Flora's Lot by Katie Fforde (13 inch ebook reader TXT) 📕

‘Charleswill see them, and the rest of the world will see theeffect,' insisted Flora. 'Feel good on the inside and you'll look good on the outside.'

‘Is that something else your mother toldyou?'

‘No,but it's just the sort of thing she would say. Look, I've bought you the matching knickers for theblack and the red bra.'

‘Oh!That's very kind. They were a horrendous price.'

‘I know, butit would be a shame to spoil the shop for aha'p'orth of knickers. Now, let's make a move on to Ladies'Fashion. It's much better to go to the little shops, really, but I don't know wherethey are.’

ForcingAnnabelle, even in one of her new bras, into a V-neckedtop was almost beyond Flora's powers of persuasion.She had to get a sales assistant on her side andbetween them they eventually convinced Annabelle thatshowing a bit of chest was not slutty, but was, in fact, very attractive.

‘Oh, Annabelle! You look lovely! You'vegot great boobs now we can see you haven'tgot four of them. Let's find a skirtto go with that top. Does it come in other colours?'

‘Yes. White, black and scarlet.'

‘Let'ssee the scarlet. It may not be your colour, but definitely the black andwhite.' Flora frowned. 'We should probablyget your colours done, only you may not want to bother.'

‘My colours done? What are you talkingabout?' Annabelle, who'd begun to like theimage of herself with a cleavage, now regarded Flora with alarm.

‘It'sgreat fun,' said the assistant. 'You find out which colours suit you andwhich don't.’

Annabelle becamethoughtful. 'I mostly stick with navy blue.'

‘Youmay want to be a bit more adventurous than that,' suggested the assistant tactfully. 'Let's find you someskirts. I've got a lovely fuchsia linen.'

‘I don't wear fuchsia.'

‘Why not?'

‘I just don't.’

Florahissed with irritation. 'Get back in that changing room,' sheordered, 'and do as you're told for once.’

Then she wondered if the power had goneto her head.

*

Later, anyregrets about bullying Annabelle disappeared. Sartorially, Annabelle was vastlyimproved.

‘Charlesis going to be absolutely thrilled,' Flora said, wondering if she was mad forgoing to so much trouble to make awoman she barely liked look so gorgeous. 'Now I want to go through your wardrobe and get rid of all thethings you shouldn't wear.'

‘Ican't get rid of perfectly good clothes! I always buy the best quality.' Annabelle was clinging onmanfully 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 canlook, you won't be happy looking ungorgeous.'

‘Idon't think that's a word,' said Annabelle, petulant but compliant.

Florasoftened. Annabelle really was being very good. 'If youthink it's wasteful to have a clear-out we could have oneof those parties where everyone prices up their oldclothes and then buys them from each other. Most ofthe money goes to charity, but you can take a cut if youlike. You have wine and nibbles. It's a great eveningout, usually. One person's expensive mistake may wellbecome another woman's favourite outfit. Someone'smother is bound to like pie-crust collars and navyblue.' Flora frowned. 'The trouble is I don't knowanyone round here, really, and I don't suppose your friends . . .?'

‘No.'Annabelle was very firm. 'My friends would not enjoy buying second-handclothes.'

‘Even from each other? For charity?'

‘Idon't think the Conservative Party needs us to go to quite those lengthsyet.’

Floralaughed. 'OK, no need to sound quite so headmistressy.It was only an idea. But I do want those pussycat bowsout of your wardrobe. They can go to the charity shop.’

Florawould really have preferred to go home, but she stuckwith Annabelle not only to continue with the revampingprocess, but because she wanted to find out what reallyexcited Annabelle, something that would take allher time and attention. Annabelle needed a hobby of her own, something toreplace the auction house that she would enjoy and be good at, sothat Flora could get on with dragging Stanza and Stanza intothe real world, and from there, with luck, intoprofit. And she also wanted to see the look on Charles's facewhen he saw his newfiancée.

It was thefirst time Flora had been into Charles and Annabelle'shouse. Having parked the Land-Rover in the littlestreet next door, she followed Annabelle up the front steps with strangely mixedfeelings.

What shesaw was partly a relief and partly a disappointment,it was so predictable. She should have been able to predict the pale, safecolours, the polished wood floors, the textbook good taste thathad no individuality. Everything was smooth and immaculate,and although some of the things were obviously old - the firebasket and the chimney-pot-turned-vase - they were allrestored to within an inch of their lives. She scanned thewalls for something, a picture, a photograph, whichindicated the personalities of the inhabitants, but foundnothing. A few old maps of the county, an enormously fatpig, 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 firstquestion. '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'sopen a bottle of wine. I'll get Charles to run you home later.'

‘Or I couldtake a taxi. Charles could pick me up for work tomorrow.'

‘No! Don't be silly. Charles won'tmind.'

‘He might want adrink himself when he gets in.’

‘Well, he can wait.’

Florawished she had the strength of character to stick to mineralwater herself and so be able to drive home, but thethought of a glass of wine was far too tempting.

After the day she'd had, she felt shedeserved it. Annabelle was very hard work,and might be less so if both theirsenses were a little dulled by a nice, crisp Chardonnay.

WhenAnnabelle, showing a generosity Flora hadn't suspected,had filled two huge glasses to the brim with wine, shesaid, 'Come on then. Let's go upstairs and carry on with this.’

Flora,following her, aware that if she drank even half that amountof wine driving herself home was out of thequestion, decided that abandoning the Land-Rover was the only answer.

Annabelleled the