Читать книгу Mrs Boots - Deborah Carr - Страница 13

The following days passed slowly. Florence was at a loss to how different she felt about her days. Until meeting Mr Boot, or Jesse, as she still was trying to get used to calling him, she had been carefree and excited to attend concerts, go on outings and generally spend her free time with her friends. Since her days out with him and then his subsequent departure, she seemed only to work and wait for the postman to bring the mail, and then, if his delivery did not include a letter from Jesse, her day was marred and grey.

She glanced up at the wall clock above the counter in the shop for the twentieth time that morning, willing the time to pass until the postman’s arrival.

‘What is so urgent that you keep staring at that clock all the time?’ her father asked, his right index finger placed on his account book where to hold his place in his additions. ‘Is there somewhere you wish to be?’

Embarrassed to have been caught out, she shook her head. ‘Do you think the post is a little late today?’

He was about to answer when the door opened, and the brass bell announced a customer’s arrival. Forgetting his conversation with Florence, he focused his attention on serving the lady and her daughter who were looking for a birthday present for an acquaintance. Florence couldn’t help noticing that the lady appeared almost tearful and waited to see if she needed to provide the lady with a glass of water.

‘I’ve brought Mother here to distract her,’ the younger woman announced. ‘My brother and his wife left the island yesterday to emigrate to New Zealand.’ The older woman sniffed before dabbing her eyes with a corner of her handkerchief.

‘I’m sorry to hear your son has chosen to leave Jersey,’ her father said, ‘but I’ve known of quite a few people over the past few years to take advantage of the offer of free passage for a chance to own their own land and start a new life there. I feel sure his prospects are good.’

‘I’ll miss him terribly though, Mr Rowe.’

‘Yes,’ her father said sympathetically. ‘That is understandable.’

‘This is a second family member to travel to the other side of the world,’ she said, blowing her nose. ‘My uncle and his family left for Australia about thirty years ago when I was a girl. That was due to the gold rush, but we’ve lost contact with them over time.’

‘I’m certain you won’t lose contact with your son. He is a fine man. Many times he came here to find small gifts for you, as well as sourcing his own stationery items.’

Florence wondered if she could ever move from Jersey. It wasn’t something she had thought about much before, but having discovered more about Nottingham recently, it was occurring to her more and more that if she truly wanted to, she could embark on a new life away from the island. The thought excited her. She might think of herself as a modern woman, but was she brave enough to move away from here and start up a business elsewhere? She wasn’t certain, but it was something she was determined to consider.

‘He loved visiting this shop, Mr Rowe,’ the woman explained.

Florence was relieved that the lady’s attention had been diverted and immediately reverted to tidying the displays, relieved for the interruption. This letter was even more important than the others, she mused. She knew it probably shouldn’t matter, but she felt the need for his approval of her changes to her father’s shop that she had described to him in her most recent correspondence. For some reason, his reaction meant more to her than she had at first presumed.

A few minutes later the bell jangled once more and looking up, Florence saw Albert greet her father as he quickly made his way over to her.

‘I shan’t be long,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at her father. ‘A few of us are buying tickets to attend a musical concert at the Royal Yacht Hotel. I thought you and Amy might like to join us. I think it will be a popular evening and we will need to purchase the tickets before they sell out.’ He glanced at her father once again. ‘It will be good to see you again, Florence. We’ve missed your company lately.’

Florence couldn’t help feeling guilty. She had declined several outings with her friends and even cancelled going to a recital the previous week. She hadn’t liked to let them down, but since Jesse’s departure, she hadn’t felt much like socialising. ‘Yes, I’d very much like to join you. Thank you, Albert.’

‘Will you ask Amy for me if she would also like to come along?’

‘Yes, I will, but I’m certain she will want to join us, so do please buy her a ticket when you purchase mine.’

She liked that he didn’t ask her why she had been absent recently. She needed to keep herself busy and decided that the days would pass until Jesse’s return far more quickly if she kept up her usual social activities.

Jesse Boot. How had this pleasant, hard-working man made such an impact on her life? He had only ever been friendly to her. Never made any promises, or gestures to her that gave her any hope for anything between them in the future. Hadn’t she always determined to remain unmarried and shared the intention with Amy many times? However, for all that she missed him and his conversation far more than she expected.

‘Jesse Boot,’ she whispered. ‘What have you done to make me think of you so constantly?’

She was on her way upstairs to her bedroom to freshen up before lunch when her mother stepped out in front of her from the living room into the hallway.

‘I’d like a word with you, Florence,’ she said quietly, standing back so that Florence had no option but to do as her mother requested. She walked into the room, a little disconcerted when her mother closed the door behind her.

‘Is something the matter?’ she asked, hoping her mother wasn’t going to ask about Jesse. She had seen her mother’s expression when Florence had answered a few of her father’s questions about Jesse one evening. She had hoped her mother hadn’t heard when she had accidentally referred to Jesse by his Christian name in the conversation, instead of calling him Mr Boot.

‘It is,’ her mother replied, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I have noticed letters arriving from Mr Boot every few days. I can only presume that as you are corresponding with each other that you are becoming closer.’

‘I suppose we are.’ What could her mother possibly be concerned about? She and her father knew the man well. They were both aware that he was a perfectly pleasant man and someone of a trustworthy nature.

‘I’ve also learned that you were supposed to accompany Albert to a concert the other evening but cancelled at the last minute.’ She frowned disapprovingly. ‘I don’t expect rude behaviour from you, Florence.’

Aware that Albert’s mother and her own must have been speaking about the event, she tried not to show her annoyance. ‘Albert and I were attending the concert with a group of friends. My cancellation would not have bothered him at all. In fact, he came to the shop this morning and asked me to join him and some friends at another event. He didn’t appear at all upset by my earlier lack of attendance.’

Her mother appeared slightly appeased at this news. ‘And are you going?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Albert is a good man and one who will, I feel certain, make a good husband to the right woman.’

Florence wished her mother give up on her hopes for Albert as a son-in-law. Yes, he knew how to run a shop, he was also a good family friend, but even if she had not met Jesse and become fascinated by him, Florence knew that she would never see Albert as a husband –whatever hopes her mother and his held for them both.

Her mother sighed heavily. This matter was obviously weighing on her mind, Florence realised. She also knew that the issue with Albert wasn’t all that was behind this enforced conversation, but her correspondence with Jesse.

‘And the letters to and from Mr Boot?’ her mother asked, proving Florence’s suspicions correct. ‘Am I to understand that there is a closeness forming between you and that gentleman?’

Florence was aware that her answer to the question would have to be considered carefully. She didn’t relish the prospect of having to deal with her mother’s disapproval on a daily basis.

‘He is a very pleasant man, as you and Father know, and I have enjoyed his company immensely.’ She tried to resist, but was unable to help adding, ‘You seem to hold issue with him for some reason. May I ask why that is?’

Her mother seeming to tire, and sat on the nearest chair. Florence thought it might be to give herself a little time to temper her words before she spoke them.

‘Mr Boot is, indeed, a pleasant man. Your father thinks very highly of him and I am aware that you are also becoming fond of him. However, Florence, it can’t have escaped your notice that not only is he older than you by at least a dozen years—’ she paused for effect ‘—but also that the man is infirm.’

Florence’s heart pounded faster as she battled to keep her temper. She loved and respected her mother, but she was twenty-three and a woman who had always held her own opinions. She could not bear to hear criticism against Jesse.

‘I believe his age is what makes him more interesting in conversation. He has coped with many difficulties, and, yes, some of those are health related. However, it hasn’t stopped him from working hard each day and building up a successful business with his mother, has it?’

‘Maybe not, but I wish you would take care not to become too involved.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Florence had to work hard to hide her rising anger.

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. ‘You are not a silly girl, Florence. I believe you know perfectly well that I am referring to your future hopes for Mr Boot. And, if you are not, then I am unsure why you are writing to him with such regularity.’

Florence knew that her mother was only surmising at the speed at which she replied to Jesse’s letters. It wasn’t unreasonable for her to assume that in all probability he would only be writing in reply to a letter she had sent.

‘I write to him because he is my friend and I enjoy hearing from him. I believe he feels the same. He was entranced by Jersey and was unhappy that his visit had been cut short.’

She watched her mother consider her words and eventually her tense expression eased slightly. ‘Then I believe you need to take care not to encourage the man, Florence. Men can at times see interest in a woman where there may be none.’

‘Mother,’ Florence replied, wishing to be left with her own thoughts, ‘Mr Boot has given me no reason to suspect he has any interest in me.’

Her mother didn’t look convinced. ‘I heard you refer to him as Jesse. He must have invited you to address him as such.’

‘He did,’ she admitted. ‘He is only interested in my friendship; I can assure you of that.’

She was being honest and barely let herself wish that there was more between them. Maybe it was because he was so different to her and any other man she had ever met that her interest in him was so great. Maybe it was something else, but that wasn’t something she wished to discuss with her mother.

They heard the bell in the shop and the distant voice of their current postman.

‘You will want to go and check the mail, I shouldn’t wonder,’ her mother said sarcastically.

Florence bit back a retort. She wasn’t used to being rude to either of her parents and didn’t wish to start now. ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, determined to ignore her mother’s comment. ‘I’m also awaiting a delivery for some new art books that I thought might be suitable for the shop.’

‘I’ll let you go then,’ her mother said, seemingly mollified by Florence’s answer.

Forgetting her lunch break, Florence hurried downstairs to the shop. Her father was wrapping a parcel for a customer, so she made the most of the opportunity and sorted through the few packets and letters that had just been delivered.

Unable to help herself, Florence smiled at the sight of the familiar writing on one of the envelopes. Hopefully now she would be able to find out what Jesse thought of her improvements to her father’s shop.

She picked up the envelope and pushed it deep into her skirt pocket. She didn’t need her father to begin asking questions; it had been bad enough having to answer her mother’s.

The customer left and her father turned his attention to the post. ‘Anything of interest this morning?’

‘Nothing very much, no,’ she said lifting one of the small trunks. ‘I’ll take these through to the back and unpack them.’

She had to resist the temptation to run into the storeroom and walked sedately as her father followed behind her. She did not wish to give him reason to suspect anything; it was unlike her to be secretive but Florence felt she had little choice.