grim faced manager had been so unsympathetic. This in comparison was a mere bagatelle.
Hal started to speak, very calmly but with a great deal of earnestness which, unfortunately, always has the effect of making me laugh. Well, I would have laughed but my leg was becoming very painful.
“So Flora, where shall I start? Oh yes, first of all you tried to seduce me at that hideous man’s place, what was his name? Mr Abraham, that’s it. If only you knew what a dreadful sight you were. Hardly my type Flora, you’re far too old. Then, palming me off with that, that man in his yacht! Oh he told me quite a lot about you. Then that awful hotel in Brighton, not to mention the cock up with Pa and Sir George. The holiday you booked on the credit card, who was that for? Then there’s the house. Look at it. It’s about to fall down thanks to you. Then there’s the little matter of some property deeds that I brought back. Were you going to tell my father that you’d transferred them all into your name –“
“No, really, that’s much too much. I was merely holding them till the time was right for Archie –“ I interrupted indignantly. Hal took no notice and continued relentlessly.
“Then there’s the matter of my sister. I think you were about to marry her off to that Irish navvy and –“
“Dear Bella will be very happy and there’s no need to be so –“
Hal squatted on the floor and then looked me in the eyes unflinchingly. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Tell me Flora, what actually are you? Carlton spoke a load of nonsense about you, but some of it made sense. I want to hear it from you though. Come on, what are you?” He picked my hand up, quite roughly, I may add, and stared at it as if he could divine my ancestry by palmistry. Perhaps he didn’t see, as I did, the age spots and wrinkles on the backs of my hands. The time was very soon indeed.
I heard the sound of people moving back up the staircase, and dragged my hand away from Hal. The last thing I wanted was a crowd.
Cardinals and pontiffs and bonesetters and mucus and all things truly wicked.
“Help me out of here and I’ll go. I’ll never see any of you again. I promise.” I spoke quickly and urg
ently to Hal.
He laughed and drew away from me.
“Go where? Do you think we’re frightened of you and your silly–“ The pounding of feet on the staircase was Victoria, puffing and panting with self importance.
“Oh Flora, Sylvia told me about the house. Well, it’s all arranged the Ambles are going to stay with a relative in Wiltshire and you, you can come to me!” she said with girlish glee, clasping her hands to her chest in happiness.
Well, so much for being included in the family. Oh, the treachery of men. Not to mention women. A terrible vision of me cooped up in the shoe woman’s undoubtedly dreary little flat loomed in front of me. Instead of a pleasant stay at a swanky hotel I was being rushed into a custodial sentence. Laminate flooring and a gas fire, no bubbly in the fridge and girly underwear draped over the bath. Cat dishes on the kitchen floor. Cartons of semi skimmed milk on the table. Used tea bags nestling amongst pizza boxes in the rubbish bin. No wine cellar. Frozen orange juice. Low fat spread. I shuddered. These gloomy visions nearly brought tears of self pity to my eyes. Couldn’t they see that it was wildly inappropriate? It would be like housing the late great Maria Callas in a bungalow in Bognor. Surely everyone could see that I was born to a certain amount of privilege and luxury? Never in my life had I felt so misunderstood and mistrusted. I whimpered softly and made a heroic effort to free myself.
“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself, see you’re bleeding! Don’t worry Flora. You’ll be safe soon and I’ll get you home for a nice cup of tea,” shoe woman said brightly.
I called upon all things on my side to avoid that sentence of near death.
I glanced up at Hal who was seemingly enjoying my predicament. Oh the duplicity of youth!
Archie was wielding a nasty looking saw and very unprofessionally hacked with it, none too gently, at the floorboards gouging out chunks of splintery wood, trying to free my leg. He looked grimly determined and deeply resigned and kept his eyes firmly diverted way from mine. The sawing of the wood and the barking from Marmaduke was all that could be heard for a while, and for that alone, I was grateful.
With the final saw of the wood I drew myself up and, hanging on to the wall I limped into my room, slamming the door behind me.
I feverishly began throwing my belongings into my trunk, as much as my injury would allow, (I don’t mind admitting to you that I was in agony, but stoic that I am, no-one would have guessed) slamming the lid down on the black clothes and the jar of marbles. Where to? And how? Go I must. Not like me not to see a job through I know, but really, these circs would try the patience of a lace maker. (A dying profession but truly one that requires far more patience than a mere saint.)
I always say that I can stand many things, but being unfairly blamed simply is beyond me. So unjust.
I heard Hal start to tell all behind the door and heard Maria sobbing and bemoaning that I had given the gardener some cough medicine. Oh deep joy. That was all I needed, now I was to branded a murderer as well!
I scrabbled through my bag for the card that the taxi driver had given me when I first came here. What was his name? Jake, that was it. I called the number and sank down on the bed, listening to the shocked and horrified voices behind the door. The voices and the mingled barking of Marmaduke were verging on what is commonly called a commotion, I believe.
Well, I’d faced worse.
Off hand I couldn’t think when, but I was sure that I had.
It was the faces, you see. I just couldn’t look at them, and I knew I had to limp past them, like a wounded animal, to get out of here. Well, this was where breeding would out. I thought of my grandmother and took a deep breath. Shoe woman would help me, wouldn’t she? I carefully administered some eye drops and squared my shoulders. After all, I was Flora Tate and if no-one here was going to help me, I had to help myself.
I did a feverish calculation of the amount left to pay in marbles for a Treatment. If I got out of here now, went to Victoria, sorted her out, gained a trifling agate or two, kept the Ambles away from all and sundry, went to see that silly peasant woman Maria -
“Flora, there’s a cab here for you,” Bella sounded scared and excited.
I braced my shoulders, held my head high and as I limped through the door I reminded myself yet again that none of this was my fault. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Parsons and plugs and all things horrid.
And yet, as I pushed the door open there was a tremendous noise, a sort of sighing and creaking but so loud it seemed to fill my ears with volume. It was as if the house itself was complaining on my behalf.
The staircase terrifyingly shifted and we all had to cling to whatever walls we could. I thought for one moment an earthquake had hit us, then I reminded myself that we were in St Johns Wood – not Tokyo.
My god, the subsidence that the little ginger man had been talking about had finally happened. Perhaps he wasn’t so alarmist after all. The house was shifting around us, bits of plaster falling down like plane leaves in autumn, lumps of cornice randomly fell like clumps of heavy snow on a Swiss chalet roof, and banisters twisted.
Everyone was frozen like so many grown children caught playing musical statues.
As usual, I resigned myself to taking control.
“Now everyone, keep calm and listen to me. All will be well, I have a plan.” I shouted above the awful noise of splintering wood and falling masonry. I aimed for a resolute, hopeful but above all, authoritarian tone in my voice, which I think I succeeded in. The dust was making it hard to see, but I made sure that I had eye contact with them all. They all turned expectantly to me.
After all, what other choice did they have?
I smiled kindly, and under the circs, I think most forgivingly at them all. I had to remind myself that it was the least I could do. After all, I was never, ever going to see any of them ever again.
Rule Number Twenty Seven
“Never, ever, under any circumstances stoop so low as to read other peoples correspondence. No good will come of it. You have been warned.”
Castle and Fordham
Estate Agents
Dear Ms Tate,
I am enclosing a clipping of the finalised advert which will appear in all the discussed publications for the upcoming auction of the house in St Johns Wood. I apologise for the delay, but the wheels of commerce do grind exceedingly slowly sometimes. After an arduous three months all the paperwork is now in order and we are ready to proceed. The clearing of the rubble after the regrettable incident took a little longer than we had anticipated (how fortunate that no-one was seriously hurt) and the house now embodies the vision that you and John Taylor aspired to. I do so wish that you could view it in person, although I think that the photographs do it justice.
As we confirmed in our meeting, the reserve price will be one and a half million pounds sterling, but with the interest shown I can confidently expect a much higher price on the day.
I am sorry that you are unable to attend the auction in person as I so much enjoyed our first meeting. I hope the facial bruising and swelling has subsided somewhat and that you are in less discomfort. A car accident is always a shock to the system and I think you are wise to recuperate at your leisure in Switzerland.
As instructed by you, we will deposit the money from the auction (less our 10%) in your account no 4426 7830 5725 6978 of the Royal Bank Von Dreadner of Zurich.
Once again, it was a pleasure doing business with you and best wishes for your speedy recovery.
Your obedient servant,
Peter Kingsley.
Director
P.S. I did in fact take up your advice on treating my ulcer with tincture of slippery elm to great effect. Many thanks.
P.P.S. I have as instructed destroyed (unread) any letters that have been sent to us to forward to you. There have been quite a few but it has been no trouble to us and my secretary, Fiona, says that the paper shredder has become her favourite piece of office machinery! So please don’t
trouble yourself on our account.
Royal Bank Von Dreadner
Zurich
My Dear Miss Tate,
How enchanting to hear from you again! I was worried that your work had kept you away from us for some time now. We have been eagerly anticipating your return.
I can confirm that a banker’s draft of 2.7 million pounds sterling was deposited in your account yesterday. This brings your balance with us in your current account to the sum of 9.8 million sterling.
The other matter into which you enquire I have placed in the safe hands of our mining expert, a Monsieur Aubin, who assures me that the removal of Fullers Earth from your other recently acquired property will be undertaken with little problem.
My salutations to you Miss Tate on yet another successful business transaction. I look forward to a cup of hot chocolate with you and our annual review of your finances,(it is perhaps time for us deal to with the matter of your various savings accounts?). My father was correct in telling me that you were his most honoured customer and I have no hesitation in telling you that in the many, many years we have conducted our business affairs together, you have become one of my most esteemed clients too. I like to think that one day the honour of serving you will be passed on to my son, Jean-Luc, and with that in mind, may I have the honour of presenting him to you at our next meeting?
Your most obedient servant,
Christophe Dreadner.
1/31 Tennyson Ave
St Johns Wood
London
Dear Flora,
This will be the seventh letter that I’ve posted to you – I have no idea where you are and the maddening bitch of a secretary at that estate agents won’t say one way or another if she is posting these on to you. I’ve also tried e-mailing (but they just bounce back) and every directory enquiries in the world!
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