Together for Christmas (22 page)

‘You will look delightful in whatever you wear.’

In the warm glow of the fire, her heart beat very fast. She gazed into his eyes.

‘Good, we’re agreed then. We’ll go at the end of the week after I’ve had my treatment.’

‘But what about the surgery?’ She was beginning to panic and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘Perhaps someone might call who doesn’t know the doctor’s
away— ’

‘Then we’ll leave a note on the door to explain.’

Flora stared into his amused green eyes as he almost dared her to argue the point. But she couldn’t. It was a perfectly sensible suggestion.

Shire Street, filled with leafless March trees, was a long, slightly bumpy lane, set to the north of Poplar. Flora hadn’t even known this road existed. It was pleasantly
situated between two parks, and no house resembled the other. At one end, she noticed a crumbling Victorian villa standing next to a new development of houses. The builders were still demolishing
the old buildings. Further up the lane, Michael slowed the car, stuck out his gloved hand to indicate a right turn and, before she knew it, Flora found herself in front of a large cream-coloured
house. Its tall, lower windows were covered by faded, striped awnings and the long glass doors were thrown open onto the lawn. The uncut grass was bordered by what Flora guessed must be beds of
last year’s roses. A bicycle or two stood propped against the walls of the house; wooden flower troughs were propped lopsidedly on bricks and overflowed with straggly green and white ivy. A
small patch of cropped grass stood to one side, with a number of croquet hoops driven into the ground. Facing this was a large, wooden hut. On the balcony of the hut were several wooden mallets,
two wrought iron chairs with faded floral cushions and an artist’s easel.

‘You have a lot in common with Mama. She loves to draw and paint.’ Michael brought the car to a shuddering halt. ‘Once there’s a glimmer of sunshine, she’s off to
the wood to paint.’

‘But I only drew your car.’

‘Mama liked it very much.’

‘You showed it to her?’

Michael chuckled. ‘Of course.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m very glad you wore your brooch today. It sits very well on your jacket.’

Flora reached up to touch her brooch. She still couldn’t believe that Michael had given her such an exquisite gift. The butterfly consisted of small jewels that Michael had told her were
marquisate. Every time the light caught them, they sparkled.

‘The brooch doesn’t come close to the beauty of its owner.’ Michael looked at her as he said these words.

Flora blushed. Did he really mean what he said?

‘I can see I’m embarrassing you. Let’s go in, shall we?’

Flora loosened the scarf that she’d placed over her straw hat. She had tried to keep her hair in place as they had driven in the car with the hood down. Although it was a sunny March day,
there was a stiff breeze. But the excitement was making her feel very warm indeed.

The drive from the island had been wonderful. Flora loved the feeling of the air rushing over her face. She’d decided to wear a plain dark-blue suit with a jacket that folded neatly around
her waist. It was the suit she had worn to her interview with Dr Tapper when she’d left the orphanage. Fortunately, she had grown taller but not wider. With adjustments to the hem and the
addition of her white button up blouse, together with the boots Mrs Bell had given her, she hoped to look presentable enough for her first meeting with Mrs Appleby. And of course there was the
brooch, outstanding enough to distract anyone’s eye away from her simple dress.

Flora wasn’t quite sure what to expect by way of a greeting. Had Michael told his mother he was bringing an orphanage girl for tea? Did she even know of Flora’s existence or of the
role she played in her son’s physical rehabilitation?

‘Are you sure your mother won’t mind me coming?’ Flora asked again, as she peered through the windscreen to the wood at the rear of the house. ‘If she’s trying to
work—’

‘Don’t worry, dear girl, Mama is used to all sorts of interruptions.’

This didn’t reassure Flora at all. Was she to be regarded as an interruption? Although Michael had invited her for ‘tea’ perhaps this just meant a cup of tea? Flora began to
feel that she had misunderstood what he had told her. Had she listened properly to his invitation?

‘Michael, perhaps it’s better if—’ Flora began but Michael was already climbing out of the car.

‘Come along, take my arm,’ he told her as he opened her door. ‘I can’t wait to surprise Mama.’

Flora froze. ‘So she doesn’t know I’m coming?’ Her voice felt very small. She wanted to climb back in the car.

‘Of course she does!’ Michael laughed, his shining green eyes framed by his ruffled brown hair. He looked so handsome in his driving suit, a checked two-piece with leather knee boots
and shiny leather gloves to match.

Flora grabbed his arm and held on tight. He led her round the side of the house to the green croquet lawn in front of the wooden hut. ‘Mama uses the hut as her studio.’

‘Your mother must be a very gifted painter.’

‘Yes, I’ve often thought so.’

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the thicket of trees ahead of them. From out of the bushes rushed two black dogs, leaping and barking as they flew towards them.

‘Steady there!’ Michael commanded, holding up his cane. One of them sped towards Flora. She had never had anything to do with animals and was a little frightened as the dog sniffed
around her.

‘This is Jack,’ said Michael with a grin. ‘And Ivy. Do you like dogs, Flora?’

She smiled, daring to pat Jack’s soft head. As a warm, rough tongue slid over the bare wrist above her glove, she giggled. ‘I think I do.’

He laughed again. ‘They’re quite harmless. All bluster and show. But you’ll soon get to know them.’

Flora stroked the two dogs, laughing with Michael as the dogs panted and fell on their backs, vying for attention. She loved their gentle nature.

‘Michael! I didn’t hear that contraption of yours arrive!’ A tall, slim woman, wearing a paint-smudged smock and a large floppy hat, rushed from the trees. ‘But Jack and
Ivy told me you’d arrived.’ She threw her arms around Michael and kissed his cheek. Turning to Flora, she gave a wide, friendly smile. ‘And you must be Flora? Welcome, my
dear.’ Mrs Appleby greeted her with a gentle embrace. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

Flora blushed. ‘And I’ve heard a lot about you too, Mrs Appleby.’

‘You have?’ There was a twinkle in the older woman’s brown eyes as she glanced at her son. She quickly slipped her hand through Flora’s arm. ‘Please call me
Lillian.’

‘I hope we haven’t interrupted your work?’ Flora said softly as they strolled towards the wooden hut, leaving Michael with the dogs. Flora thought how handsome Lillian Appleby
was. She had Michael’s thick brown hair and olive skin and though the colour of her eyes was dark, they had the same warm expression.

‘I welcome the company, Flora. Michael is only home by virtue of his . . .’ she gave a little sigh, ‘. . . his injury. Before he met you, and of course the good doctor, the
time passed very slowly for him. How grateful I am that he has found hope again. Lately, he seems to be moving much easier.’

‘Dr Tapper thinks so too,’ Flora said as they stepped up on the wooden veranda of the hut. ‘He’s hoping the improvement will continue.’

‘That’s wonderful news, Flora,’ Lillian Appleby replied. ‘Though as a mother, I fear the day when my son is well enough to go away again.’ She looked into
Flora’s eyes. ‘The future is so uncertain for our young men.’

Flora nodded. She understood how Michael’s mother felt.

‘But we mustn’t talk of war just now. Let me take off this dirty smock and we’ll go in for tea.’ She went through the wooden door of the hut, leaving Flora alone. Michael
made his way up the wooden steps surprisingly quickly to stand with her.

‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked inquisitively.

‘About what?’ Flora teased. She knew he was talking about his mother.

‘Mama likes you, I can see that.’

‘And I like her.’

He stood very close. She could feel his breath on her face and see the slight smile play on his lips. Was she imagining she could feel the beat of his heart as he pressed against her? His hand
was on her waist, drawing her near. The March wind blew fragrances of an early spring around them; the dogs barked playfully on the lawn and Flora looked into his eyes.

‘Michael, I . . .’ she began but her words were lost as something inside her made her want to be close to him. Her mouth parted of its own accord and her eyes began to close.

But then a noise from inside the hut made them part. Flora knew her cheeks were very red when Lillian Appleby stepped out.

Flora liked Lillian Appleby’s house. Every nook and cranny was crammed with something interesting. Books and papers spilled along with tennis racquets, picnic baskets,
boots and galoshes, wherever there was space to pile them. The chairs and sofas were covered in beautiful but elderly cushions, their silks and embroideries still fine, but faded. There were
mementoes from many countries, which Michael had spoken of before: the tiger skin in the drawing room, the sculptured wooden furniture from the Far East with strange oriental markings, the head of
a great antelope in the hall over a pair of mahogany doors that led through into the dining room. And bookcases stuffed with books, though all in a rather haphazard manner. Flora liked to see the
dogs bound in, unchecked, through every room, their paws noisy on the bare boards.

‘I’ve asked Jenny to set tea in the conservatory,’ Lillian Appleby said, now dressed in an elegant floral frock, her slim figure seeming to glide through the house. She led
them through a set of glass doors to a wide, airy room at the rear of the house, filled with potted palms and ferns. ‘We might as well enjoy the sun while it’s out. Flora, sit here by
me.’ Lillian indicated one of four cushioned white wicker chairs drawn up to a low table. Flora couldn’t help but admire the sparkling white china teacups, large fruit cake and rack of
small, triangular-shaped crustless sandwiches.

Flora sat down, aware of Michael’s close presence beside her.

‘Jenny, we’ll have tea now, I think, or Flora, would you prefer coffee?’

‘No, tea will be fine, thank you.’ She smiled up at the pretty young girl with dark hair who, unlike any maid she had ever seen, was dressed in a plain white blouse and grey skirt.
She wore no mob cap or apron and looked more like a visitor.

‘Jenny is a neighbour’s daughter,’ explained Lillian when the girl had gone. ‘She comes in once or twice a week to help in the house. I’m afraid the days of small
households having the luxury of permanent staff are numbered. Young women these days prefer to work for the war effort. But there again, all our lives have been touched in some way.’ Lillian
glanced at her son, then crossed one leg over the other, arranging her long, flowing skirt over her knees. ‘Michael has told me how your friend Will volunteered for France in August 1914. And
later, how Hilda went into service at Lord Talbott’s estate. You must miss your friends a great deal.’

Flora looked quickly at Michael. It seemed he really had told his mother all about her. ‘Yes, I do miss them,’ Flora admitted. ‘Will is having a very hard time.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No, but his letter came just after the German attack on Verdun.’

‘Verdun? Such a nightmare.’ Lillian looked up at Jenny as she brought in the tray. A large white china pot and a milk jug stood on it. ‘Thank you, Jenny.’ Lillian lifted
the teapot. ‘And Hilda? How is she faring? Michael tells me she hopes to be lady’s maid to Bertie Forsythe.’

Flora frowned. Who was Bertie Forsythe?

‘Lady Bertha is called Bertie by some,’ Michael explained.

‘Before Michael’s dear father blotted our copybook,’ said Lillian with a rueful smile as she poured the tea, ‘we mixed in rather different circles. My husband took many
trips abroad and always needed wealthy sponsors, hence the somewhat heady lifestyle we led. Michael’s told you all about our family’s chequered history, I think?’

Flora nodded hesitantly. She felt uncomfortable that Michael had shared with her what seemed to be such personal family details.

‘Oh, please don’t be embarrassed, my dear,’ Lillian said with a chuckle. ‘The world and his wife were once privy to my late husband’s bankruptcy. Lady Bertha and I
have known each other since my marriage to Michael’s father, Julian, who was a favourite of Bertie’s set.’ Lillian raised her beautiful eyebrows and sighed. ‘Julian was a
charming adventurer and the life and soul of any party. Indeed, his passion for gaming took him into the most celebrated circles. Until finally, the money ran out. Or rather my grandfather’s
money, which had taken a lifetime to accumulate and took only a handful of years to fritter away.’ She laughed lightly, surprising Flora. ‘It’s quite all right, Flora. Michael and
I now look on our previous life with some amusement. Thank the good Lord we both survived. But no thanks at all to our dear departed.’ She looked up and nodded to a painting hung on the
chimney breast. The handsome subject was a man with light-brown hair and very green eyes. He wore a long Indian-looking robe of crimson and orange.

‘My father,’ said Michael with a twist of his lips. ‘Mama painted him in one of his favourite get-ups, a gift from some Eastern maharaja.’

Lillian smiled. ‘Michael has Julian’s eyes and his courage.’

‘A pity there is very little left of Father other than his trophies,’ remarked Michael, as he drank his tea. ‘A good name would have helped Mama in her hour of need.’

Flora heard a trace of bitterness in his voice; it was the first time he had spoken that way.

‘And you, Flora,’ Lillian said quickly. ‘Tell us something about yourself.’

Flora glanced at Michael. Would he think any less of her if she talked about being an orphan? He smiled. She found the courage to answer. ‘I was found as a baby outside the convent by one
of the nuns on the first day of August 1899. I never knew who my mother or father were.’