Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr

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      ‘I’m not certain she learnt much about me at all,’ Mr Boot said, smiling.

      ‘I know, but she’s happy to chatter and tell us all about her family.’

      ‘You’re a Wesleyan too?’ he asked after a moment’s silence. ‘Jane never mentioned that to me.’

      Florence smoothed down a non-existent crease in her skirt. ‘I don’t think it was something we ever discussed,’ she said, thinking it strange that if Jane had been a Methodist, she had not thought to ask Florence which chapel she might attend on Sundays. ‘We were more interested in visiting the library, taking tea at some of the hotels and taking strolls in the countryside.’

      ‘That sounds like Jane,’ he said thoughtfully.

      They sank again into a comfortable silence. It seemed strange to Florence not to feel the need to find something to discuss, but she felt that simply being in each other’s company was pleasant enough. This really was a new experience in many ways.

      The train pulled into the station at Grouville. Florence followed Mr Boot, taking his proffered hand as she stepped from the carriage onto the platform.

      ‘I thought we could stop for a cup of tea before taking a stroll around the area. I would like to take you on to Gorey, with its busy harbour, but the train line doesn’t extend that far. I believe there’s talk about doing so at some point. We could take a carriage if you would like to go there.’

      He looked around. ‘This is very pretty. I’m happy to spend time here for now and come back for some refreshment a little later.’

      Florence was happy to agree with him. They walked slowly, taking in the warm sea air, neither feeling the need to speak for several moments.

      When they were a few feet onto the common, Mr Boot finally asked, ‘Do you enjoy working at Rowe’s? Or is there something else you would rather do?’

      She wondered if he was referring to motherhood. Surely not. That would be far too forward a question for anyone to ask her, especially a man of Mr Boot’s standing. To be safe she said, ‘I’m happy at Father’s shop. I love books and now we’ve branched out into art supplies, there’s even more to enjoy and share with our regular customers.’

      ‘You are very happy there then?’

      Florence smiled. ‘Yes, although I wish my father would allow me to arrange the shop a little differently. I’m sure I could make it work better than it does now.’ Embarrassed to be thought of as complaining – or even worse: being disloyal to her father – she quickly added. ‘Not that the shop doesn’t do perfectly well.’ She wondered if what she was saying could be construed as vulgar. ‘Or that Father doesn’t listen to me on occasion. Recently he agreed to let me order a couple of gold pen holders and holiday cards.’

      ‘Holiday cards?’

      ‘Yes, post cards.’ She stumbled slightly and he caught her elbow, helping her right herself. ‘Thank you. What I meant to say was that I merely wish for a little more freedom to try out a few new things.’

      ‘I understand. My mother tended to see me as her child despite my advance in years and experience doing the work.’

      She was relieved that he understood what she was trying to convey.

      ‘Amy mentioned that you were a druggist,’ she said, ‘but you also have quite a few stores. Which work do you prefer?’

      He thought for a moment and pausing picked a daisy from the high bank next to them, twirling it round between his right thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. ‘I enjoy the creating of new medicines.’

      Her face reddened, aware she had admitted some interest in him. ‘Have you always wanted to do this work?’

      He nodded. ‘I have. I inherited this need from my father. He was concerned with helping improve living conditions in the lace market area. He realised that herbal remedies were cheap and over thirty years ago he opened an establishment at Goose Gate in a poor area of the town to provide herbal remedies to those who couldn’t afford to pay for physicians. He learnt from his mother and he passed his knowledge down to me.’

      She was fascinated by his story. ‘So, it’s very much a passion of yours then?’

      ‘It is.’

      What an incredible man this was.

      He handed the daisy to Florence with a friendly smile. ‘I am ambitious, but I find I am rewarded with much satisfaction by being able to help others.’

      As her gloved hands took the daisy from his, the thin stem slipped through her fingers.

      ‘Oh, I’ve dropped it,’ she said, embarrassed by her clumsiness.

      ‘No matter, there are many more.’ He reached out to pick another one from the sloped bank, placing the flower in the palm of his other hand and waiting for her to take it.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I love daisies, don’t you? So pretty, yet not at all … what’s the word I’m trying to find.’

      ‘Ostentatious?’ Mr Boot suggested.

      Florence mulled over his suggestion as she gazed at the plain white petals fanning around the egg-yellow middle. ‘Yes, that’s perfect.’

      It was hotter than Florence had anticipated, and her corset was uncomfortable. One part of her longed to get back to her bedroom and remove the restrictive garment, but she was also enjoying herself much more than she had imagined.

      ‘This common has the best view of any I’ve seen,’ Mr Boot said, gazing at the view ahead of them. ‘I presume events are held here at times?’

      ‘Yes,’ Florence said. ‘There’s horse racing occasionally, and the military come here to carry out training and exercises sometimes.’

      ‘There’s certainly the space for it.’ They walked on a few more yards. ‘Your father has invited me to dine with your brother and his wife,’ Mr Boot said. ‘It really is very kind of your family to make me feel so welcome. I appreciate it.’

      ‘We enjoy meeting new people. It gives us something different to discuss in the evenings.’ She was joking, but only a little. ‘Your life seems so different to ours and it fascinates us.’

      His step faltered and he widened his eyes. ‘Really? Why so?’

      Florence hoped he would not think her forward or talking out of turn by saying such things. Her parents often scolded her for her forthright way of speaking to people they insisted she had no right addressing or giving her opinions to.

      ‘You come from the mainland and the Midlands at that,’ she said, hoping to show that she had paid attention to what he had been saying. ‘You’re a druggist; that is something unusual in itself. You also run factories and chemists. Not like the small chemist next to Rowe’s at number twenty-nine. It’s diverting for us to think about these things.’

      He seemed pleased at her interest. ‘I wanted to build up my business, because I believe that, the larger СКАЧАТЬ