Before and After (25 page)

Circling above Heathrow was flight BA353 from Athens. Hal was sitting in an aisle seat, more than a little tipsy, his eyes closed with tiredness and duty free tequila. All he could think about was Flora Tate and getting home. He was determined to show that he had become a man in the brief time he’d been away. He had with him, tucked safely away in a zippered pocket of his hand luggage, a sheaf of papers for Flora. He’d read them guiltily, with struggling comprehension. The legal jargon made no sense to him but it was something to do with deed transfers on some properties. He stirred in his sleep as the plane banked, in preparation to land on runway three. The two teenage girls sitting in the seats across the aisle from him nudged one another and re-applied their lip gloss. But it would be to no avail. His attention was elsewhere.

My night was uneventful. I glanced at my trunk pushed into the corner of the room, and soothed the impatient air of unrest, that I could almost feel emanating from it. Soon, I whispered, soon. And yet… I was curiously comfortable in this bed, in this room, even in this house which was torn about and dishevelled. I sighed. Forever moving on, albeit with a couple of week’s respite in my own home, but that could wait. What did I have to go home for? Percy, my cat, was perfectly happy with me or without me. I knew that Celia adored looking after him and would continue to do so even if I never returned. In fact, I had often thought (though I knew differently) that Celia might have been one of
us
, but on closer inspection she was merely one of those rare humans that have no curiosity and keep themselves to themselves. She was happy with her embroidery, library visits and a weekly trip to the swimming pool where no doubt she floundered up and down the pool, displacing large amounts of water with her incredible bulk. She kept Percy on a strict diet though, I was always relieved to see.

No,
my time was
nearly
done here. Another family rescued from the inertia of too much money and not enough happiness. Just a few loose ends to tie up and I could be on my way, richly rewarded for all my hard work, with cash and, more importantly, another few marbles for my collection. I try my best not to get too fond of any family that I work with, it’s
so
unprofessional, and only causes misunderstandings. But in the case of the Ambles… there was something that nagged at me. Was it something I had overlooked? Something not taken care of? Or was it just the itch of needing to move on? I soon fell into a dreamless sleep after tracing delicately the wrinkles on my forehead with my little finger. Soon they would be gone.

Rule Number Twenty Six

“
There
are
many
ways
to
take
rejection
.
Never
having
experienced
it
in
any
form
,
I
am
told
the
best
thing
to
do
is
‘
take
it
like
a
man’
.
Whether
you
have
the
necessary
masculine
accoutrements
or
not
.”

I blame the French for not alerting me to the fact that Hal had returned home in the middle of the night. Why? Well apart from the innate satisfaction that every Briton gets from blaming Johnny Frog for most of the ills, the French
do
manufacture the most superlative wax earplugs made by man. I cannot recommend them highly enough. They are soft, malleable and very effective in not only blotting out sudden abrupt noises that can awake the sensitive light sleeper, but also produce a very comforting white noise that lulls and soothes the ear. I had used such a pair in the night, to block out any unwelcome sounds, and so was unaware of Hal’s return.

If
I
had
known, I perhaps might not have chosen to wear my black leather corset, with a long black net bustle. It’s always been a head turner, and as it takes quite a long time to get into unaided, I usually reserve it for special occasions. But I awoke feeling a little flighty, in need of some fanciful feathers to preen in, and so, my eye fell upon the head turner and I struggled into it. I was almost tempted to ask one of the Ambles to help lace me up, but managed on my own, after a few panting moments.

My
entrance into the kitchen was gratifyingly sensational. Archie was the first to see me, and he stopped dead in his tracks, a slice of toast half way to his mouth. I could clearly hear the plop as a gobbet of marmalade fell gently onto the table. Sylvia turned her head to follow her husband’s glance and flutteringly placed a hand to her chest.

“Oh,
my!” she whispered. It
could
have been admiration, it
could
have been horror. I’ll leave it to you.

Hal
who was sitting with his back to the door, (never the most auspicious position to take in a room, as any cowboy will tell you) swivelled around sharply, and then gasped.

“Flora,”
he said slowly, his eyes raking over my body, and glinting in the dark gloom of the cold winter light filtering through the windows.

Only
dear Bella seemed unmoved, and smiling at me, pushed a plate of hot toast towards me. “Oh, Flora you do look fantastic. Are you going anywhere special?” she said shyly.

I
smiled at her, and collecting my wits together I made my way around the family of Ambles, kissing them all good morning. Hal’s eyes didn’t leave me as I traversed the room and when I came to stand in front of him, he stood upright, slowly and with ease.

“Well
hello, stranger,” I exclaimed loudly, whilst bending forward and upwards to plant a kiss on his cheek. He seemed to have grown taller since he had been away.

“Hello
Flora,” he replied gravely, accepting my kiss but not returning it, not yet, anyway. He held his hands on my shoulders and continued to look down into my face.

Now,
I’d like to state right here and now that I defy
any
woman, over the age of forty, to enjoy being stared at close quarters by a young, beautiful man. A Blanche Dubois moment that I didn’t
quite
relish. And let’s not make any mistakes here. Hal was certainly beautiful. Breathtakingly so. I promised myself a trip to his room before I left. It would give me something to look forward to before I left.

I
moved away from him and went to sit at the table chattering nonsense. Good manners again. I was surprised at my own reactions. I was uncomfortably thrilled to see Hal again. He was a superb specimen of the male species.

“Thank
you Bella, I will have some cherry jam, the last of Maria’s isn’t it? And no, to answer your question, I’m not going anywhere special. Sometimes it’s just nice to dress up, isn’t it?” I smoothed my hands over my black net petticoats, making them crackle and swish.

Hal
continued to stare at me, not as he had done before, this was the look of a man who was sizing up the potential of a property that he was undecided about buying. Or so it seemed to me. Was the lease going to be too high? Was it going to be
worth
it? He wasn’t sure of the answer. He wasn’t interested in a short let, he wanted ownership.

I
glanced at him as I continued my prattle, letting my confident voice be heard. I don’t mind admitting, just to you, of course, that I was pleased that Hal wanted me. He was a
peach
.

What
beauty.

Such
a shame.

It
never lasts.

Not
like mine.

“No
builders today?” Enquired Sylvia vaguely, waving a slice of buttered and be-marmaladed toast in the general direction of the hallway.

I
realised that due to the lack of doorbell they might well be outside now, trying to attract our attention. I nobly volunteered to open the front door. My spike heels and net bustle were quite a hindrance in the progression along the hallway but I managed most gracefully under the circs.

A
small man in a badly cut dark brown suit (
always
a mistake, I think, black yes, grey possibly, brown never,) stood clutching a mobile phone and a sheaf of papers. His hair and moustache I noted with a passing shudder were quite ginger in hue.

“Mrs
Amble?” He said nervously, looking me up and down.

“Good
god, no. Flora Tate. And you are?” I said swishing my skirts for the full effect. Poor man. He obviously didn’t get much out of life by the look of him. The least I could do was show off a little for him, let him close his eyes with holy dread, so to speak.

“Mr
Banfield. Building Inspector.”

Oh
dear. An inspector of anything, be it police or in this case buildings was something to never to be pleased about.

“How
lovely for you, do come in, and mind the floor won’t you?” I led the way into the kitchen, neatly dodging with my spiked heels the treacherous gaping holes in the floorboards.

I
introduced him to the Ambles.

The
ginger inspector started speaking, which allowed me some private time in which to indulge my plan to go to Hal’s room. Now then, what would I wear? Perhaps the original can-can girl costume. I was sure that I’d thrown it in the trunk. I rarely travel without and it usually produced the right reaction. I flexed my knees under the table, testing whether my joints were quite up to the high kicks that the outfit demanded. Of course the finale, where I leap into the splits can be done on the bed and the fall is cushioned. Then again, the feathers were quite cumbersome, perhaps the geisha kimono would do? No, too demure and subservient for such a young man as Hal, although I never rule it out where older men are concerned. Yes, the can-can costume had the vote. I would rouge my cheeks and nipples and slash scarlet on my mouth –

“
What
?”

The
tone in Archie’s voice stopped my pleasant thoughts abruptly. What had I missed? The whole of the Amble family were staring wide eyes at the man whose name I had already forgotten. Then, as one, they all turned their heads to me.

Yet
again
, I thought to myself, complacent in the knowledge that they had turned to me for advice and guidance, on what I knew not. Probably something to do with the colour of the front door or something equally trivial. I favour Farrow and Ball # 47, Card Room Green by the way for a front door. It has a manageable smoky drabness to it and a slight air of mystery which should always be encouraged in an entrance-way.

I
smiled genially at them to show good will and murmured, “Yes, absolutely,” which usually covers all awkwardness.

There
was a silence.

I
glanced quickly at Archie who seemed to have swollen in size and gone rather red (Farrow and Ball # 63, Menagerie to be exact) in the face.

“Come
on Flora, damn it, who are they?”

I
turned the question over in my mind whilst continuing to smile. Judging from Archie’s very cross voice, he wasn’t asking for the name of my tailor. But who was he talking about? Perhaps they all wanted the phone number of the weasel? Unlikely, but one never knew. I glanced at the little man, Mr Banbury, or Bantam, clasping paperwork to his chest in a defensive manner. It
had
to be something to do with him. Ah, the builders!

“Oh,
I see, the builders, well of course they are a very reputable firm, just finished something at the palace, jolly lucky to get them, John Taylor an absolute gem –“

“So
much of a gem that he’s taken down a supporting wall, not applied for any planning permission, put in RSJ’s in the wrong place,
not
reported subsidence and has apparently
not
turned up for work today?” Archie shouted.

“Mere
technicalities Archie, do calm down, I’m sure that Mr, er, umm,” I rapidly searched my memory for the man’s name and hit upon it with relief, “Banbury will agree with me?” I turned to the nervous man who was by now fanning himself with a sheaf of official looking papers.

“
Banfield. Er no madam, I’m afraid not. The house is extremely unsafe and will have to be vacated immediately.”

“
What
?” The whole of the kitchen seemed to speak at once.

“Impossible.”

“Where would we go?”

“Where’s
Fiachra? He’ll know what to do…”

“I’ve
only just got home again after Greece and I’m expected to move out?”

I
shrugged my shoulders, at least this was nothing to do with
moi
. After all, I had hardly taken a sledgehammer to the walls, had I? And, to be honest, one swish London hotel is much like another, perhaps it would be helpful if I made reservations at The Ritz for us all? Yes, I decided, it was the least I could do. A few weeks of living in the very lap of luxury would do nicely. Clean linen daily, room service, the dubious merits of cable TV. I had cheered up enormously.

There
was a tentative knocking at the open front door which gradually grew louder. The Ambles stopped talking momentarily and Bella rushed to the door, no doubt hoping to see her Irish knight riding to the rescue.

A
motor-cycled messenger stood in the debris of the hallway with padded envelope. He removed his helmet and said, “Special delivery for a Flora Tate, has to be opened and signed for.”

I
moved forward and took the large envelope.

Oh
dear.

I
knew exactly what it was and now wasn’t the time to open it. It was, without question, a very large sum of money indeed from John Taylor. My commission, if you like for the work done at The Ambles.

Hmm.

Well now.

I
scribbled my signature on the proffered form and waved him away. But no. He stubbornly insisted that I open the envelope and check the damn money.

“More
than my job’s worth madam, has to be counted.” He perversely insisted.

I
glanced at The Ambles. Archie was sitting with his head in his hands, staring at the papers that the building inspector had given him, Sylvia was next to him in the perfect wife stance, hand on his shoulders and a concerned look in her eyes. Bella was biting her nails, and only Hal was staring, rather coldly, it has to be said, at yours truly. Nerves I was sure accounted for the somewhat cruel stare that he gave me. I’d soon change all of that.

I
rapidly counted the flat bank notes, pristine, I was glad to see, there’s nothing worse than dirty,
dirty
money is there? If you see what I mean.

Hal
continued to stare coldly at me, much to my annoyance and consternation. He seemed to have grown not only in stature since he’d been away but also in maturity. Damn Mr Carlton, what had he been up to? As if reading my thoughts, Hal moved towards me and looked closely at the clipboard that I’d scribbled my name on for the courier.