‘I can’t do this wretchedbow-tie,’ he said. ‘Do I have to wear it? I look like a bloody waiter dressed like this, and I bet there’ll be folk there who’ll treat me like one.’
‘Of course they won’t. They’ll all think you look exceedingly handsome.’
He grunted and tried again with the tie, but ripped it from his neck in angry frustration.
‘Let me do it for you,’ offered Florence. She went over and within seconds had deftly tied thebow-tie for him. ‘There,’ she said, with a final adjustment, ‘as handsome as Rock Hudson inPillow Talk.’
‘And you, Mrs Minton,’ he said, his face suddenly breaking into a wolfish grin, ‘look gorgeous in that dress. Very sexy.’ His hands moved around to her bottom and pressed her against him. ‘It hugs you in all the right places. I reckon I’ll have trouble keeping my hands off you tonight.’
‘Billy Minton, just you behave yourself,’ she said sternly. ‘Whatever would they say down at the Sally Army if they knew the way you carry on,’ she added fondly, remembering the first time she’d heard him play in the band at the village fête when it was held on Clover Field. She had watched him playing his trumpet and thought how smart he’d looked in his uniform. She remembered too how he had winked at her. That was more than twenty years ago, yet it felt like only yesterday.
The word ‘yesterday’ brought to mind the anonymous letter that accused Billy of cheating on her. It had to be Ruby who had sent it. Who else hated Florence so much? No one as far as she knew. But why would Ruby accuse her own son – herblue-eyed boy – of such a terrible thing? Or was she so bitter and twisted she would resort to any trick to undermine their marriage?
Billy’s hands were busy again with her bottom, kneading her buttocks with his strong sure fingers. Not for the first time, she said, ‘I’m not a lump of bread dough, you know.’
He laughed. ‘I warned you I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.’
‘Well, perhaps this might cool your ardour. Your mother’s just said I look like a cheap whore.’
He swore under his breath. ‘I’ll speak to her.’
‘It won’t do any good. After all these years she’s not likely to change. If anything, she’s getting worse.’
‘I’ll still speak to her. I won’t have her talking to you like that. It’s not on.’
‘I’m used to it, love. Water and a duck’s back.’ Releasing herself from his hold, she sat down on the padded stool in front of the dressing table. She carefully removed the chiffon scarf, which she’d tied around her head after washing and drying her hair the minute she’d got back from helping at Meadow Lodge. With equal care she began taking out the pins and rollers.
Behind her Billy said, ‘I’ll go down and warn Mum that if she doesn’t treat you better, I won’t let her come here to watch our telly.’
Florence watched him go, knowing that whatever stern ticking off he gave his mother, following a few days of good behaviour Ruby would revert to her nasty old self.
Most evenings Ruby came here to eat supper with them and to watch television. Billy had offered to rent her a set from Radio Rentals so she could watch in the comfort of her own home next door, where she lived above the bakery. It had been her home, with Billy’s father, and where Billy grew up, for over fifty years. Her response to Billy’s generous offer was to tell him not to be such a spendthrift, she was happy enough watching their television. To Florence she’d said, ‘I suppose that was your doing, wasn’t it, trying to stop me from spending time with my only son?’
Florence hadn’t wasted her breath in denying the truth Ruby had concocted; there was no point. Ruby hated her and that was all there was to it. Some things you just had to accept.
But Florence would not acceptspite-filled anonymous letters from Ruby, that was most definitely a step too far. Just as soon as she had the chance, she planned to sneak next door when Ruby was watching the telly here and see if she could find evidence of hermother-in-law having snipped out letters from the pages of a newspaper.
The last of the pins and rollers now removed, she took up her hairbrush and with the lightest of strokes, gently brushed out each curl. When she’d finished, she reminded herself that she had used the last of her Amami setting lotion and must remember to buy some more.
Once she was happy with the effect and had sprayed her hair, she opened hermake-up drawer. She wore very littlemake-up, just a dab or two of blusher, a touch of mascara and a shimmery coating of pale pink lipstick Rosie had given her. With Rosie’s help she had experimented with false eyelashes but had hated the effect. She didn’t hold with too much artifice; she preferred a more natural look.
Which was what Billy said he liked too. But what if he’d grown bored of that and fancied something on the side that was a bit more ...
No! she told herself firmly. Under no circumstances was she to start thinking there was any truth in that anonymous letter. Do that and Ruby would have won.
ChapterTwenty-Two
La Vista, Palm Springs
October 1962
Romily
The sky was the clearest and strongest of blues; there was not a cloud to be seen. High above Romily’s head, and hidden within the foliage of the palm trees, birdsong rang out.
From where she was standing on the paved terrace, she could hear Red speaking on the telephone inside the house. He’d taken the call just a few minutes after she’d arrived. He’d wanted to ignore the ringing, but Romily had insisted he answer the phone. His doing so gave her the chance to explore the garden, just as he had suggested she might like to do.
While driving her back to Casa Santa Rosa late last night, Red’s invitation to visit him this morning had not surprised her. What did surprise her was what she was seeing now; this was unlike any garden she had seen before. It had none of the stiff manicured splendour of Casa Santa Rosa, but was instead a joyous blend of natural form and colour.
