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

he'd liftedhis glass in her direction had donesomething strange to her.

‘Oh,napkins,' she said, and hurried out to the kitchen. What was going on with her? Just because it waslate, and the cottage was cosy, there was no need for her to go all girly. Itwas Charles she was with, not Mr Darcy.

ChapterSeventeen

‘This isextremely nice!' said Charles, having taken a few mouthfuls.

‘Noneed to sound so surprised. I did do the course. It wasn't cordon bleu, but ittaught me a few basics.’

‘But I thought you needed ingredients.'

‘Ihad ingredients – well, a jar of sauce and some spaghetti. The rest is just . . . my special magic.' She laughed. Shewas glad it had turned out so well, but she knew the special magic was pretty much fluke.

‘I'm surprised you're not married,Flora.'

‘Oh?'

‘You'relovely and you can cook. What more can a man ask for?’

Florafrowned, hoping he was at least in part joking. 'It's notwhat more a man can ask for, Charles, but what a girl canask for. These days women are not prepared to settlefor mediocre. There has to be a good reason to give up your freedom and independence.'

‘That's me put in my place then.'

‘Yes.'Flora didn't dare look at him. She knew he was laughing. She was tryingnot to laugh herself.

‘Hasthis little chap got a name?' he asked. He had put his plate down and started stroking the little black kittenagain. 'No. He's terribly shy, usually.'

‘I think I'll call him Macheath.'

‘Oh? Why?'

‘BecauseI like the name, and because this is the one I want to keep.'

‘But,Charles, you can't have a kitten. Annabelle is—’

‘Allergic. Iknow. But I thought we could have an office cat. Everyone would love it.’

Floracoiled up her last forkful of spaghetti thoughtfully. Charles poured out the last ofthe wine.

‘Iwas going to offer you tea,' said Flora, suddenly very drowsy.

‘I'llmake it. It's your turn to have a nap on the sofa.’

‘I'll be fine with just the wine, Iexpect.’

Charlesscooped up another kitten. 'This is so cosy.'

‘Mm.' Floraclosed her eyes. She wanted to ask if Charles had cosiness like this withAnnabelle, but realised she didn't want to hear the answer.

She wasaware of clattering in the kitchen but she allowedherself to doze through it. Eventually she was forced toopen her eyes again. Charles was standing in front of her. He put out a handand pulled her upright. Then he wrapped his arms around herand hugged her, very, very tightly, and rested his cheek againstthe top of her head.

She wasburied in cashmere that confusingly smelt of both herperfume and of Charles. His arms about her werecrushing, making it difficult to breathe, but she wouldquite happily have stayed there, quietly suffocating, for ever.

At last hereleased her. 'Goodnight, little one,' he whispered. 'Now go upstairs quickly.Please.’

She flew upthe stairs and into bed, aware that the kittenswere still downstairs, but so confused about how theevening had progressed that she didn't want to go downstairsand fetch them - because it would mean facingCharles again. And not the Charles she'd seen at work for the last few weeks,but a rather different man: softer, warmer and infinitely more sexy. A Charleswho, as long as he was engaged, she was much better off not seeing.

Shesuddenly felt a rush of jealousy of Annabelle. No wonder shewas so determined to marry him! Although somehow,she wasn't convinced that the man she'd just seen aglimpse of was the man who got into bed with Annabelleevery night - he just didn't seem Annabelle's type.

How hadthings changed so fast? It must be the drama of thestorm, the lateness of the hour and the vodka, she decided. Inthe morning, everything would be back to normal - and the strange mandownstairs would have reverted to type and she'd be faced oncemore with the old Charles, who was definitely no threat toher sleep patterns. Although, frustratingly, there was a nagging part of her which hoped she waswrong. Complicated as it made things, thenew Charles was certainly interesting.

Beforesleep claimed her, which, in spite of her frustration, itwas threatening to do, Flora wondered what she'd doif Charles and Annabelle broke up. She was asleep before she'd decided on an answer.

*

Floragot up early, and went downstairs to check on the kittens. Theyweren't there. The washing-up was all done, but she'd been vaguelyaware of Charles doing that the night before. The kittens werea mystery. She realised as she went back upstairs that Charles must havetaken them, and Imelda, into his bedroom, for safekeeping. If shehadn't recently seen a side to him that was nowhere nearas unfeeling as he'd appeared at first, that gesture alone would have broughther round. Although she was determined notto like him too much; she had feltrather too drawn to him for comfort last night. Luckily, she was sure it was only the circumstances. The fire, the food, the wine, thekittens, and the fact that they wereboth very tired, made them think of bedwhen normally it wouldn't have crossed either of their minds. Still, it might add a certain frisson to their workingday! She met him coming outof the bathroom. 'Good morning!' she said brightly.

‘Areyou a morning person, Flora?' Charles asked with a smile.

‘I think so. Are you?'

‘Not specially. I took the kittens and Imelda into my bedroom. I thought they would probably have beenall right downstairs, but I knewthey were used to human company and I didn't want them to get lonely.'

‘That was very sweet of you. They would have been fine, but they are used to being with me. Or isit that I'm used to them?'

‘Whichever.Shall I go downstairs and see what I can find for breakfast?'

‘That'sa good idea. I think it's stopped raining, but everything is stillpretty soggy'

‘I expect it is. See you in a minute.’

Floradressed with all her normal care, although now he'd seenher first thing without her make-up, and last thing whenwhat make-up she had left on was all under her eyes,so it was a little late to impress him. She smiled at herreflection. To her relief, things seemed back to normalthis morning. The cold light of day had brought back arather less sexy, rather more cousinly