by Katie Fforde
‘I can't get rid of perfectly good clothes! I always buy the best quality.' Annabelle was clinging on manfully to the remnants of her bad taste.
‘But, sweetie, if the clothes make you look like a dog you shouldn't wear them. It's bad for you to feel unattractive, and now you know how gorgeous you can look, you won't be happy looking ungorgeous.'
‘I don't think that's a word,' said Annabelle, petulant but compliant.
Flora softened. Annabelle really was being very good. 'If you think it's wasteful to have a clear-out we could have one of those parties where everyone prices up their old clothes and then buys them from each other. Most of the money goes to charity, but you can take a cut if you like. You have wine and nibbles. It's a great evening out, usually. One person's expensive mistake may well become another woman's favourite outfit. Someone's mother is bound to like pie-crust collars and navy blue.' Flora frowned. 'The trouble is I don't know anyone round here, really, and I don't suppose your friends . . .?'
‘No.' Annabelle was very firm. 'My friends would not enjoy buying second-hand clothes.'
‘Even from each other? For charity?'
‘I don't think the Conservative Party needs us to go to quite those lengths yet.’
Flora laughed. 'OK, no need to sound quite so headmistressy. It was only an idea. But I do want those pussycat bows out of your wardrobe. They can go to the charity shop.’
Flora would really have preferred to go home, but she stuck with Annabelle not only to continue with the revamping process, but because she wanted to find out what really excited Annabelle, something that would take all her time and attention. Annabelle needed a hobby of her own, something to replace the auction house that she would enjoy and be good at, so that Flora could get on with dragging Stanza and Stanza into the real world, and from there, with luck, into profit. And she also wanted to see the look on Charles's face when he saw his new fiancée.
It was the first time Flora had been into Charles and Annabelle's house. Having parked the Land-Rover in the little street next door, she followed Annabelle up the front steps with strangely mixed feelings.
What she saw was partly a relief and partly a disappointment, it was so predictable. She should have been able to predict the pale, safe colours, the polished wood floors, the textbook good taste that had no individuality. Everything was smooth and immaculate, and although some of the things were obviously old - the fire basket and the chimney-pot-turned-vase - they were all restored to within an inch of their lives. She scanned the walls for something, a picture, a photograph, which indicated the personalities of the inhabitants, but found nothing. A few old maps of the county, an enormously fat pig, which on inspection proved a modern reproduction, and a portrait of a lady in pearls, was all there was. Flora, depressed, felt she already knew the answer to her first question. 'Do you and Charles own this house together? It's lovely.'
‘No, it's mine.' Annabelle kicked off her low-heeled loafers. 'I'm glad you like it. Would you like something to drink before we go upstairs? Come on, let's open a bottle of wine. I'll get Charles to run you home later.'
‘Or I could take a taxi. Charles could pick me up for work tomorrow.'
‘No! Don't be silly. Charles won't mind.'
‘He might want a drink himself when he gets in.’
‘Well, he can wait.’
Flora wished she had the strength of character to stick to mineral water herself and so be able to drive home, but the thought of a glass of wine was far too tempting.
After the day she'd had, she felt she deserved it. Annabelle was very hard work, and might be less so if both their senses were a little dulled by a nice, crisp Chardonnay.
When Annabelle, showing a generosity Flora hadn't suspected, had filled two huge glasses to the brim with wine, she said, 'Come on then. Let's go upstairs and carry on with this.’
Flora, following her, aware that if she drank even half that amount of wine driving herself home was out of the question, decided that abandoning the Land-Rover was the only answer.
Annabelle led the way into a thickly carpeted bedroom that was as bland and tasteful as the sitting room. She pulled open the door of a row of mirror-fronted cupboards.
‘Oh Annabelle! What a fantastic wardrobe!' Flora, who had taken a hefty sip of wine on her way up the stairs, sank on to the bed and stared at the masterpiece of space-saving, categorising and colour co-ordinating before her.
‘I thought you'd come to trash my wardrobe,' commented Annabelle, taking a deep drink from her own glass.
‘The contents, not the thing itself. It's completely fab. I want one.'
‘Not in the holiday cottage you don't.'
‘No, but where I end up eventually.'
‘I got a firm in to do it for me. Charles was all for getting a little local man to do it, but I felt I wanted a professional. It's an investment, really. It will add value to the house.'
‘Quite right,' said Flora, not sure she agreed with herself. 'Now, let's get started.' If they hung around too long they would both fall asleep and Charles would find them on the bed together, possibly snoring lightly, which would worry him in all sorts of ways. Besides, she was beginning to miss her kittens. 'All round-necked jumpers, out.'
‘But—'
‘They make your boobs look like bolsters, even with the new bras. You can try one if you don't believe me. Oh, and polo-necks.'
‘But it gets so cold in winter!'
‘OK, keep the polo-necks, but just remember they won't flatter you.’
The super-deluxe wardrobe system meant a pile of unsuitable sweaters were soon placed neatly on the floor.
Flora now got off the bed and started going through the rail designated for shirts and blouses. 'Pie-crust, pie-crust, pussy-cat bows.' A pile of Liberty prints hit the floor. 'And any of these that go straight down should go really unless you promise to tuck them in. They should be a bit fitted, or you get too much bulk in your waistband. Those have to go anyway. Those flowers are too busy.'
‘I always wear that under a jumper, so you only see the collar.'
‘Would that be a jumper with a round neck?' Annabelle nodded ruefully.
‘Then you won't be needing it any more, will you?’
‘But it's smart and comfortable. I like it.'
‘It looks like a school uniform, only not in a sexy way.' Flora fixed her with a steely eye as she added the shirt to the discard pile. 'I'm not sure the flowers are quite right with your skin. We really should get your colours done.'
‘No, that's fine,' said Annabelle, obviously reluctant to submit to more tyranny. 'I trust you, Flora.'
‘Good! Now, skirts. Oh, this is wonderful! They're all neatly together. This is so easy. Knee length box-pleats haven't come back yet, Annabelle, and I don't see it happening soon. Out! A kilt?' She looked at Annabelle who was looking a little pathetic as all her favourite outfits were cast aside. 'OK, you can keep the kilt, but promise me you'll only wear it in Scotland. Anywhere else it will make your hips look enormous.'
‘But not enormous in Scotland?’
Flora chuckled. Perhaps Annabelle did have a sense of humour in there somewhere. 'In Scotland, they're allowed.’
In celebration of this dispensation, Annabelle went downstairs for the rest of the bottle.
‘Shall I make some pasta and salad? I've got one of those fresh sauces we could have with it?' Annabelle tore open a packet of nuts with her teeth.
‘It's sweet of you, Annabelle, but I'd like to get back. My cat and kittens, you know. But the nuts are lovely. Oh, look, a whole section for ball gowns. You are a party girl.'
‘Hunt balls, mostly. Things like that. Oh, can't I keep that?'
‘Royal blue is quite a difficult colour, Annabelle, and look how high cut it is. It won't show off your boobs and will cling to your stomach. You want something low cut, but with sleeves. No frills, though,' she said, extracting something reminiscent of Princess Diana's wedding dress. 'When you're over thirty it's better to
stick with something simple and sexy.'
‘OK.' Glum but obedient, Annabelle put a handful of peanuts into her mouth.
‘Now, shoes.'
‘I have to be comfortable, Flora. It's no good trying to make me teeter about on high heels. I can't do it.’
Flora was merciful in defeat. 'Well, just promise me you'll buy one pair of black court shoes—'
‘I have three pairs of black court shoes.'
‘With heels. Even small heels. Just something. And remember, the more you pay for shoes the more comfortable they are.'
‘Your mother's advice again?’
Flora tried to remember. 'I think it was more something she told my father after she'd spent a lot of money on some shoes. But it is true.’
They sank back on the bed and both dived into the nuts at the same time.
‘This has been quite fun,' said Annabelle. 'I didn't expect it to be, but it has.'
‘I think you'll enjoy the new you. I should take you up to London to get your hair cut, really, but I expect there's someone down here who's quite good.'
‘You're positive I must have it a bit shorter?’
Flora nodded. 'And a few layers. It looks lovely now, for instance, when it's all mussed up from you trying on jumpers. And I was right about the bolster, wasn't I?'
‘I suppose so. Now I want to go out and show off my new look. When can you arrange that little dinner party? The one you're giving so I can check out the naked man in your garden.’
Flora giggled. 'You make it sound like there's always one there.'
‘I suppose they do mostly come in bronze.' She sighed, and it occurred to Flora that she was probably very tired.
‘I thought I'd do it when my friend from London, Emma, comes down for the weekend. She was at university with William.' The wine had gone to Flora's head a little and she couldn't remember if she was supposed to know William's name or not. She blundered on. 'It's more fun if there are several people there, don't you think?'
‘Yes . . .' Like cats, they both became alert as they heard a key in the door. 'There's Charles.’
Flora shifted to the edge of the bed and got up. 'I'll run down and see him, tell him not to have a drink until he's driven me home, while you make sure you're looking completely fab.’
Annabelle got up off the bed and smoothed her top down over her skirt. 'OK, but there's no need for you to hurry down. We're up here, darling,' she called, hitching up her breasts. 'In the bedroom. Can you drive Flora home?’
Charles came up the stairs and stood in the doorway, half embarrassed, like a father at a teenage sleepover. He didn't know quite where to look. 'Oh my God!’
Flora felt a bit like a cross between a Fairy Godmother and a gooseberry. Annabelle was looking surprisingly sexy, and any normal man would want to do something about it. But not, apparently, Charles, who just stood and stared at her.
‘Well, doesn't your fiancée look stunning in her new clothes?'
‘She certainly looks different.'
‘In a good way,' said Flora, determined to force him into the right reaction. 'Do a twirl, Annabelle.’
Annabelle twirled and Flora felt her hard work had paid off.
‘The girls at the reunion will be very impressed,' said Flora. 'Fancy frumpy old Annabelle turning out to be so sexy.'
‘The reunion?' said Annabelle. 'Oh, I'd forgotten about that for a moment.’
Charles was frowning. 'I think I liked you better the way you were before, pumpkin.'
‘Oh, for goodness' sake!' said Flora, exasperated. 'She hasn't changed her whole personality! Just her clothes! And she looks gorgeous! Admit it.'
‘Well, yes. I suppose she does.' Charles came further into the room and kissed Annabelle on the cheek and then on the lips. 'But beauty is only skin deep. It's what's inside that counts.’
Flora rolled her eyes. 'We all know that, we've been hearing it since we came out of the egg, but the point is, the inside is still the same! Annabelle is still Annabelle, she just looks younger and prettier and sexier.' It was certainly uphill work teaching Charles not to judge by appearances.
‘Flora's right, you know,' said Annabelle. 'It's only my clothes and the way I wear them that's different. I'm still your little pumpkin inside.' Flora shuddered. 'By the way,' Annabelle went on, getting into the role that went with her new look. 'Flora needs a lift home, sweetheart.'
‘Oh.’
Flora didn't bother to check Charles's expression. He was bound to be looking like there was a poker fused to his spine. 'No, really. I'll order a taxi. I don't want you love-birds to be kept apart for another minute, and it's a good half-hour to the cottage, and then another back. Annabelle, cook Charles something delicious, and Charles, order me a cab. Please?’
Charles moved away from Annabelle and came to look sternly at Flora. 'I'm perfectly happy to drive you.’
This was a bit of a surprise. 'No, honestly. I'd much rather take a taxi.'
‘Are you sure?'
‘Of course she's sure,' said Annabelle. 'She's not a child, even if she does look rather young. And do you know, sweetie? Flora's going to invite us for dinner when her friend comes to stay. Such fun.’
Oh God! She'd have to do it now Charles knew about it. Why did she drink all that wine? Look at the trouble it was getting her into. Perhaps Emma was right, and living in the country had got to her, and not in a good way.
‘You will have to get me a dining table first, though. I couldn't have you eating on your laps.'
‘I can certainly arrange that,' said Charles. 'Come down and we'll phone for a taxi. Are you coming, darling?'
‘I just want to tidy myself a little,' said Annabelle. 'My hair's a mess.'
‘Annabelle,' said Flora warningly. 'You're not to put that headband back on!'
‘You see, Charles?' she said to him as they walked down the stairs. 'She may have changed on the outside, but she's still tidy Annabelle underneath.'
‘I'm very relieved to hear it. I wouldn't like that aspect of my life being turned upside down, too.'
‘What do you mean?' She turned to him as they reached the hallway.
‘You've caused quite enough upset in my life without messing about with my perfectly satisfactory fiancée.’
Flora took a breath and then saw that Charles was almost smiling. 'Oh. You're teasing. I wish you'd warn me when you're going to. It's so unexpected, coming from you.'
‘You could make me a little sign that I could hold up when I'm going to do it, like the bidders.’
Flora chuckled. 'It's a good idea, but it's unlikely to happen enough to make it worth my while.'
‘Oh, I don't know about that. So, you girls have done some shopping?' He flicked through the Yellow Pages.
‘Some. We've also done a lot of sorting out. But I want you to tell me if Annabelle doesn't make a trip to a charity shop very soon.'
‘You're not telling me you've been shopping in charity shops?’
Flora couldn't tell if Charles's horror was his own, or on behalf of Annabelle. 'No,' she said coolly. 'We haven't. But a lot of Annabelle's current wardrobe is quite wrong for her and she should get rid of it. It's all in a pile. Well, a heap, really.'
‘Oh.' Charles found a number and started pressing buttons.
‘Do we advertise in the Yellow Pages?' she asked him while he was waiting to be connected.
‘Just a small entry. Large ads are very expensive.'
‘I really think you ought to have a proper advertisement, you know.'
‘Most of our business comes from local people, who know about us.'
‘But think of that valuation we did the other day. They weren't local, even if their uncle was. How did they know to ring you?'
‘A friend of the uncle's recommended us.'
‘But if he hadn't, and they came down here and wanted an auctioneer, what would they do?' As Charles seemed to be being rather slow, she answered for him. 'They'd look in the Yellow Pages.'
‘Ah, yes. Can yo
u take someone out to Fiddler's Wood, please?’
When the taxi was arranged, Flora continued, 'I want to have a talk about the business, Charles. I've had some ideas.'
‘Have you?’
He was obviously very tired. His usually immaculate shirt and tie was looking a little rumpled. A strand of hair had fallen away from the rest. Flora had a sudden, almost irresistible urge to smooth it away. Only the fact that she couldn't have reached it unless he had bent down a little stopped her.
‘I have. But we won't talk about them now, you look tired.'
‘Oh, I'm all right. It's been a bit of a long day, that's all. You won't want to come into the office tomorrow as it's Saturday, but I'll drop the Land-Rover off. Annabelle can follow me in her car and give me a lift back.'
‘Are you working tomorrow then?'
‘I have got a few bits and pieces to tie up, yes.'
‘Then I'll come in too, at least for the morning. Apart from anything else, it'll save Annabelle having to come.' She frowned as she realised that she'd only achieved half her goals regarding Annabelle - she still hadn't found out what sort of business she would really like to go into. Though probably not anything connected with fashion.
‘Are you sure?’
Something in Charles's tone made Flora vehement. 'Yes! It's my business too! Besides, I haven't got anything else on, much.'
‘You wouldn't like a day to relax?'
‘I'll do that on Sunday.'
‘That's showing great dedication to duty, Flora.’
‘Did you expect anything less?' She couldn't help teasing him just a little.
‘If I did before, I certainly wouldn't dare now. Oh, and your car is ready, by the way. I'd collect you in it tomorrow, only there's something I want to deliver for the cottage that you might find useful.'
‘That sounds exciting. It's not a dining table?’
‘Alas, no.'
‘And it's good about my car. I hope it wasn't horribly expensive.'
‘Don't worry about that. And you can go on using the Land-Rover if you like.'
‘I do like it.’