Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr

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СКАЧАТЬ the soft leather straps holding the hamper closed, hoping to find the food in the same state it had been in when she had packed it. Raising the lid, she lifted the red and white picnic cloth and smiled.

      ‘It looks as if everything has survived the journey here.’

      ‘That’s a relief,’ he said, taking the cloth from her and opening it, lowering it until it was on the grass. Then, carefully lifting the open hamper he placed it on one side of the cloth.

      Florence thanked him and knelt down next to the food to inspect it. She unclipped the two plates and took out her mother’s second-best condiment set, placing it down.

      ‘Would you like me to put some of the food on a plate for you?’

      ‘That would be very kind.’ He undid his jacket.

      She was aware that he was watching her. ‘I’ve made the food, so please don’t expect it to be too delicate,’ she explained, not wishing his expectations to be high, and then for him to be disappointed when he saw what she had brought for their lunch.

      ‘I’m certain it will be delicious,’ he said smiling at her. ‘What have you brought for our lunch, if I may ask?’

      She sat back and studied the tins of food. ‘I’ve made us beef sandwiches, with a touch of horseradish. There are some cucumber ones also, in case you don’t like the meat.’

      ‘That sounds wonderful.’

      Boosted by his enthusiasm, she added, ‘I’ve also baked some scones this morning. Mother let me bring a small jar of her best strawberry jam and I bought some Jersey cream to go with it. We also have crackers with a small wheel of Brie.’

      ‘You have thought of everything,’ he said, breathing in deeply. ‘This air is intoxicating.’

      Florence thought so too. She was pleased that he was happy with her basic picnic. She took the two glasses from the hamper and placed them on to the lid, in case the grass was too soft, and they tipped.

      ‘I made us lemonade,’ she said, unsure of her choice. ‘I tried some at home before leaving and I’m worried it’s a little too tart.’

      ‘Then it will be perfect for this weather.’

      She handed him a glass, and, pulling the cork out of the top of the lemonade bottle, poured a little into the glass for him to try.

      Mr Boot took a sip and blinked a few times, despite keeping a smile on his face.

      Florence couldn’t help being amused by his reaction. ‘I told you it probably wasn’t very good.’

      ‘It’s delicious,’ he fibbed, taking another mouthful. ‘Truly.’

      Unable to help herself, she laughed loudly at his attempt at saving her feelings.

      ‘I don’t believe you but thank you for being kind. I’m no cook, baker, or whatever you call a lemonade maker, but hopefully the food will be more palatable than the drink.’

       Chapter 6

      A week later, Florence thanked the postman as he handed her the mail in the shop. She exchanged pleasantries with one of their customers and opened the door for them as they left.

      ‘Any interesting mail?’ Amy asked, as she finished dusting the shelves and walked over to join Florence by the counter.

      ‘Why?’ Florence teased. ‘Are you expecting something in particular?’

      Amy scowled, peering at the letters in Florence’s hand. ‘No, but by the look of the top letter, you’ve received something?’

      Florence turned her attention to the envelopes. Her sister was right; the top one was addressed to her. She didn’t recognise the writing and inspected the other side, but there was no return address on the back.

      ‘Who’s it from?’ Amy asked.

      ‘I’ve no idea.’

      Amy took the rest of the mail from Florence and sorted it out, putting it into small piles for her father, which included his personal and shop mail and one for her mother. She nudged Florence. ‘Are you going to stare at it all day, or will you be reading it?’

      Florence wasn’t sure, but she hoped the letter was from Mr Boot. He had asked if he could write to her, but she knew his business took up most of his time and had not expected him to do so this quickly. If her intuition was correct, then he had enjoyed their outing to the west of the island as much as she had. Even her hopeless attempt at preparing a tasty picnic hadn’t ruined their time together.

      However, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to be in company when she opened this letter, just in case it was from him. She pushed the letter into her skirt pocket just as the shop door jangled and announced the arrival of another customer.

      The rest of the day passed achingly slowly. Finally, Florence finished her work for the day. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle a yawn, then tidied the last of the books and locked the shop door.

      Amy chatted with their father as Florence stared out of the window at the street where people hurried to shops before they closed for the day. She turned the sign to ‘closed’, so that no more customers would think to try and enter Rowe’s. She was desperate to read the letter that seemed to weigh down her pocket.

      Unable to wait any longer, she said, ‘Do you mind if I go and freshen up for supper now?’

      Her father frowned at her question. She could understand his reaction, as she never usually asked to leave as soon as they had closed for the day.

      ‘You are quite well?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perfectly.’

      ‘Of course, you may go.’

      She began walking to the back of the shop, catching an amused smile from her sister as she passed her. She didn’t have time for Amy’s teasing, not right now.

      She reached her bedroom, closed the door and unlaced her Boot, kicking them off as she sat on the cushioned chair next to a small table by her bedroom window. Pulling the letter from her pocket she opened it and withdrew the single piece of good quality paper.

      It was from Mr Boot, she noted with relief. She stared at the writing for a moment thinking how distinctive it was in a slightly untidy way. Florence was nervous, yet excited to read what he had to say.

       16–20 Goose Gate

       Nottingham

       1 September 1885

       Miss F Rowe

       27 Queen Street

       St Helier

       Jersey

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