Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  Flora's mouth filled with salt water and she knew that, unless she was very lucky, she was about to be very sick. She also knew she couldn't retreat to a cubicle and throw up where Annabelle could hear her. With a huge effort of will, she swallowed hard and pushed past Annabelle.

  ‘Excuse me. I've got to go.’

  *

  She stood in the corridor for a few moments, feeling sweat prickle along her hairline, wishing she could just die of humiliation and not have to endure the process of going back into the saleroom, where everybody would want to talk to her. She opened the door to a storeroom, obviously used by the playgroup, and full of tricycles and scooters, space hoppers and lorries. There was hardly space for her, too, but she squeezed in and stayed there until she heard Annabelle leave the Ladies'; then, when her nausea had passed, she emerged, feeling her life was as much of a road smash as the pile-up of plastic vehicles behind her.

  She had to go to the little room they used as an office to get her bag. She didn't know if it was good or bad that only Charles was in there.

  ‘Flora! Are you all right? Where have you been? You look awful!'

  ‘I just feel a bit shell-shocked,' she said, trying to brush it off. 'The excitement, I suppose. How's your tooth?'

  ‘Oh fine, now. Shall I drive you home?' He stared at her with what was unmistakably an echo of the look in his eyes after they kissed. 'We need to talk, Flora. I want to—'

  ‘No.' She stopped him before he could get any further. She had to sort things out in her mind before everything got any more confused, and the last person she could talk it all over with now was Charles. 'No, Charles, sorry.' Good, she was sounding more composed. 'I would like to go home, but I don't want you to drive me. Really. I'll be fine. Could you just pass my bag? It's in the bottom drawer of that filing cabinet.’

  He looked hurt and confused. 'But, Flora, I don't want you going home on your own when you look so ill. And we have to—'

  ‘I really will be fine on my own.’

  Looking into her eyes, he could see her determination and backed off gracefully. 'You were a star today, Flora. I saw it all. And we can talk tomorrow, can't we?’

  Flora regarded him, feeling she didn't know whom she was looking at. 'I'm glad I didn't let you down, Charles.’

  And then she left, too miserable to weep.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Flora felt overcome with loneliness and despair once she got back to the cottage. She put the kettle on and then realised she didn't want tea, so she opened a bottle of wine, poured a glass, and didn't want that either. She knew that a really good cry would release some of her tension and be healthy, but tears wouldn't come. She collapsed on to the sofa and let Imelda and the kittens comfort her. The kittens weren't interested in her for long, but Imelda was satisfyingly soothing. She sat on Flora's lap and purred loudly, dribbling as she kneaded Flora's knee with her paws. Flora sat there with her eyes closed, stroking Imelda on automatic pilot.

  ‘This is ridiculous!' she said aloud. 'You came to the country to learn about your family business and you've done it! You've learnt about it and improved it and today you made thousands of pounds for Geoffrey. You should feel ecstatic! The whole thing with Charles is neither here nor there, really. He was engaged to Annabelle, and he's still engaged to Annabelle. Nothing's changed.’

  But something had changed. That kiss, that look, and Annabelle witnessing both. Even if she'd wanted to, she felt she couldn't pretend nothing had happened -Annabelle wouldn't let her. And Annabelle held the whip hand - over her, over Charles and, currently, over Stanza and Stanza. A lot of things now made sense.

  She went into the garden to ring her mother. She wasn't ready to talk about Charles yet. When she'd got her thoughts together, she would, but not now. But her mother knew she might have had to do some selling today and would be longing to hear how it went.

  At first the call went to plan. Her mother was even more excited that Flora expected.

  ‘Oh, darling, I knew you'd find out what you were really good at eventually!'

  ‘What do you mean?' Flora was indignant. 'I'm good at lots of things. People always want to give me jobs and hate it when I leave.'

  ‘I know, I know, but an awful lot of that's because you're blonde and pretty. And they were just jobs. This is a career, and you're good at it in spite of being blonde and pretty.’

  Flora didn't want to pass on what Louisa had said about the last lot, when she thought the two bidders just kept bidding so they could watch Flora. 'I've never thought that not being a dog to look at was a disadvantage. People have been very kind to me. Do you think that's why? That's a dreadful thought.'

  ‘Well, maybe, initially, but if you're just a pretty face they won't go on indulging you. That's what I mean, really. This is a job where looks don't count. I'm so proud of you, darling.'

  ‘Thanks, Mum.'

  ‘Your dad's here. Do you want a word?’

  Flora really wanted a hug, but a word would have to do. After a long chat with her father, who wanted to know exactly how it all worked, Hermione came back on.

  ‘So, what about you and Charles?'

  ‘We're not - a "we", I mean. He's with Annabelle and will be for ever.' She sniffed. The tears she had tried to force away earlier threatened now.

  ‘Are you sure?'

  ‘Yes! He kissed me after I got down off the podium and Annabelle saw.'

  ‘But everyone would have kissed you, surely?'

  ‘Not like that. And we looked at each other. That was the worst, the most revealing part. Then she followed me to the Ladies' and told me that if Charles . . .' She gulped back a sob. 'That even if Charles wanted to leave her for me he couldn't because . . .' Another hiccup. '. . . he owes her father loads of money and he put up his half of the business as security.'

  ‘Why does he owe Annabelle's father money? Was it gambling debts or something?'

  ‘No! He had to have the office building rewired.’

  ‘Oh, good. I mean, I'm glad it wasn't anything dreadful.'

  ‘Quite dreadful enough. Mum, I've got to leave. I can't stay around and watch him marry Annabelle. And I couldn't ask him to do anything that would risk him the business.' This realisation had been filtering through to her slowly, but now it had arrived it was perfectly clear.

  ‘But are you sure it's true? This story? Before you do anything irrevocable, check that Annabelle's telling the truth. She might easily have made it up. Phone Geoffrey. He'll know.'

  ‘There's still the kiss thing. She knows I'm in love with Charles—'

  ‘And is he in love with you?’

  Flora was silent for a long moment. 'I think so. I mean, that's what it felt like. When he kissed me, and then when he looked at me afterwards. But—'

  ‘Don't turn your back on the business you love and have put so much into without making sure there's absolutely no choice. Ring Geoffrey. And then ring me back.’

  Geoffrey answered the phone, sounding very cheerful. 'Hello, dear! How nice to hear you. I didn't see you to say goodbye, are you all right?'

  ‘I'm fine, Geoffrey,' she said, realising she sounded anything but. 'Tired, of course, but otherwise fine. I was just wondering if you could tell me something. I was thinking about the wiring in the office building.' She hoped Geoffrey didn't think it a strange thought, but she had to know if Annabelle was telling the truth.

  Fortunately, Geoffrey didn't seem to think her thoughts were all that strange. Or if he did, he didn't mention it. 'What about the wiring?'

  ‘Does it need redoing?'

  ‘Oh, I shouldn't think so. They had it all redone about a year ago. Annabelle's father paid for it all.'

  ‘How on earth do you know that?'

  ‘I had to check the bills. He wouldn't write any cheques until I'd reported that the work was done. Annabelle was very cross that her father had asked me to do it. You know she never had any time for me.’

  Good manners forced Flora to continue the conversation for a
bit longer, then she rang her mother and reported the news.

  ‘Oh, love! My heart bleeds for you! My friend said that the hardest part of motherhood was watching them break their hearts and being able to do nothing about it. Now I know what she means.'

  ‘I'll be fine, Mum. I'm strong. I've just got to decide what I'm going to do now.’

  There was another long pause.

  ‘Well, darling' - Hermione stepped into the silence -'you know we're always thrilled to have you. If you'd like to come and stay—'

  ‘No, Mum,' Flora said tiredly. 'It's a lovely thought, but I need to be practical, and you're not exactly round the corner, are you? I think I do have to leave though -I can't face Charles.' A memory of his face looking worriedly at her after her confrontation with Annabelle came back to her. He'd been very keen to talk - presumably about their kiss - but whatever it was he wanted to say, she couldn't bear to hear it. If he wanted to tell her it was a mistake, and he was in love with Annabelle and Annabelle alone, it would break her heart. But if he told her he was in love with her but tied to Annabelle by Stanza and Stanza, that wasn't any better. She couldn't ask him to give up the business he cared so passionately about - and to be honest she didn't really want to know what choice he would make were he forced to make that decision. No, there was nothing for it. She couldn't stay in Bishopsbridge.

  ‘I might go and see Emma for a bit,' she said slowly, thinking it out. 'But you must promise not to tell Charles where I've gone. He might want to follow me to make sure I'm all right, but I don't want him to. Do you understand? Leaving is going to be quite hard enough, but it'll be even worse if I have to talk it all through with him. I couldn't bear that.’

  Reluctantly, her mother agreed.

  When she disconnected she burst into tears and drank the glass of wine.

  After that, and some bread and Marmite, she felt robust enough to ring Emma. She might not be in, but Flora thought she could leave a message, warning her that she might be getting a visit very soon. But, luckily, Emma was there.

  ‘Sweetie!' she shrieked. 'How are you?’

  Flora felt utterly exhausted, suddenly. 'Well. I've just conducted my first auction. It was brilliant. Very exhilarating.'

  ‘So are you celebrating with a glass of wine?’

  ‘Mm.'

  ‘So why don't you sound happy?’

  Flora bit her lip. Crying was healthy, but it did interrupt conversation rather. 'Because the rest of my life has gone pear-shaped.'

  ‘Is it Henry?'

  ‘Henry? No! Charles! I'm in love with him, Ems, and he'll never leave Annabelle.'

  ‘The one that William wanted to paint? She did have a sort of heavy, pre-Raphaelite sort of beauty. Well, just get him away from her. Should be easy, pretty girl like you,' Emma said briskly.

  ‘It's not that simple. Even if I could, if they don't get married he'll lose his half of the business. Oh, my God. Can you imagine sharing a business with Annabelle's dad! How scary!'

  ‘But it would be OK, because you'd have Charles.

  Then you could do anything.' Emma paused. 'Is he still as stuffy as ever?'

  ‘Pretty much. I'm just so in love with him I don't mind any more.'

  ‘He is extremely attractive, in that Mr-Darcy-in-need of-an-enema kind of way.'

  ‘Emma! That's very unkind. You should see how kind he can be—'

  ‘He's not being very kind if he's breaking your heart,' she retorted acidly.

  ‘He's not doing it on purpose!'

  ‘I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit off men at the moment.'

  ‘Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry! I've been so wrapped up in my own problems – are you and Dave OK?'

  ‘Yes, because he doesn't live here any more.’

  ‘What?'

  ‘Life is so much easier without him. Man-free and proud, that's me. Jeremy rings me from time to time but we haven't met up yet.'

  ‘Does that mean . .

  ‘What?'

  ‘That I could come and stay for a bit? I've got to get away from here.' Then she told Emma everything. When she'd finished, Emma said, 'Get in the car as soon as that glass of wine has gone away, and get your arse up here!’

  Flora rang Geoffrey, although it was quite late, and arranged to leave Imelda and the kittens with him, early in the morning. Then she cleaned. She knew she wouldn't sleep and so didn't even attempt to go to bed until the cottage was as gleaming as it could be. Every plate, cup and knife was washed and stacked in a freshly wiped cupboard. The future Mrs Stanza would not be able to criticise her housekeeping.

  When the physical exercise of sweeping and wiping and dusting had finally exhausted her, she had a bath in what was left of the hot water and fell into bed, Imelda on top of her.

  She awoke at dawn and packed her clothes. Downstairs she saw the teapot on the mantelpiece. Should she leave it? Or take it as a souvenir? Or would her heart break all over again whenever she saw it? Without consciously making a decision, she wrapped it in the cashmere sweater of her father's that she had once lent to Charles and put it in her little flowery shopper, along with her make-up.

  Loading Imelda and the kittens into the Land-Rover, which she was now going to steal, made her cry again. The little cottage had been the kittens' only home. They'd been so happy here. Flora had been so happy here, in a way. She sniffed hard and wiped her nose on a tissue she found in her jacket pocket. It was one her mother had given her, and it had shoes printed on it. The sight of it made her cry even more.

  *

  Flora had forgotten how awful London traffic could be, even on a Saturday, and realised that while the Land-Rover was perfect for country roads, it was a bit hefty for the back streets of Clapham. But someone was on her side because she found a parking spot right outside Emma's house.

  Emma must have been looking out for her, because as soon as Flora opened the car door she came running down the steps. She hugged Flora for some minutes. Then she said, 'That's an awfully big car.'

  ‘I know. And it's not even mine. Mine's still parked in the yard behind the office.’

  Although she'd been away for less than a day, and wouldn't normally have gone into work on a Saturday, she felt a terrible pang of homesickness. 'It's great to be here. I've missed London.’

  Emma frowned. 'Let me help you in with your stuff.' Then she looked at Flora's bags. 'Is that all you've got?'

  ‘I didn't take all my clothes down with me. I'll have to get them out of the loft in the flat.' Usually the thought of delightful, but forgotten, little outfits to rediscover would have given Flora quite a thrill. Now they just seemed like clothes that belonged to a former life.

  ‘Well, come in, do. I've put a bottle in the fridge, or is it too early?’

  As Flora gathered up carrier bags and cases she decided that getting drunk was the only option. 'I don't think it's too early at all. It's nearly lunchtime.’

  The wine set Flora properly weeping. She curled up with her feet on the sofa and alternately sobbed and drank and told Emma her woes, until Emma got up and made cheese on toast.

  ‘Sorry, Ems, I am being the most complete pain, I know. Do you want to talk about Dave?'

  ‘No. Not being in love with Dave any more, if I ever was, I don't want to talk about him.'

  ‘Fair enough. Is there a corner shop that might be open?'

  ‘Just off the main drag. Why, what do you want?’

  ‘More wine and chocolate. At times like these a girl needs her props and so does her friend. We need a few good DVDs, too.’

  They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening eating chocolate and watching their favourite films. When Bridget Jones said, 'I choose vodka,' they both cheered.

  Eventually it was bedtime, and Flora staggered into the spare bed feeling drunk and slightly sick. 'I'll feel fine tomorrow,' she said. 'I'll be strong again tomorrow. I just needed today off.’

  But she didn't feel fine the next day. She pulled on the cashmere sweater over her pyjamas, having put the
teapot on the windowsill in her room. It was stupid, she knew, but she felt the sweater was her last link with Charles, the nearest thing she would ever have to having his arms round her. She didn't tell Emma this. She knew how tiresome broken-hearted girlfriends could be but she couldn't snap out of it, no matter how sternly she ordered herself to.

  When Emma came home from spending the day with friends Flora was still in her pyjamas. She had made a cursory attempt to clear up the dirty tissues and chocolate wrappers from the day before, but she hadn't washed her hair or put on make-up. Even brushing her teeth seemed like a waste of time, though she did at least force herself to do that.

  Emma didn't comment, and cooked them both some pasta. She was being such a good friend, Flora realised. I must pull myself together soon or she'll go off me, and then where will I be? The next day, Flora was immersed in a programme about couples buying property abroad when her mother rang.

  ‘Darling,' she said carefully, 'I don't want to make you feel even worse, but there's something I think you should know.'

  ‘What? Nothing's wrong with Dad, is it?'

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. It's just that we've had a wedding invitation. From Annabelle's parents. To Charles and Annabelle's wedding,' she went on as Flora still hadn't reacted.

  ‘Oh.' They'd obviously been sent out a couple of days before Flora had left. Annabelle wouldn't call it off now, and Flora's last faint hope evaporated. 'That's it, then.'

  ‘It does rather look like it.'

  ‘Well, it's only what I knew already.'

  ‘I know. But I'm really, really sorry, darling.’

  Flora ate a packet of custard creams even though she didn't like custard creams, possibly hoping that the nausea would be a distraction from her utter misery.

  When she heard Emma's key in the lock, she flew to the kitchen and began to peel some onions to chop. She had to have some excuse for her newly red eyes and nose.

  ‘Oh, Flo, what now?' Emma demanded, not convinced that pulling the brown skin off an onion could have had that effect so quickly.