With her own eyes Florence had spotted Allegra and Elijah talking in the garden earlier that morning, and from the look of them, she’d bet a whole king’s ransom they hadn’t been discussing the best way to prune roses!
As the queue moved forward, she saw Billy looking at her through the window. He smiled and waved at her, and absurdly her stomach gave a little flip and set off a fluttering sensation as though a million butterflies were flapping their wings inside her. By the time the sensation had settled, Billy had appeared outside the shop with a full basket of bread, which he strapped onto his delivery bicycle propped against the wall. When all was secure, he came over to her. ‘Can I walk you back to Island House when you’ve got what you need?’ he asked quietly.
‘Haven’t you got your orders to deliver?’ she whispered, conscious that they were being observed.
He smiled. ‘I’ll do them afterwards. I’ll wait for you by the postbox at the end of Market Lane.’
When he’d gone – whistling merrily to himself – Florence kept her gaze fixed firmly on her shoes, diligently avoiding any speculative glances. Who among them in the queue, she wondered, would be the first to report back to Mrs Bunch?
At last she made it inside the shop, with its invitingly sweet and yeasty smell, and was served by Billy’s mother, Ruby Minton. Ruby was never the friendliest of women, and there was nothing remotely inviting about the cool look she gave Florence over the counter. Florence knew what the look meant – Leave my son alone; you’re not good enough for him! She also knew, thanks to Mrs Bunch, why just about any girl in the village would be on the receiving end of such a look. Ruby Minton had had so much difficulty in delivering a healthy baby that from the day Billy was born, she had guarded him jealously, rarely letting him out of her sight. The story Mrs Bunch told was that in the garden at the back of the baker’s shop was a fruit tree planted for every baby the Mintons had lost; they numbered half a dozen.
With the bread wrapped, paid for and placed in her basket, Florence politely wished Ruby Minton a good day. After receiving no more than a sniff of dismissal, she stepped back out into the bright sunshine. Poor woman, she thought, her life had probably been overshadowed by a never-ending cycle of sadness. Was it any wonder she was scared of losing her one and only child to a girlfriend or wife?
The market square behind her, Florence saw Billy waiting for her just where he had said he would.
‘You look fair pretty today, Flo,’ he said, leaning over to kiss her smack on the lips. ‘As pretty as a picture.’
‘And you, Billy Minton, are taking liberties,’ she replied, her stomach turning somersaults as she looked anxiously about them to make sure nobody was around to see.
He laughed. ‘I promise that’s the only liberty I’ll take with you today.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ she said primly.
He walked alongside her down the narrow lane, pushing his heavily laden bicycle, and then together they crossed the main road. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said when they were on the other side.
‘That depends on what it is you want to know.’
‘I’d like to establish things between us,’ he said. ‘You know, make things official, like, so there’s no misunderstanding.’
‘That sounds very formal,’ she said. ‘What exactly is it you have in mind?’
‘You know jolly well what I have in mind, but if I have to say the words, so be it. I want us to be officially stepping out, Miss Florence Massie.’
‘Do you indeed?’ She sounded much more in control than she actually felt. Inside she was all a-quiver, her heart beating double fast, the butterflies flapping their wings again.
‘Don’t tease me, Flo. You must know how I feel about you. And I’m pretty sure you feel something for me, so why not say you’ll be my girl?’
Florence thought of Mrs Minton and all those trees planted in her garden. ‘Do you think that’s such a good idea?’ she asked. ‘I don’t believe your mother would take too kindly to me, do you?’
‘Take no notice of her. She’s just, well, you know, a bit overprotective; some mothers are like that.’
Florence decided to be honest with him. ‘She was quite off with me just now in the shop. Like she was warning me off you.’
‘Pay her no heed. She’s too cautious for her own good. She’ll come round, you see if she don’t. So how about it, shall we step out together?’
Her head said no, but her heart – her treacherous heart – said yes, yes, yes! ‘If that’s what you really want,’ she murmured, ‘then yes.’
He laughed. ‘You could sound a bit more enthusiastic about the idea,’ he said. ‘Anyone would think you would sooner court a rattlesnake!’
She laughed too. ‘Like your mother, I’m naturally cautious. And don’t you be thinking you can get away with anything, William Minton. I’m not that sort of a girl. I’m really not.’
‘And I’m not that sort of a boy. So don’t you go making assumptions about me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘As well you should be. I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to. And that’s a promise.’
Such was the forcefulness of his tone, Florence believed him. She slowed her step and put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry for doubting you,’ she said. ‘You’re the nicest lad I’ve ever known and I really enjoy your company, and … and I’m not going to say anything else or it’ll make your head grow too big for those shoulders of yours.’
