The Tea House on Mulberry Street (20 page)

“Come here, you wicked temptress,” he said, to someone Sadie could not see. “I’ve been dying to kiss you all through that boring lunch. You were a witch to wear that tiny skirt. You did it on purpose. I could hardly concentrate on the speeches. Wasn’t it absolutely the most boring lunch in the history of double-glazing? I thought it would never end.”

“I know, I know,” whispered a woman’s voice. There was some breathless kissing and then Sadie’s eyes opened up like saucers, as the man who had married her twenty years ago said, “I must have you, now, Patricia. I can’t wait any longer. Up you get on the desk. Quickly! Oh, quick as you can!”

It sounded like his companion jumped up on the desk as if she did this kind of thing every day. Sadie looked up at the ceiling, just in time to see a red blouse land on the chandelier. Arnold was panting like a puppy. A zip was opened.

Patricia giggled. “Come on, then! You naughty, naughty boy! Do you want to see my pretty new stockings? With bold black lace right at the top?” Some brochures slid off the table, and there was a clatter.

“Mind the lamp,” said Arnold. “That’s a valuable antique.”

When it was over, Arnold poured some whiskey into two tumblers, and Patricia lit two cigarettes. Behind the cupboard, Sadie sucked her toffee with her eyes tightly closed.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Patty-Pat,” he said, when his breathing had returned to normal.

“Oh, goody! I just love surprises. What is it? Tell me, tell me!”

“I’ve sold a lot of conservatories recently.”

“Is that all? You sell conservatories all the time.”

“I’ve made a tidy little sum on commissions. There’s daft people in this city with more money than sense. There was this one old bat, for example. Always going on about dead bloody writers.”

“I know! Tell me the surprise, you tease,” the woman laughed.

“Calm down, gorgeous. I’m taking us to Paris for a couple of days, by way of celebration.”

The woman sitting on Arnold’s blotter screamed with delight.

“I knew it! I knew you were up to something. When do we go? I need time to shop for new clothes! Reach me down my blouse, will you? What will you tell Sadie Sponge and The Bitter Lemons?”

“Oh, don’t spoil the moment! Honestly, sleeping beside that woman is like having a kip by a bouncy castle. Go on,” said Arnold. “Do your Sadie impression. It cracks me up.”

“Sadie Sponge! The
hideous
creature from the crypt!” said Patricia, in a doom-laden voice. They both laughed until they were out of breath.

“That’s brilliant! You sound just like her. More!”

“I’m coming to eat you with my big sharp teeth! My appetite cannot be satisfied. I am going to eat the whole world,” growled Patricia, as she stomped around the office, wearing only her lacy red knickers and her black stockings.

“Stop it! Stop it,” begged Arnold. “I’m getting a pain in my side. Oh God, you should be on the stage. Here. Get dressed before the area manager turns up!”

“Tell me more about the trip, Arnie baby.”

“We fly to Paris in October. And don’t bother buying new clothes. Well, maybe some lingerie, if you like. But it’s not necessary. You’ll be naked for forty-eight hours. And I’ll tell Sadie Sponge I’m going to a conference on environmentally friendly products for the home. The Frogs are really into all that stuff. I’ll tell her we’re thinking of branching out into other markets. She’ll believe anything I tell her!”

“She’s a real dope!”

“Oh, she is, she is! A real dope! Another whiskey?”

“Mmmm… yes, please. Just a little one – I still have to go back to work, you know. We’re expecting a delivery of candlesticks this evening. When will I see you again?”

“I’ll call you. Keep your mobile phone switched on.”

“I missed you at the weekend. There was a great film on, at the cinema. I had to go on my own. I wish we could get rid of Sadie Sponge, and be together always.”

“I’ve told you before. I couldn’t afford the help. My parents can’t manage on their own. As soon as they shuffle off this mortal coil, I’ll give old Sadie the heave-ho. I’ll inherit a bundle of dosh. And then you can move in. The house is in my name only. Though Sadie doesn’t know that.”

“And she can spend the rest of her days as a live-in care assistant. With her face in a box of biscuits. She’s had plenty of experience in both departments.”

“Now, now. Little minx! Don’t be cruel. She’s not a bad old stick. When all’s said and done.”

“But she’s not me. You love me, don’t you, Arnie, baby?”

“You know I do, Patty-Pat! You know I love only you. Why, you’ve got the best pair of legs in Northern Ireland!”

Patricia left the office at three o’clock, and Arnold read his paper for the rest of the afternoon. He answered four telephone calls and made a pot of coffee. It was a leisurely business, selling windows, when all was said and done. When five o’clock came, he wondered aloud what Sadie had prepared for his evening meal, as all his romantic exertions had given him quite an appetite. Steak and chips, with a beetroot and tomato side-salad, perhaps? Pork chops and apple sauce? Or maybe some nice, juicy sausages? Ho, ho, ho! He switched off the lights and the office was plunged into darkness. He locked the door and descended the stairs.

After a while, the cupboard in the corner began to tremble. Sadie slithered out from her hiding-place, and her face was as dark as a thundercloud. Cigarette smoke still hung in the air. She thought that Arnold had given up smoking years ago. He often complained of clients blowing their smoke all over his expensive jackets. Sadie turned her face away from the desk and left the office.

Arnold noticed something strange about Sadie that evening. She was late home, for a start. He never arrived home before Sadie. She was always there with his supper ready, the fire lit if it was cold outside, and his parents seated at the dinner-table. She mumbled something about the bus breaking down, and gave them cold meat slices and shop-bought salad for tea. Arnold looked up at her as he shook the bottle of salad cream. He saw that she was chewing very slowly and staring at him in a most peculiar way.

“Would you like a piece of French stick,” she asked him in a small voice, as she wrenched and twisted the bread into pieces.

“No, thank you,” he said. And he swallowed hard.

Chapter 23

T
HE
G
REAT
C
ONSERVATORY
I
S
F
INISHED

At the end of July, the grand building project was completed. Even though Arnold Smith had hired extra builders to finish the job faster, Henry thought the sounds of the hammers and the saws would be in his head for the rest of his life. There was dust in the back of his throat and he was suffering from palpitations.

David Cropper came to visit and declared the work a triumph. Perfect conditions for filming, he announced. Perfect. The light was just right. The Brontë Bunch came to view the conservatory and they were all thrilled. Aurora introduced them to David Cropper. Their exclusive society was the talk of the city, he told them. The date for filming was set, and their costumes were all ready. Aurora practised reading aloud until her voice was in danger of collapse.

Henry was in love with the girl in the flower shop. He went there every week to buy something for Aurora. He found out her name was Rose Thompson and told her his was Henry Blackstaff. They were both old-fashioned names. That fact made him absurdly happy. He had fantasies about looking after Rose, in a pretty cottage somewhere, with a fairytale garden around it. The two of them sitting in a willow arbour, watching the sun set behind a privet hedge. Sharing a tender kiss surrounded by the lingering perfume of lavender.

Sometimes, if the shop was not busy, Henry and Rose would talk about flowers and plants, and which ones lasted longer and which ones were easy to care for. They realised they shared the opinion that imported flowers were all very well, and beautiful in their own way, of course, but they were killing the native flower market off completely.

“Most people in this city wouldn’t even be able to name a native flower,” said Rose. “And that’s sad, because they’re so easy to grow.”

“And the perfume. Well, the hothouse flowers have no perfume at all, compared to the local varieties. Frail little things, they are,” said Henry, sniffing some miniature roses and thinking of Aurora. “All image and no substance. I remember roses when they were as big as side plates, full of rainwater and earwigs. All the gardens around here had some.”

“Mmmm,” said Rose, who wasn’t sure that was an appealing image for her customers.

“But the perfume,” said Henry, “the perfume was intoxicating. The air was heavy with the scent of them on a summer’s evening.”

“Oh, yes. Pure romance,” she agreed. “There’s nothing on earth as beautiful as a rose garden.”

Henry always found something to buy, in the end, and the windowsills at home were full of blooms of every colour and size. Aurora thought it was very sweet, but she wouldn’t let him put any flowers in the conservatory itself. She said it would spoil the formal atmosphere.

Then she changed her mind, and decided some elegant plants with big leaves would take the bare look off the walls. Well, it was David’s idea, but Aurora thought he was absolutely right. She told Henry about her plan but he seemed distracted.

“Are you listening to me, Henry?” asked Aurora, when the filming was almost due to begin. “I said, I think I will order some large-scale plants for the conservatory. It looks a trifle bare in here, with only the books and the cane chairs. Some potted palms and an aspidistra? What do you think?”

“Aspidistra? Yes. Very suitable.”

“What is the name of that place you always go to?”

“What?”

“Honestly. You’re miles away. I said, what is the name of the florist you like?”

“Rose Thompson – I mean, Thompson Flowers.” He was thinking of Rose’s green eyes and her white ankles. She looked just right, expertly snipping the stems off flowers with her scissors and pushing them into florist’s foam with her long, thin fingers.

“Well, do you have the telephone number of the shop, Henry? Honestly, I haven’t got all day. Actually, could you do it for me? I’m seeing David tonight for a last-minute discussion.”

“Yes, yes. I think I have a receipt somewhere. I’ll do it.”

Henry telephoned the next day, and placed an order for some plants in keeping with the period of the house. Did Rose have anything in stock, he asked. Only, the plants were needed right away. Rose said she would bring them round at lunch-time.

The camera crew arrived to set up their equipment, and take light readings. There were lots of people running in and out of the house with cables and wires and spotlights. In the middle of all the upheaval, the plants were delivered in a small van. Henry’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that Rose was standing on his doorstep, with a huge palm in her arms. He rushed out to help her.

“Thanks a million,” she said. “This pot is really heavy.”

“I’ll show you where they go, although I’m not sure of the arrangement. I’ll ask my wife where she wants them. Excuse me for a moment.”

“Okay. I’ll bring in the others.”

When the plants had been arranged, and rearranged, and Aurora was satisfied, she went upstairs to change. Henry and Rose were left standing in the hall.

“Thank you so much,” said Henry. “It all looks great. They’re filming this afternoon, you know. For television.”

“Really? Wow! Well, I hope it all goes well, Henry.” She reached for the door-handle.

“I… I meant to ask you about your name, before. Was it just coincidence that you liked flowers?”

“No,” she laughed. “My mother was a keen gardener.”

“I see. She must have taught you about horticulture, then?”

“Yes, she did. Well, I must be on my way. Don’t forget to water the plants.”

And off she went, reversing the little van and disappearing out the gates, and leaving Henry’s heart in turmoil. He stood at the hall door, looking out at the road for a long time after she had gone.

The Brontë Bunch arrived in twos and threes, clambering out of cars and taxis in full Victorian costume. Henry kept himself busy serving Earl Grey tea and tiny salmon sandwiches in the kitchen. He made sure he trimmed off all the crusts, as Aurora had specified.

As the afternoon wore on, Mrs Johnson felt faint, and had to be revived with a paper fan. Someone tried to take off her cloak but she waved them away with a weary hand in a crochet glove. Henry wasn’t sure if her faint was genuine, or if she was just getting into character. Aurora and David Cropper were deep in conversation in the conservatory. Aurora was wearing her lace-trimmed bonnet, and her black gown with its miles of petticoats. David Cropper was weak with lust, wondering if Aurora was wearing a laced-up corset underneath. He prayed that she was. Her waist was positively tiny. She read an extract from
Wuthering Heights
, to test for acoustics, and David listened as if she was telling him the secret of eternal life.