‘I'mso sorry,' he said again. 'I've got a trolley that doesn't steer. Are you all right?’
Flora smiled back. `I'm fine. It just gave me a bitof a shock, that's all.'
‘And your toe isn't broken, or anything?’
They both looked down at her toe, the nail painted bright pink, matching the peony on her shoe. 'Itseems fine,' she said.
‘I would never have forgiven myself ifanything had happened to such a pretty foot,' he said, a definitetwinkle in his eye.
‘I wouldn't have forgiven you,either,' Flora twinkled back.
He laughed. 'Are you new to the area? Or have Ijust missed you?'
‘I'm new, but I'm glad to hear youdon't hit everyone with your trolley, all the time.'
‘I only hit people if my trolley's gota wonky wheel. [ promise.'
‘I'll take your word for it,' said Floraand began to move on. Much as sheenjoyed flirting, Charles would bewaiting to guide her to the cottage soon, and she didn't want to keep him waiting. He wasbad-tempered enough already.
‘Maybe we'll run into one anotheragain?' said the man, grimacing at his inadvertent pun.
‘Maybe,' Flora called over hershoulder with a grin.
Rather to her surprise, Charles wasn't bad-tempered when she turned up five minutes after the appointedtime, he was apologetic.
‘I'm most terribly sorry butsomething's happened to your car.'
‘What do you mean?' Flora asked,confused. 'What can have happened toit? It hasn't been anywhere, has it?'
‘No. It got run into.'
‘But how could it? And who ran into it?’
He looked extremely embarrassed. 'It was Annabelle. She's terribly upset about it.'
‘Too upset to tell me about itherself?' Flora snapped.
‘Yes,'he said firmly. 'Although she's very sorry. Now let's put all this stuff into the Land-Rover andI'll take you to thecottage. Your car will be sorted out very soon. There's a very efficient garage that we use. Yourcat's already in and making a hell of anoise.
‘Annabelle's mortified about whathappened to your car,' Charlesrepeated a few minutes later as they drove along in the Land-Rover, Imelda still yelling from her box.
‘I know. She told me. It'sall right.’
Once Annabelle had ascertained that Flora had not gone ballistic about the car, she had come out toapologise in person.Flora, trying vainly to ingratiate herself with these difficult people, had been very niceabout it.
‘Perhapsif you hadn't parked it quite so near the corner . . .' Charles said now.
Florasighed. She was a little tired of people trying to make this smallincident her fault. As she'd been in the supermarket whenit happened, they were never going to convince her. 'She said that, too.'
‘She's terribly upset. Nothing like that has ever happenedto her before.'
‘Oh well. I expect she's got PMS.'
‘What?' Charles was horrified.
‘Have you never heard of it? It affects women—'
‘I know perfectly well what it is,thank you. Annabelle does not suffer from it!'
‘Oh well, I expect she wasdistracted. By a cat or something. Perfectly understandable.'
‘Anyway, the damage is very slight.You'll have your car back in days.'
‘I know. We've been through all this.'
‘You seem very calm about it, I mustsay.' He glanced at her, puzzled.
Privately,Flora felt she was only being calm in contrast to everyoneelse, but she said, 'Well, it's not my car. Why should I worry?'
‘It's not your car!'Charles reverted to storm mode. 'Whose car is it?'
‘My parents'. It's all right,' shesaid for the tenth time. 'They're not over-sensitive about cars,either.'
‘Nor am I, but repairs cost money!'
‘I do hope you didn't shout atAnnabelle about it.’
‘I never shout!' he saidvery loudly.
‘No, of course you don't,' Florareplied, looking out of the window. 'Maybe, sometimes, when reallypushed.'
‘Rest assured, I will never push you,Charles,' she said, wondering how on earth they were going to get along. 'It is very kind of you to drive me,' sheadded meekly, to put things back onthe level of boring politeness. 'Andto lend me the holiday cottage in the first place.'
‘It's Annabelle's cottage. I just seeto the things that involve ladders and heavy lifting for her.’
Flora wondered which of these categories she came into. On balance, she preferred to be a ladder.
‘She would have taken you now,' hewent on, 'but she hates theLand-Rover. She's gone home for a cup of tea.'
‘Good idea,' said Flora, suddenlydesperate for a cup herself.
‘It is quite basic in the cottage,but if you do stay, you'd probably bebetter off with something with four-wheel drive.'
‘I'm sure I'll manage. I wouldn'twant to buy another car.'
‘The firm might have something itcould lend you. In fact, that's whatwe'll do if your car takes too long to fix. You wouldn't want to drivethis.'
‘Wouldn'tI?'
‘It's very heavy.’
Flora sighed. Would she have to rescue someone froma burning building to convince Charles that she was not an airhead? Possibly in solidarity, Imelda yowled.
‘She's persistent,' said Charles, with a glance over his shoulder at the pet carrier. 'You have to giveher that.'
‘She's been cooped up for hours, poor little thing,' said Flora. 'If there'd been any alternative tobringing her with me, I would have taken it, Ipromise.'
‘It would have been better if shehadn't been pregnant,' Charles observed.
‘Yes. Unfortunately she was pregnant when I got her.’
‘And couldn't whoever yougot her from take her back? In the circumstances . .
‘Not really. It was theGrand Union Canal. I found her floating in a carrier bag.'
‘Ah.' He paused. 'I'm sorry. I didn'trealise. You don't look like the sortof person . . .' He paused again, as if wary of causing offence.
‘Who rescues cats in carrier bags?'
‘Oh no.' He frowned. 'You look exactly like the sort of person who'd do that, sentimental and terriblysoft hearted. Imeant you don't look like the sort of person who'd ever been near a canal.’
Amused, in spite of his insulting manner, shehurried to reassure him.'Oh, it wasn't a real canal. It was in Little Venice. It's terribly smart just there. Iwas visiting a friend on a narrow boat.'
‘That's all right then.’
Just for a moment she thought she spotted a glimmer of humour, but then it vanished.
‘I do think you've possibly been abit unfair to me,' she suggested mildly.
‘Oh?'
‘Mm. You're assuming things about mebecause of the way I look, insteadof finding out what I'm like under myclothes.' A second too
