Bed of Roses. Daisy Waugh

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СКАЧАТЬ Fanny Flynn, had been empty for years and would certainly be going cheap. They, like number 2, belonged to Mr and Mrs Guppy.

      ‘Ah…’ Louis smiled with his usual deprecating charm. ‘After last night I guess that might prove something of a problem.’ To which Mrs Hooper had thrown back her aching head and cackled.

      ‘Believe you me,’ she said, ‘nothing’s a problem for Ian Guppy, except missing out on the chance to make money. You’ll have no trouble with Ian! Just ring him up and tell him you want to take one of his cottages. No need to mention Miss Flynn; he’ll realise soon enough…But hang on a moment, I’ve got his number somewhere.’

      ‘By the way, ma’am,’ Louis said, as she disappeared to rummage beneath the counter.

      Super manners! thought Mrs Hooper. Goes to show not ALL Americans are bad.

      ‘Would you mind very much—To be frank with you, I’ve only started thinking about this, so please, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be obliged if you don’t say anything to Fanny.’

      ‘I shan’t breathe a word to anyone,’ she swore, as she always did when people were delightful enough to entrust her with their secrets. ‘Don’t you worry!’ And to Mrs Hooper’s credit, it should be said that though she told Kitty Mozely, who told Geraldine Adams, and though she did mention it to Mr Guppy, and though she couldn’t resist dropping a clue to Mrs Haywood the glass-eyed secretary when she came in to buy her weekly Lotto, and though she implied as much to Messy McShane, and though she vaguely touched on the subject to young Colin and Chloe when they came delivering the eggs, and though she sort of hinted at it to the General, Mrs Hooper did not breathe a word to Fanny. And nor, of course, since the gossip was directly related to her, did anyone else…

      Which is a shame because it would have cheered her up.

      ‘Louis isn’t here now,’ Robert White is murmuring, burrowing his soft pink lips into her hair, holding tight to that telephone receiver. ‘Louis isn’t here. I’m here. Robert’s here…’ And as he pushes her backwards towards the floor, she protests. She struggles, but her movements are restricted by her chair and desk; his wet mouth is covering her mouth, his wispy beard is soaking up her tears, and he has both arms around her.

      Silence while Fanny tries to find some angle, beneath his bony limbs and wet, determined lips, to communicate more clearly her displeasure. She finds no angle. Can hardly breathe, in fact. Robert, more or less oblivious, moans in gentle pleasure. And both of Fanny’s telephones strike up at once; the one on her desk, the land line, is Geraldine Adams, returning Fanny’s returned call, and still trying to make that reading-with-the-kids appointment. The other one, her mobile, which has just been knocked to the floor and out of reach, is Louis.

      Stepping out into the Canary Wharf sunshine, fresh from a surprisingly successful meeting with his picture editor, Louis holds his telephone to his ear and waits impatiently for Fanny to pick up. She has only just called him according to his own mobile, so she must be there…

      This morning he telephoned Ian Guppy, who, after extracting an unfeasibly large deposit, agreed to leave keys to both Alms Cottages at the Fiddleford Arms, allowing Louis to choose between them in his own time. So he has a place to live. He has the promise of plenty of work from his editor. He envisages making this one call – just to be sure she’s still speaking to him. And then sometime afterwards, sometime very soon now, tipping up outside the school with keys to the neighbouring Alms Cottage in one hand and all his worldly goods in the other, and surprising her. They would have the whole summer together.

      Because he’s been unable to get the picture out of his head all week. He can think of nothing but Fanny, standing all alone in that wretched village hall. Of the Coca-Cola glistening on her pale skin, of her absolute defiance as she stood there with all eyes upon her, absolutely isolated, foreign, misunderstood; absolutely, unbearably—It was the moment – or the image – which finally allowed him to acknowledge that he probably loved her. Probably had been in love with her for a very long time. They would have the whole summer together.

      Maybe even the rest of their lives.

      No answer. She’s not answering. He hangs up. She must be in class, he decides. He pulls on his crash helmet, kicks his bike into action and accelerates away. Towards London, briefly, and then on, to the new beginning. Towards Fanny.

      He doesn’t believe he’s ever felt so certain about anything in his life.

       14

      His lips are still pressed hard to hers. Somehow he’s got her on to the floor. Her mobile has rung and rung off and now she can feel his hand at her shirt buttons. He lifts his wet mouth, to look down at her and smile.

      ‘You’re so gorgeous,’ he murmurs. ‘Has anyone ever told you?’

      It’s her first real chance to speak. ‘You stupid fucking creep! GET – OFF me!’

      Robert kneels up. He is still fully dressed; neat and clean in his thick woolly jersey, the ends of his open-toed sandals bending backwards against the carpet-tile floor. He is smiling at her, full of concern. ‘Am I rushing you a bit?’

      ‘What? What the fuck—’

      And then a tippety-tap on the office door.

      Another sunny day. Five minutes previously Geraldine Adams had hung up her telephone in irritation. She’s been trying to speak to Fanny all week, without success, and Geraldine is the sort of woman who, when she decides to do something, likes to do it; likes to set the wheels in motion at once. After drumming her fingers on the Old Rectory breakfast bar once or twice, she picked up her house keys and marched over to the school in person. Geraldine didn’t stop at Mrs Haywood’s desk. She headed straight on up to Fanny’s office. To tippety-tap on Fanny’s door.

      ‘He-llo?’ she says pleasantly. ‘Hello, Miss Flynn?’

      Miss Flynn’s and her deputy’s eyes lock. An isolated flash of unity; a shared moment of unadulterated panic.

      He leaps to his feet, pulls her up. She straightens her skirt.

      ‘Miss Flynn?’

      ‘Give me two seconds!’ she calls.

      She does up the buttons of her shirt. Quickly, with curious proficiency, he licks his fingers and neatens her hair. He rearranges her desktop, pulls out her chair and thrusts her down on to it, stands back to examine the effect.

      He winks at her. Gives her the thumbs up. Fanny looks away.

      ‘Come in!’ she calls. ‘Come on in! I’m so sorry to keep you waiting…’

      Geraldine pokes her head through the doorway, a frown of utmost curiosity on her handsome face. ‘Sorry to barge in,’ she says unapologetically, her eyes darting this way and that. ‘Do you have a minute, Miss Flynn? Only it seems we never manage to catch each other on the phone. So I’ve broken all the rules and just dropped in! Hope you don’t mind.’

      Fanny looks blank. What rules? Who is this woman?

      Geraldine, who never forgets a face or a name or a pin number, or where she put her bloody keys, assumes quite incorrectly that Fanny remembers her from the school gate. It is, СКАЧАТЬ