giggle. ‘Silly old me,’ she said. ‘I think … I was remembering someone else.’
The doorbell rang.
‘That might be Dr Kent,’ Flora said, and went to let him in.
‘She’s not herself,’ Flora told him.
‘I’ll take a look.’ He seemed in a rush, as was often the case, and went on through to the sitting room.
‘Flora tells me you didn’t sleep well last night?’ He spoke so gently to her, and the old lady gave him a radiant smile.
‘It … wasn’t anything … much,’ she said, almost apologetically.
The doctor bent to take her pulse. For a second there was silence in the room, only the laboured ticking of the long-case clock by the fireplace. He turned to Flora.
‘What’s her temperature?’
‘Normal.’
Flora helped Dorothea take off her cardigan; Dr Kent fixed the blood-pressure cuff around her right upper arm and pressed the button.
‘Hmm.’ He watched the display on the Boots sphygmomanometer. ‘OK, that’s it. How are you feeling now, Dorothea? Do you have a headache or anything? Is your stomach bothering you?’
The old lady took a long, slow breath. ‘I … don’t think so.’ She stared ahead, as if she was unaware the doctor and Flora were there at all.
He got up and motioned Flora to join him outside.
‘Her blood pressure’s a bit raised, but nothing alarming. I can’t find any sign of anything serious.’
‘Sorry to drag you out.’
‘No, no, not at all. I was on my way to another patient anyway. Maybe she’s just got something on her mind?’
‘We’ve asked her, but she won’t say. She’s not of the generation to complain.’
Dr Kent smiled. ‘No, bless her. She’s a sweetheart.’ He glanced at Flora as he put on his coat. ‘Did you sort out the boyfriend problem?’
‘I did … sort of.’
‘You missed a good night of ballroom.’
She smiled. ‘I was stupid. I should have come.’
She closed the door behind him, suddenly wondering what his private life was like. She realised she didn’t even know if he was married or had children. If he’s asking me to go dancing with him, he’s probably not married, she decided.
*
Her mobile rang as she was walking to the bus stop that night.
‘Flora?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Jake. Jake Hobley, from the other night.’
‘Jake, hi.’ She was taken by surprise at hearing his voice, and couldn’t think of what else to say.
A bus roared past and she missed his next words. He repeated them: ‘Just wondered if you felt like a drink sometime?’
Flora took a deep breath, pressing the phone hard to her ear against the traffic noise. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
They arranged to meet that Thursday at a bar in Notting Hill. She felt anxious as soon as she’d ended the call. Was this a date? The thought was terrifying. She immediately wanted to ring and cancel. I don’t have to go, she told herself, I can make some excuse on the day. But that didn’t seem to soothe her. At some stage, if she wasn’t to spend the rest of her life alone, she knew she would have to cross the line.
When Flora got home, Prue was standing on the doorstep of the main house, silhouetted by the light from the hall behind her. Despite it being so late, her sister was still in her work clothes – a charcoal tailored suit and cream shirt – talking to a blonde girl who was clutching an armful of giant folders containing what looked like fabric samples. The girl said goodbye when she saw Flora, and clattered down the steps into the night.
‘Darling, come in for a sec.’ Prue held the door open. ‘God, I’m whacked. Amy promised me those samples at nine this morning. People are so casual. Does she really think the client’ll give a toss that UPS went to the wrong house?’
Flora looked sympathetic and waited for the inevitable.
‘Well, has he called?’ Prue asked, as soon as the door was shut.
‘Just now. We’re meeting for a drink on Thursday.’
Prue squealed with delight, clasping her hands in front of her
The doorbell rang.
‘That might be Dr Kent,’ Flora said, and went to let him in.
‘She’s not herself,’ Flora told him.
‘I’ll take a look.’ He seemed in a rush, as was often the case, and went on through to the sitting room.
‘Flora tells me you didn’t sleep well last night?’ He spoke so gently to her, and the old lady gave him a radiant smile.
‘It … wasn’t anything … much,’ she said, almost apologetically.
The doctor bent to take her pulse. For a second there was silence in the room, only the laboured ticking of the long-case clock by the fireplace. He turned to Flora.
‘What’s her temperature?’
‘Normal.’
Flora helped Dorothea take off her cardigan; Dr Kent fixed the blood-pressure cuff around her right upper arm and pressed the button.
‘Hmm.’ He watched the display on the Boots sphygmomanometer. ‘OK, that’s it. How are you feeling now, Dorothea? Do you have a headache or anything? Is your stomach bothering you?’
The old lady took a long, slow breath. ‘I … don’t think so.’ She stared ahead, as if she was unaware the doctor and Flora were there at all.
He got up and motioned Flora to join him outside.
‘Her blood pressure’s a bit raised, but nothing alarming. I can’t find any sign of anything serious.’
‘Sorry to drag you out.’
‘No, no, not at all. I was on my way to another patient anyway. Maybe she’s just got something on her mind?’
‘We’ve asked her, but she won’t say. She’s not of the generation to complain.’
Dr Kent smiled. ‘No, bless her. She’s a sweetheart.’ He glanced at Flora as he put on his coat. ‘Did you sort out the boyfriend problem?’
‘I did … sort of.’
‘You missed a good night of ballroom.’
She smiled. ‘I was stupid. I should have come.’
She closed the door behind him, suddenly wondering what his private life was like. She realised she didn’t even know if he was married or had children. If he’s asking me to go dancing with him, he’s probably not married, she decided.
*
Her mobile rang as she was walking to the bus stop that night.
‘Flora?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Jake. Jake Hobley, from the other night.’
‘Jake, hi.’ She was taken by surprise at hearing his voice, and couldn’t think of what else to say.
A bus roared past and she missed his next words. He repeated them: ‘Just wondered if you felt like a drink sometime?’
Flora took a deep breath, pressing the phone hard to her ear against the traffic noise. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
They arranged to meet that Thursday at a bar in Notting Hill. She felt anxious as soon as she’d ended the call. Was this a date? The thought was terrifying. She immediately wanted to ring and cancel. I don’t have to go, she told herself, I can make some excuse on the day. But that didn’t seem to soothe her. At some stage, if she wasn’t to spend the rest of her life alone, she knew she would have to cross the line.
When Flora got home, Prue was standing on the doorstep of the main house, silhouetted by the light from the hall behind her. Despite it being so late, her sister was still in her work clothes – a charcoal tailored suit and cream shirt – talking to a blonde girl who was clutching an armful of giant folders containing what looked like fabric samples. The girl said goodbye when she saw Flora, and clattered down the steps into the night.
‘Darling, come in for a sec.’ Prue held the door open. ‘God, I’m whacked. Amy promised me those samples at nine this morning. People are so casual. Does she really think the client’ll give a toss that UPS went to the wrong house?’
Flora looked sympathetic and waited for the inevitable.
‘Well, has he called?’ Prue asked, as soon as the door was shut.
‘Just now. We’re meeting for a drink on Thursday.’
Prue squealed with delight, clasping her hands in front of her
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