Flora's Lot Read online

  Obligingly, Imelda came to inspect her maternity suite, sniffing and then stepping on to it, her paws still dainty and discriminating in spite of her swollen body. After she'd circled, kneaded, settled and resettled for a while, Flora closed the door a little, to see if Imelda wanted it dark. She looked up at Flora and Geoffrey as if to say, 'That's fine, now run away and play.’

  Feeling dismissed, Flora said, 'I expect the boots made her feel at home. She loved my shoe cupboard when I first brought her home, which was why I called her Imelda.’

  Geoffrey chuckled in a fatherly way, and Flora realised that it was a while since she'd seen her own father, whom she loved dearly. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to Geoffrey.

  ‘Now you go and get. something warm to put on,' he said. 'It's quite chilly in the church, winter or summer.’

  Flora bit her lip. It had been so hot in London everyone flopped about, sweating. It seemed even the weather was different in the country. 'The choir seems to start awfully early,' said Flora. Was going a huge mistake? Perhaps she should light a fire to keep the wolves away.

  ‘Well, by the time we've got back to town, and you've popped in and said hello to Edie, it'll be time. We start at seven-thirty'

  ‘Right,' said Flora, wondering what on earth she'd let herself in for.

  *

  Edie, Geoffrey's wife, insisted on lending Flora a fleece, not considering her divinely pretty cardigan sufficient protection against the cold of St Stephen's.

  ‘You could freeze to death in that church, even in high summer. Don't worry about what you look like. It won't matter in there.' Edie smiled and patted Flora in a way that made Flora wonder if they had grandchildren. They'd be perfect grandparents: indulgent, wise, caring. 'Is your little cat all right?’

  Flora nodded. 'We made her a place under the stairs. She probably won't have her kittens for days, but she's so enormous, and you can feel the babies moving about.'

  ‘Well, you let me know as soon as they're born and I'll get Geoffrey to bring me along to see them. And now you two had better get along to choir. It would be nice if Flora could meet one or two of the others before you start.’

  Fending off her ministrations and injunctions with fond good humour, Geoffrey ushered Flora back into the car.

  ‘Why doesn't Edie come to choir?' Flora asked.

  ‘Tone deaf. Besides, she usually goes to the pub with her friend on choir nights. Now belt up.' He glanced at his watch. 'We've got time to have a little tour round the town before we go. I can show you what's what.’

  The town was a mixture of the stately old and the garish new. There was a row of town houses, one of which was occupied by Stanza and Stanza. Opposite was an ancient stone building which consisted of pillars that supported a small building above.

  ‘That's the old butter market. Been in use since the thirteenth century. There's a very good fish stall here on Fridays.’

  On the other side of the butter market was another row of shops, which were made up of two charity shops, an off licence, an Indian take-away - which must have ironmonger's.

  ‘Fred, he's one of the basses, owns that shop. He's very helpful if you need anything for the house. He sells everything but he won't let you go home with the wrong thing, if you know what I mean. Down there's the abbey.’

  Flora squinted down the road and caught sight of a pale stone building and a couple of flying buttresses. 'I'd love to see it properly.'

  ‘We'll take you. We're all very proud of our abbey. It has a very nice tea shop, too.’

  There was a much smaller church at the end of the street. 'Is that where we practise?'

  ‘No. We sing there sometimes, and several of the choir worship there. There's a cleaning rota several of them are on, but I think it's just an excuse to go to the pub afterwards.

  ‘That's the pretty bit over, but there are some useful shops down there.' He indicated a side street. 'A chemist, newsagent, optician, things like that. There's everything you need here,' he finished proudly.

  Flora hadn't spotted anywhere you might possibly buy clothes apart from the charity shops, of which there seemed to be several more dotted about, but she didn't say anything. She didn't actually need clothes, after all, she just liked buying them. It was a pretty town if very quiet-seeming to city-bred Flora.

  ‘Now, if you've seen enough we'll get on. St Stephen's isn't far but I like to be there early to get a parking space.’

  Flora couldn't help feeling extremely nervous as Geoffrey ushered her up the aisle to the group of people standing by the piano. She was perfectly happy to go to parties by herself, to meet people in wine bars or pubs, but this little country church was daunting.

  Geoffrey led her to a tall man with a commanding presence and a surprisingly shy smile. 'This is Flora, James. I hope you don't mind me bringing her along. She's new to the area, and likes singing.’

  A thought gripped Flora like a pall of ice: she might have to do an audition. She could barely smile back at James. Why hadn't she asked Geoffrey about auditions? It was perfectly normal, after all, to check that someone could sing before allowing them into your choir, which had a very good reputation. Charles's words about the standard of the choir, which she suddenly remembered, added tenfold to her anxiety.

  ‘Nice to see you, Flora.' James shook her hand. 'Soprano?’

  Flora nodded. 'You probably don't need any more sopranos. I don't have to join the choir . .

  James, possibly seeing how nervous she was, ignored this. 'You go and sit down over there. Moira will look after you.’

  Moira, a tall woman wearing several layers of cardigans and sweaters, smiled and patted the seat beside her. 'Come and sit here, by me. This is Freda, and Jenny. We're the top sopranos. The seconds are the naughty ones, in the back.' She turned round and indicated three women who seemed to Flora to be models of respectability.

  One of them said, 'We cherish our subversive natures,' so dryly that Flora couldn't decide if she was joking or not.

  But even a joke that might not have been was something, and Flora began to relax a little. Other people drifted in and took their seats, which were arranged in two semi-circles near the piano. They all smiled at her in a friendly way which gave Flora courage to ask Moira, 'Will I have to audition?'

  ‘Oh no,' she said. 'James will soon sniff you out if you can't sing.'

  ‘And then what happens?'

  ‘You get sent a letter with a black spot on it,' said Moira. Then she nudged Flora firmly in the ribs. 'I don't know! It's never happened! Just don't sing too loudly to begin with.’

  Certain that no noise would be audible from her lips, however hard she tried, Flora nodded.

  ‘Right.' James called the choir to order, and after a bit more chatting and catching up, he gained their attention. 'Welcome to Flora, who's come to give us a try. Let's do a few scales to warm up. On Ah!’

  Flora found, after a few minutes, that she was really enjoying herself. At first, she had wondered why on earth she had elected to be in a freezing cold church, wearing someone else's fleece, on a beautiful summer evening, but as her voice remembered what it had done so easily when she was at school, the joy of singing in a group came back to her.

  She was glad of the fleece. She would have appreciated fleecy track-suit bottoms to go with it. Her bare legs and peony sandals were soaking up the cold like water. But she still loved it. Looking over Moira's shoulder trying to sight-read, with Moira's strong, confident voice in her ear, she was sure she made no sound at all, but that was tine, she wanted to be quiet, not to make any mistakes. She badly wanted to be allowed to stay in the choir.

  Flora was surprisingly tired when James finally finished with them. She mentioned it to Moira who said, 'It's probably because you haven't breathed deeply for years. You'll get used to it.'

  ‘How was that?' asked James, when Flora went to say goodbye and thank you.

  ‘Fine. I loved it. I'm a bit worried about the sight-reading though. I'm very rusty.'
r />   ‘That will improve very quickly. I'm glad you enjoyed it. See you next week?'

  ‘Definitely.' Flora felt a sense of achievement. It wasn't really anything to be proud of, stumbling her way through a choir rehearsal, but she felt she'd dipped a successful toe in the water of country life.

  *

  As Geoffrey drove her back through the countryside, some of Flora's optimism left her. Would she be able to cope without the comforts she was used to? Out here there would only be the sounds of wild creatures to disturb the night. Even the motorway was too far to hear unless you really listened. There wouldn't be the reassuring tick of taxis delivering people home from parties, the knowledge that a few streets away there was an all-night shop, willing to sell her anything her heart desired. There wasn't a cinema locally, and even the station was a half-hour's drive away. (Charles had informed her of the lack of facilities with dry relish.) Then the thought of Annabelle, her undisclosed plans for cost-cutting, sacking Geoffrey, taking over the family firm, her family firm, stiffened her sinews. She could cope, would cope, admirably, and when she went back to London (which just now seemed something to be longed for, like Christmas was for small children), she would be a stronger, better-qualified woman.

  It was a beautiful area, she admitted, observing the trees, the hedgerows, the hills beyond. Perhaps nature would sustain her in the way taxis and shoe shops had in the past.

  Geoffrey offered to come in with her, to check everything was all right. She accepted gratefully.

  Together they walked up the path. 'Well, the lights still work,' said Flora. 'I can see that.'

  ‘Everything will still work. It's a good little house. I used to come and see to things when they let it last year. I know it's in good order.’

  Flora opened the front door. 'I wonder how Imelda is.’

  They went to the nest they had made for her so carefully. She wasn't there.

  ‘Oh my God!' Flora's hands flew to her face. 'Where can she be?' Instantly she imagined Imelda escaping through an undiscovered hole and being set upon by foxes.

  ‘Don't panic. She can't have got out of the house. Let's have a look around.’

  It was somehow no surprise to Flora when they discovered Imelda, and four little multi-coloured shapes, in among the shoes she'd dumped out of their carrier bag into the bottom of her wardrobe. 'Oh Imelda! How could you? It must have been so uncomfortable!'

  ‘I'll run down and get the bedding,' said Geoffrey,

  ‘while you rescue your shoes. She might not like being interfered with but they need something more than just a heap of spikes to sleep on.’

  Forgiving Geoffrey's dismissal of some of her favourite possessions, Flora stroked Imelda's head. 'You're very clever and I'm very proud of you, but do you have any idea how much those shoes cost?' Flora had lived on soup for weeks to buy some of them.

  Imelda, who was very proud of herself and her kittens, didn't greatly care, but to Flora and Geoffrey's relief, she seemed to take quite kindly to being gently transferred from the jumble of Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos to the bed Geoffrey brought up from downstairs.

  Flora brought up a dish of cat food, which Imelda fell on as if starving, and another of water.

  ‘Should I get some milk for her, do you think?'

  ‘I wouldn't have thought so. Adult animals don't usually drink milk, you know.'

  ‘No, and it does upset her, rather. Oh, I'll fetch the litter tray.’

  When at last Imelda and her family were settled, Geoffrey said, 'I'd better be going.'

  ‘Wouldn't you like a cup of tea or something?' Flora's social responsibilities came flooding back to her. 'You've been so kind.'

  ‘I think I'll be getting back, but you have some hot chocolate or something before you go to bed. Help you sleep.’

  Flora resisted the temptation to hug Geoffrey. He might not be used to being embraced by young women who were missing their dads.

  Tired, but not sleepy, Flora ran a bath. At least the cottage seemed to have an efficient immersion heater, which was something. She found some scented candles in one of her carrier bags and arranged them in the bathroom. Then she poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle that Charles had brought, switched on her radio, and got undressed. Country life was going to be all right.

  Chapter Four

  The following morning, Flora slept late. She'd been woken up three times by animals she hoped were foxes but sounded like the ghouls made of latex that were extras in the film The Lord of the Rings. The little suckings and breathings from Imelda and her brood had been soothing. Imelda was an extremely competent mother, even if in human terms she should be wearing a gym-slip.

  After she'd fed Imelda and let her out for a few moments she went into the bathroom. Once she'd wrestled with the shower and the shower curtain and emerged more or less victorious, she went downstairs for breakfast.

  That all done, she felt at a loose end. Of course, Imelda needed quite a lot of stroking, feeding and letting out, but apart from that, not all of which was truly welcome, there was nothing much for Flora to do. So she decided to clean the cottage and make it more homely. Then if Annabelle came to do a spot check, she would be ready for her.

  Once she'd got into it, she quite enjoyed it; even if the hoover was heavy, inefficient and heaved out asthmatic sighs of dust with every pass, she felt pleasantly domestic, nudging the furniture out of the way and cleaning underneath it. She found polish and a duster and did quite a lot of spraying and wiping, but the smell of wood smoke still persisted. She didn't really object to it, she just wondered why the smell lingered so. Once everywhere shone as much as it could shine, given its nature, she rearranged the furniture. When she'd had a sandwich for her lunch and gone for a short walk, she moved it again, until she realised she'd put it back exactly as it had been when she'd arrived.

  Rather than slump into a huge depression, which, she was aware, would have been only too easy to do, she went into the garden and hacked off some quite large branches of rambling roses, which she put in a chipped but attractive stone storage jar she found in the back of a cupboard. This she set in the fireplace.

  ‘So I can make some sort of impression, a few changes,' she explained to Imelda later. 'Even if they are just cosmetic, they do have impact.’

  She went to bed wondering if she would ever convince Charles and Annabelle that she could be remotely useful. Now that the kittens were born, it would be even harder to move back to London. She'd have to stay until they were a bit older, at least. As she lay awake in the moonlight, she came to the uncomfortable realisation that she was trapped.

  The following morning, Geoffrey and Edie were on her doorstep before she'd cleared away her toast and Marmite.

  ‘I couldn't keep her away, I'm sorry,' said Geoffrey, as Edie came in and went up the stairs, hardly pausing to say hello or ask the way.

  Flora was delighted to have company, especially when the cottage was looking pretty

  ‘1 won't disturb her,' said Edie, tweaking open the door to Imelda's cupboard.

  Imelda, purring mightily, allowed Edie to inspect her brood, who were all well attached, pumping their little paws into their mother's body.

  ‘I reckon they've grown already,' said Geoffrey.

  ‘They definitely have,' Flora agreed. 'They were quite tubular yesterday. Today they're rounder, more like balloons.'

  ‘We wondered if you needed to go shopping or anything,' said Edie. 'It's hard for you, stuck out here without a car. That Annabelle should be ashamed of herself.'

  ‘Oh she is, very,' Flora assured her. 'And although I don't need much in the way of shopping - I stocked up the other day - I'd love to go out. Imelda's getting quite fed up with me asking how she is all the time.'

  ‘We'll give you a little tour of the town, and you can see the abbey,' said Geoffrey.

  ‘That would be lovely! I love old churches.'

  ‘We're very proud of our abbey in Bishopsbridge,' said Edie, pleased with Flora's enthusi
asm.

  ‘Oh, and is there somewhere I could buy a book? I've nearly finished my current one, and there's nothing much to read in the cottage.'

  ‘We have everything you need in Bishopsbridge,' said Edie proudly. 'Even a bookshop.’

  The abbey was beautiful, and sited as it was, nearly in the middle of town, it seemed part of Bishopsbridge, rather than separate. Edie and Geoffrey showed her the tombs, the massive pillars, and the carved woodwork. Then she agreed to meet them in the shop and wandered round on her own, soaking up the mystery of being in a place where people had come to worship for nearly two thousand years.

  She had just found the shop and had spotted Edie over by the cards when someone knocked into her. She moved out of the way with a murmured, 'Sorry,' when she saw it was the man who had run over her foot in the supermarket.

  ‘Oh my goodness,' he said. 'I seem to be making a habit of this. Are you all right?'

  ‘Of course.' Flora smiled back at him, pleased to see a familiar, handsome face. 'Unlike most of the contents of this shop, I'm not breakable.’

  —Lovely to look at, delightful to hold, but if you break me, consider me sold"?' he quoted, his head on one side.

  Flora found herself blushing. 'I'm not like that,' she reiterated.

  ‘Oh, I'm sure you're some of those things, but before we get that far, perhaps I should introduce myself. Henry Burnet.' He took her hand.

  ‘Flora Stanza.'

  ‘Oh - are you anything to do with . . .?'

  ‘Yes. I'm a partner in the auction house. Although I'm very junior. An apprentice, really.’

  `Ah. I know Charles Stanza a little bit.'

  ‘I should think that's about the amount most people know him,' said Flora, wondering if she was being disloyal.

  Henry Burnet laughed. 'He is rather reserved. So how long are you down here? Would you like a coffee? They do marvellous cakes in the café, all home-made.'

  ‘Actually I'm with those people over there.' She indicated Geoffrey and Edie, who were now looking at her rather anxiously. It was a shame, it would have been pleasant to be with a man who wasn't a surrogate grandfather, or her stuffy cousin. She could do with some attractive male company.