‘Actually, Jack brought me across the Pyrenees to escape the Nazis.’
‘Of course he did,’ Belinda said, her voice still dripping with sarcasm. ‘Well run along and move your stuff into the box room, there’s a dear, and I’ll put my case in the guest room. I might just have a little snooze. Clean sheets in the usual place, Gladys?’
Gladys didn’t reply, so Belinda just picked up her case and, head held high, marched up the stairs.
Florence listened to the ancient wooden treads creaking beneath the woman’s clicking high heels while Gladys stood with her hands on her hips, puffed out her cheeks and let the breath out in a rush. ‘Bloody little madam,’she said under her breath. ‘Jackie will have something to say about that.’
The two women went back to the kitchen, with Florence in something of a daze. The gap between how things were and how she wanted them to be was rapidly widening.
‘Oh, my dear girl, you do look pale,’ Gladys said, concern in her voice. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll pour you a good strong cuppa.’
Florence didn’t need much persuading and silently pulled out a chair. Sometimes she had the feeling of not being quite real. As if she’d walked into the world from somewhere else and was doing her best to copy real people. Be like real people. But she hadn’t quite managed it. Except when she was with Jack. Then she felt real. Solid. Properly of the world. This ‘wife’ of his turning up out of the blue had shaken that. How could Jack have married such an odious, self-absorbed woman?
Gladys looked at her sympathetically. ‘Take it Jackie never mentioned Belinda?’
Feeling more desolate than she ought, Florence shook her head.
‘With good reason,’ Gladys added and nodded knowingly.
‘You don’t like her?’
‘Not after what she did.’
Florence frowned. ‘What did she do?’
‘I think Jackie should be the one to tell you that.’
CHAPTER 10
After an awkward night with Belinda in the house, Florence was up early, trying to keep herself busy and distracted at the same time. She swept and mopped floors, wiped surfaces, polished anything she could find, beat the rugs, plumped the cushions. She couldn’t rid herself of the need to look after people, even though she was beginning to think Jack might not deserve it.
The kettle whistling in the kitchen interrupted her thoughts and she hurried there to reach into the cupboard closest to the Aga for the tea caddy.
‘Busy little bee, aren’t you?’
Florence stiffened at Belinda’s cool tone of voice. Was the woman’s arrival planned to coincide with Jack’s return or had it been coincidental?
‘Good morning,’ she said, turning and pasting a smile on her face.
‘Planning to step into my shoes, are you, darling?’ Shewaved a hand around the kitchen. ‘You’ll be darning his socks next. But mark my words, he won’t notice what you’ve done. Is that tea you’ve got going there? I’m absolutely gasping.’
‘It’s not brewed yet,’ said Florence, turning to finish her task.
‘So, what’s cooking? Pancakes, porridge, kippers or good old bacon and eggs?’
‘I was just going to have toast with some of Gladys’s crab apple jelly. She didn’t have enough sugar so it’s a bit runny, but it tastes nice. Would you like some?’
‘Thank you. I do believe I would. Must be the country air. I never eat breakfast in London.’
Florence sliced the bread and toasted it on the Aga and then poured out the tea.
They ate in silence, Florence jigging her foot nervously and wanting nothing more than to escape and dress herself in something more stylish, aware of how childish she looked next to Belinda. She had in mind a pale celadon dress, the colour neither green nor grey but falling between the two and perfect with her grey-blue eyes and blonde hair. She’d cut the dress down from a larger, old-fashioned one Gladys had given her, in a delicate paisley fabric with hints of lilac and pink. The bodice now fitted perfectly, and the skirt, made from a full circle, flared out when she twirled around. She’d added side pockets, white buttons down the front, a buckle belt and felt pleased with her handiwork. She loved making things and had lots more plans for the house, starting with painting the living room. Had,had, lots more plansthat is. What was going to happen now was anyone’s guess. Her mother’s overheated cottage beckoned, and she sighed.
Belinda drew out a Kensitas filter tip and lit it with an expensive-looking engraved lighter.
‘Is that gold? Florence asked.
‘It is. A present from Jack’ She passed it across to Florence. ‘Oh, I should have offered you one.’
