Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr
narrowed her eyes at her sister. ‘Stop it. You know there’s nothing of the kind going on between us.’
‘I do. However, you two shouldn’t forget that his mother is one of our mother’s oldest friends,’ she said, her tone one of warning. ‘When either of them do finally discover that there’s less to your friendship than they imagine … well, you’ll probably be facing a bit of trouble.’
She didn’t like to think of her mother being upset due to something she had done, but, as her mother kept reminding her, at twenty-three she was at risk of ‘being left on the shelf’. It was somewhere that did not concern Florence; the prospect of being married and dictated to by a man horrified her far more than an unmarried status.
‘You know full well that I have no intention of ever marrying.’ She scowled. ‘The thought of being any man’s chattel is too dreadful.’ She stared at her unmarried sister only one year younger than herself. ‘Why doesn’t Mother make such a fuss about you? It’s always me she seems to worry herself about. I don’t understand it.’
‘Because I wouldn’t mind finding a beau and she knows that. She simply worries about your need for independence.’
Florence couldn’t help feeling a little guilty for the concern she gave her mother, but she had made up her mind long ago that marriage wasn’t for her. The thought of asking permission from a man in order to make decisions was too ghastly. It was bad enough having to be told what to do by her parents.
‘Come along,’ Amy said, handing the book back to her and opening the bedroom door; ‘I can hear Mother’s voice getting more irate.’
Florence knew when she was beaten. She raised the book to her nose and breathed in the familiar scent. Surely there was no smell more heavenly than that of a book? Hearing her sister mumble something under her breath, she picked up the new bookmark that she had treated herself to from her previous week’s wages and slipped it between the pages. The Mayor of Casterbridge would have to wait.
‘Florence, answer me,’ her mother shouted, sounding, Florence thought, more het up than usual. She stood up and went to check her hair in the mirror.
‘Sorry, Mother.’ Florence stood up and went to lean over the banister. She gave her mother an apologetic look. ‘Amy and I are on our way down now.’
‘This is Mr Boot,’ her father said, one hand holding the lapel of his waistcoat and the other indicating a man with a friendly smile that reached his eyes. ‘He’ll be staying in Jersey for a few weeks.’
Florence watched her parents greet the new guest. He was handsome in his own way, she mused, with his greying hair and piercing hazel eyes. She presumed him to be about ten or fifteen years older than her. There was something about him that she couldn’t help liking, which seemed odd as he hadn’t even opened his mouth to say anything yet.
He took her sister’s hand and gave a slight bow before coming to Florence.
‘This is my daughter, Florence. She and Amy assist me at Rowe’s, our stationer’s downstairs.’ He regarded his family. ‘Please, take a seat everyone. Mr Boot is also in retail,’ he explained. ‘He has several shops of his own. Mainly in Nottingham, I believe?’
Mr Boot smiled. ‘That’s correct. I ran them with my mother up until last year when she sadly passed.’
It dawned on Florence who this man was and why the name seemed familiar. ‘You’re Jane’s brother?’
He nodded, his smile widening.
Her father gave her a questioning look. ‘You know Mr Boot’s sister?’
‘Yes, Father. We met last year when she was on the island. We attended functions together. I introduced you and Mother to her.’
‘I met her, too,’ Amy said. ‘Several times. She came to the shop and bought—’ she thought for a moment ‘—an artist’s pad, some watercolours and brushes, if I remember correctly.’
Mr Boot laughed. ‘Yes, that’ll be Jane. She was most upset to have left her paints behind when she travelled. She wrote to me during her stay here recounting visits to Rowes. She insisted that if I visit Jersey, I must look up your family and introduce myself to her good friend, Miss Florence Rowe.’ He stared at Florence thoughtfully for a brief time, as if recalling his sister’s words. ‘She told me that you showed her much of the island and ensured her time here was thoroughly enjoyable.’
Florence recalled the friendly, charming woman who she’d befriended and how well they had got along. ‘She told me about your mother’s passing,’ she said, unsure whether she should be mentioning it, but aware that Mr Boot and his mother had worked closely together in their shops since his father’s death when he was only ten. ‘I was sorry to hear of your loss.’
His expression darkened and for a moment she thought she’d been too personal. Then, he cleared his throat. ‘It was. I think it was doubly difficult as we’d also worked together. Jane insisted I take time away from the business to visit Jersey for a holiday. She thought the sea air would do me good.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve only been here a couple of hours and already I feel somewhat refreshed.’
‘You haven’t been to Jersey before, Mr Boot?’ Amy asked.
‘This is my first time. I haven’t thought to take time away from my business before now.’ He smiled. ‘I’m told the weather is always sunny in Jersey, and the milk and new potatoes are the best in the world.’
Everyone laughed. She thought back to the stormy weather they had experienced for the previous few days, which had cut the island off from the mainland and France when the ferries to Southampton and St Malo had to be cancelled.
‘And you wouldn’t be wrong thinking that, most of the time,’ her father said. ‘Although, maybe not so much about the weather. I believe it’s slightly warmer than on the mainland but it can rain here just as much when it chooses to.’
‘Usually when you least wish it,’ Florence added.
Mr Boot smiled at her. It was a friendly smile; she noticed something more behind his eyes than she had expected. Then her father began discussing aspects of Mr Boot’s visit and Florence listened as their guest chatted to her parents. She liked the sound of his voice. She recalled Jane explaining that her accent was an East Midland’s one. It was gentle and different to the voices she usually heard each day. Although, she mused, a lot of those were French, or the locals speaking Jèrriais. It wasn’t surprising, therefore, that they did sound different.
If what her father was saying were true, which she assumed it was, she had never met anyone as successful as Mr Boot. She liked that he wasn’t boastful or arrogant. He seemed very matter-of-fact, and, by what Jane had said, he didn’t take much time to do anything other than work very hard. Her thoughts were interrupted hearing her father mentioning her name.
‘… day off tomorrow and I’m certain she would be delighted to show you some of the sights here on the island. Wouldn’t you, Florence?’
All thoughts of finishing The Mayor of Casterbridge vanished; however, she found that she didn’t mind nearly as much as she would have expected.
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she said, smiling at Mr Boot. ‘We could, um—’ she thought quickly, recalling how Jane had mentioned that her brother was sometimes troubled by an ailment, which she believed might be rheumatoid arthritis. If that was the case, then she assumed that walking far would not be something he would wish to do ‘—take the Jersey Railway to St Aubin, if you wish? Or, maybe the Jersey Eastern Railway to Gorey. Whichever you prefer.’
He rested his hands on his legs and nodded. ‘I will leave the choice to you. Maybe we could do one trip tomorrow and the other on another day?’
Florence had hoped for some time alone after such a busy early summer at the shop, but expected that time with Mr Boot could also be enjoyable. She did like showing friends who were new to the island