Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Mum rang. She's had a wedding invitation. They're definitely going to get married. My life is over.'

  ‘No it's not! You knew they were going to get married. You're no worse off than you were before.' Emma was obviously trying to ward off another Niagara-sized weeping session.

  ‘I know, but I suppose that deep down I'd been hoping that they'd had a huge row after I left. I suppose I hoped that kissing me might have made Charles think twice, that he might have decided to cancel - or at least postpone - the wedding, but I shouldn't have let myself hope really.'

  ‘Well, you're not to let it make you slump into despair. I know it's hard but lounging around all day in a sweater that's far too big for you isn't helping.'

  ‘It's a lovely sweater,' said Flora, clutching its softness.

  ‘It is, but it's making you soft. You'll have to get out - do something about getting a job. You can stay as long as you want, but I can't manage the rent here on my own. If you don't pay me rent, I'll have to find someone else.'

  ‘Emma!'

  ‘Tough love, sweetie. And you'd be so much happier if you were doing something.'

  ‘I'll need a job before I can pay you.'

  ‘Haven't you got savings? Didn't they pay you at the auction house?'

  ‘Not really, not in a way that would count as being paid in London. I didn't have to pay rent, you see.'

  ‘Well, I'm sure you'll pick something up, if you're not too fussy. I'm not sure if Sotheby's will take you on just like that, though.’

  Flora smiled obligingly 'No, but when I've sorted myself out a bit, I will think about working for an auction house. It's so exciting.’

  Emma wasn't very enthusiastic. 'But I've a feeling if you want to work for one of those places and live in London, it helps if you've got a private income.'

  ‘You're probably right. Maybe I should find a country auction house who wants to take on an apprentice. I can always do bar work in the evenings.'

  ‘Or you could get better-paid work. You've had loads of quite high-earning jobs in the past.'

  ‘They were just jobs, not careers,' said Flora. 'I don't know if I'd be satisfied with that now.'

  ‘Well, don't be too fussy. And why don't you go and have a shower and wash your hair? I fancy going out tonight. Some people from work are meeting up at a new wine bar. You can come and meet them.'

  ‘Oh, Emma, do I have to?'

  ‘Yes! I don't want to leave you here on your own, and besides, I said I'd be bringing my pretty friend.’

  ‘I'm not pretty now,' said Flora glumly.

  ‘But you would be if you did something about yourself! Get in that shower!’

  An hour and a half later Flora was in the sort of bar that had been her natural habitat before she went to the country and ruined herself for civilised life. She tried really hard to be bright and amusing and live up to the reputation Emma had created for her. If her heart had not been broken, it would have been as easy as breathing. As it was, every smile, every flickered eyelash, every little hand gesture felt forced. Fortunately, it seemed to have the right effect.

  ‘So, Flora, what do you do?' came the inevitable question from Emma's boss, who was called Tim.

  ‘I'm between jobs at the moment, but I've just finished helping run an auction house.' She smiled and sipped her spritzer, wishing she could go home and put her sweater back on. 'What about you?’

  Flora ran the conversation on auto-pilot until Tim said, 'We're sponsoring an art exhibition. I know nothing about art, don't even know what I like, but apparently it's a good marketing tool.’

  Flora began paying attention, wondering what William would have to say about the word 'art' being included in the same sentence as 'marketing tool'. 'You don't need any extra help, do you? That's just the sort of thing I'm good at.' It would be easy, and it would get her out of Emma's hair.

  ‘What? What are you good at?’

  She shrugged, smiling, trying to blag herself a job. 'Talking to people, handing out leaflets, showing people artworks. I can do it all.’

  Tim frowned. 'Well, I suppose we could do with some extra help. Do you know anything about merchant banking?'

  ‘No, but I'm very good at learning things by heart, and acting, and believe me, I can sell ice to Eskimos.' She delivered him a full-on smile that didn't often fail her. Charles was the only man who had seemed immune to its wattage.

  Tim smiled. 'I think you've talked yourself into a job, Flora.'

  ‘You see! I'm just the girl you need.'

  ‘I'll need you to wear business clothes.'

  ‘I know just what you mean! Darling little suits, crisp shirts and heels.' Or perhaps no shirt, just a hint of cleavage. She would have to raid Emma's wardrobe. Her own darling little suits were currently suffocating in black plastic bags in the Lancaster Gate flat. She didn't have a key and wouldn't be able to arrange to retrieve them in time.

  ‘You seem very keen.'

  ‘I am! It's just the sort of job I love. You can leave me in total charge, and I'll cope. I'm good at responsibility.’

  Tim's scepticism was gradually worn away until he was convinced that Flora was just what he needed. The pay was quite good, too.

  In the taxi home, Emma was just as enthusiastic. 'I knew it wouldn't take you long to get a job. I said you always fall on your feet. And while it might not be the most demanding job in the world, it'll get you out there. You'll have loads of fun.’

  Flora sighed. 'I know you're right about me needing to get out into the world, but I think "loads of fun" is a bit beyond me at the moment.’

  *

  Flora, wearing one of Emma's suits, the button of which came a little far down even for Flora's liberal attitudes, was sipping water from a bottle. The gallery was full of people screaming at each other. No one seemed to be looking at the art, but a lot of people had come up to chat to her about merchant banking. To a man - and they were all men - they knew more about it than she did but they all stayed to hear her patter and offer to get her another drink. Several had slipped their business cards into her pocket. It was quite good for the ego, she decided, and promising when it came to looking for more permanent work. One of those City types would have a vacancy for her, doing something. She had many more skills now than she had when she'd lived in London before.

  There was a small lull in proceedings and Flora was resting her voice, rehydrating, waiting for the next man bored with art to come up and be told things he knew by a girl who didn't know them, when she saw what seemed to be a familiar head bobbing through the crowd. She dismissed it as her crazed mind seeing Charles where Charles could not possibly be, and then he appeared.

  Her mouth went numb and she broke out into a sweat. She tried hard to form her mouth into a semblance of a smile but it wasn't a very convincing attempt. Speaking was beyond her.

  ‘God, it's taken me a long time to track you down!' he said crossly. 'Why the hell didn't you leave a forwarding address?’

  Flora tried to work some saliva into her mouth so she could speak. 'Hello.' Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat. 'What are you doing here?'

  ‘I've been looking for you!' Charles seemed irritated, as if they'd had an assignation and she'd failed to turn up.

  ‘Why?'

  ‘Oh, for God's sake, Flora! Have you got a coat? No? Good, then come on.'

  ‘Just a minute!' Flora's backbone re-formed itself. 'Who are you to tell me to "come on"?’

  Charles frowned down at her, confused. 'Flora, I've come to take you home. Now come on.'

  ‘I can't leave here, I happen to be working, in case you didn't notice!'

  ‘Standing round handing out leaflets is not what I call work!'

  ‘Well, sorry about that! It's the best I could do in the time! I've only been in London a short while—’

  ‘And it's time you came home again.'

  ‘No it's not! I'm working. Now please go away and let me do my job.' She smiled over his shoulder, to make out there was so
meone waiting for her attention.

  Charles clicked his teeth and took her bottle of water out of her hand. He looked for somewhere to put it and, failing to find anywhere, dropped it on the floor. 'No one's that bloody indispensable,' he misquoted back at her, as she had when he hadn't wanted to take time off for the dentist. 'Come on.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Flora found herself being grabbed by the wrist and pulled. As digging her high heels into the parquet floor would have been both difficult and embarrassing, she allowed her body to follow her wrist. 'I can't go anywhere with you, Charles,' she said when they got outside. 'And if I leave early, I won't get paid and I need the money.'

  ‘What do you need money for?'

  ‘To pay my rent. And I've got a flat to look at when I've finished here.' That wasn't true, but it sounded good.

  ‘Look, Flora, it took me a long time to track you down—'

  ‘How did you track me down? Don't tell me my mother told you where I was?’

  Charles pushed his hair out of his eyes. 'Can we have this discussion somewhere other than in Cork Street?'

  ‘Where do you suggest? Shall we ring up Rent-a-Boardroom and hope they've got one available?’

  Charles smiled. 'A restaurant would be good. I'm starving.’

  Excitement, adrenaline, and sheer pleasure at being with Charles again, even if they were fighting, made Flora's heart give a little skip. 'OK.' She struggled to sound non-committal. She didn't want to give Charles the impression she would just go meekly home with him.

  ‘There must be one somewhere round here.' Still holding on to her, they walked past several places that were closed.

  ‘A lot of restaurants are closed on Monday nights,' explained Flora. 'It's something to do with the fish. Or that may just be chip shops.’

  Charles scowled down at her, as if despairing of ever understanding her.

  They turned into a little side street down which could be seen an awning and fairy lights. Sounds of a busy restaurant emerged. They got to the door; the maitre d' regarded them sadly and shook his head, 'I'm sorry—'

  ‘Listen,' said Charles, polite but very firm, 'we're hungry, we need a small table for two. We don't mind if we have to sit by the kitchen, we don't mind if there's a bit of a draught, we just want somewhere we can eat.'

  ‘Certainly, m'sieur. If you would just wait here, I'll see what I can do.’

  While they were waiting, Flora looked around her. It seemed as if there wasn't a spare square inch to sit down in the entire place. However, not many minutes after their arrival, the maitre d' came back to them.

  ‘We have found a little corner for you.’

  They squeezed past other diners and Swiss cheese plants until they came to the corner described. Even with the table pulled out, Flora could hardly get behind it. She collapsed on her seat with a giggle, which she partly put down to nerves. Charles took the menu from the waiter, who had followed their progress with difficulty.

  ‘Steak frites, salad, and - can I see the wine list? That all right for you, Flora?'

  ‘Are you ordering my food for me, Charles?’

  ‘Yes. Have you got a problem with that?’

  Flora sighed. 'Not on this occasion.’

  Charles scanned the list that was on the other side of the menu. 'We'll have the Barolo, please, and some water. Sparkling or still, Flora?'

  ‘Sparkling,' she said meekly.

  She didn't approve of men ordering food for their companions as a rule, but in this instance it was quite nice. After all, if he'd ordered something she hated, or just didn't fancy, she'd have said something. And she was too intrigued by Charles's presence to fuss about it.

  The wine came with satisfying alacrity. 'I don't need to taste it,' said Charles. 'I'm sure it's not corked.’

  The waiter tried not to show he was offended and poured them each a glass of wine and then retreated. He was obviously experienced enough to know when customers wanted to have a good row in peace.

  ‘Now, Flora. Oh, bread. Thank you.’

  Flora took a bit of bread and nibbled it. She realised she was hungry, too. She hadn't eaten anything except nibbles since breakfast.

  ‘As I was saying. Why did you run away? You must come home!'

  ‘I didn't run away! I went away for the weekend and decided to stay on for a few days. It's not at all the same.' She didn't want to explain why she'd gone, it was too humiliating, too painful.

  ‘You may have told Geoffrey that, but it didn't fool me. And if you only went for the weekend why did you get a job? And you said you were looking at a flat!’

  Flora checked her watch. 'Thank you for reminding me. I'm due there at nine. It was the only time they could see me. I mustn't miss the appointment.' Her pride made her keep up this pretence. It made her feel more in control, somehow.

  ‘You're not going to look at any flat! What is going on with you? You come down to Bishopsbridge, cause havoc at every turn—'

  ‘I did not cause havoc! I caused . . . prosperity, publicity, a lot of good things. And we made loads for Geoffrey's books.'

  ‘I know. I was there. We must let you have another go sometime, when you're more experienced.’

  Flora was on her feet before he'd finished speaking. He grabbed her wrist. 'Only joking, honestly. You were a star, and everyone has gone on and on about it ever since.’

  Flora regarded him suspiciously. 'Tell me, Charles, honestly, did you deliberately stay away so I'd have to do the sale?’

  Charles raised a comical eyebrow. 'If I tell you, will you promise not to throw anything?'

  ‘No. I won't promise,' she snarled, 'and you've betrayed yourself by asking that question.'

  ‘Think how disappointed you'd have been - Geoffrey would have been - if you'd done all that coaching and studying and then didn't get to go on stage. It would have been like the star turning up at the theatre at the last moment when the understudy has been told she's going to go on.’

  Flora allowed herself to subside. 'I suppose so. Did you see it all?'

  ‘Yes, I did and I was genuinely impressed. Geoffrey did a really good job of coaching you.'

  ‘Don't I get any credit?'

  ‘You know perfectly well you're a natural. And people love you.’

  Flora felt a smug little smile start at the corner of her mouth and bit it back, glad she didn't have to go rushing off into the night in a huff without having had her steak frites. 'I'm not a natural at all. Geoffrey spent hours coaching me.'

  ‘Well, it was worth it. I didn't dream we'd get anything like that for them.' He frowned. 'Geoffrey was of the opinion that people kept bidding just so they could get your attention.'

  ‘It's not true. People aren't idiots. It was the website that did it. People heard the books were on sale and turned up to buy them. Nothing more than that.'

  ‘I'm not jealous of the punters.'

  ‘Good.'

  ‘So why did you go?’

  Flora exhaled, fiddled with her napkin and ate some more bread. It was lovely that Charles had come after her, but it didn't actually change anything. He'd still lose the business if he chose Flora over Annabelle -assuming he wanted to, that is. He wasn't behaving terribly like a heartbroken lover right now; instead he'd reverted to his bossy older cousin persona. Nothing had really changed, and so Flora didn't feel she could be honest with him about what had happened. She decided instead to be a bit economical with the truth.

  She fixed her gaze on a flaw in the tablecloth. 'Annabelle saw us kiss. She got the wrong end of the stick and' -she forced herself into an attempt of careless laughter -'thought there was something going on between us.' Charles's expression changed, but she found she was unable to read it. She carried on regardless. 'So she told me that if you and she didn't get married, you'd lose your half of the company.’

  Charles shook his head. 'But why did that make you leave?'

  ‘What do you mean? I couldn't ask you to—' She checked herself. She couldn't say she coul
dn't ask him to choose as that rather presupposed that he wanted her, and she wasn't sure if he did or not. 'I couldn't ask you to jeopardise the company. It's your life.'

  ‘I thought it was your life too, Flora.'

  ‘It was - is' - God, this was difficult - 'but it has been yours for longer.'

  ‘I see.'

  ‘So what are you doing here?' she asked. 'You and Annabelle are going to get married. Don't try to deny it! My mother got the invitation.'

  ‘Oh God, I'm sorry. I expect Annabelle's mother sent them out before she knew we'd broken up—'

  ‘Broken up?' Flora couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'You mean you and Annabelle have broken up?'

  ‘Yes, Flora. I rang you on Sunday, and got no answer. I asked Annabelle if she knew where you might be and she told me that she'd sent you packing.’

  Flora's head was spinning. 'But if you don't marry Annabelle, how will you pay back her father for the rewiring?'

  ‘I haven't a clue about that, either. I expect I'll think of something.'

  ‘Charles, this is so unlike you!'

  ‘I know. I think I got bored with being like me. I'd rather be more like you. I'm living in the office flat. I'm going to pick up my kitten as soon as we get back.'

  ‘Is that the royal "we"?' she asked cautiously, not wanting to misinterpret.

  ‘No! It means both of us. You've learnt a lot, you've become really useful.'

  ‘You said I caused havoc.'

  ‘It means the same.’

  Flora backtracked. There was too much to take in all at once. 'You still haven't told me why you came to find me. Or how, for that matter.'

  ‘I'll take the fifth on that last bit.’

  As Flora had a strong suspicion her mother was involved, she let that pass. 'What about the first part of the question?'

  ‘We need you, Flora! And you can't expect Geoffrey to look after your cats for ever.'

  ‘There's only Imelda, and two of the kittens are his anyway.' She frowned. 'Do you want to go on living in the flat? Because if we sold it, we could raise enough to buy Bob and possibly George out. Perhaps there'd be enough to pay off Annabelle's father, too. If not, there's still my half of the company. We could raise a loan on that. The wiring couldn't have cost that much.'