Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [46]
Twenty-three uninspiring applicants later - when Florence had been on the verge of giving up hope - Miranda had arrived. Apologising profusely for being late because she'd been so busy eavesdropping on the tube that she'd sailed
straight past her stop, she had promptly launched into the risquй joke she'd overheard.
They had taken to each other instantly. Florence, her life at the time something of a joke-free zone, had offered her the flat practically on the spot. And Miranda, with no family of her own - her parents having died in a car crash three years earlier - had been entranced by Florence's bawdy, irreverent attitude to, well, pretty much everyone and everything. She had moved in the next day, thrilled to be there and amazingly eager to please, and had been making Florence laugh - not always intentionally - ever since.
A cup of tea and twenty minutes in front of the fire, meanwhile, had done wonders for Chloe. Her rippling blonde hair was almost dry and the colour had returned to her cheeks.
She didn't look as though she was about to reel off a string of jokes, but given the circumstances, that was understandable.
`So you phoned your husband last night,' Florence prompted when Chloe paused halfway through the story.
`Humiliating, I know. But I was desperate.' Chloe's shoulders rose and fell. `Not that it got me anywhere. Even if I did manage to drag him through the courts… well, that could take years.' Sadly she shook her head. `Anyway, I'm not the dragging-through-the-courts type.'
This, Florence decided, was more than likely what Bruce was banking on too.
Intercepting her thoughtful gaze, Chloe straightened her back and swept her hair away from her face.
`I know it seems unlikely, looking at me now, but I do actually have some pride. If my husband's that desperatenot to have any contact with us' - her hand touched her stomach in an unconsciously protective gesture - `well, then I don't want his money. I'd rather do without it, manage by myself.'
The cobalt-blue eyes were clear, the set of her chin determined. If she had been crying earlier - and Florence was pretty certain she had been - there was no sign of tears now.
Down but not out, Florence noted with approval. The spark had been well hidden, but it was still there.
`You've worked for my son for over three years and he's sung your praises more times than I can remember. Don't worry about your job,' she told Chloe. `I'll make sure he doesn't give you the sack.'
Chloe breathed out slowly. `That's really kind. You don't know what a relief that is.' Sensing that the meeting was at an end, she glanced at her watch. Six thirty-five. She'd missed the first appointment, but if she hurried she could just make the second.
`Where are you going?' Florence raised her eyebrows.
Reaching for her bag and levering herself to her feet, Chloe said apologetically, `Florence, I'm so grateful. But I hope you don't mind if I rush off. You see, I have to-'
`That isn't why I asked you to come here. I could have told you that on the phone. Oh well, you're up now,' Florence sighed, `you may as well take a look at it before you go.'
Chloe was confused.
`Take a look at what?'
`You'll have to go up on your own.' Florence indicated her wheelchair. `Top of the stairs, third door on the left.' What was in there, Chloe wondered, Bruce's old cot?
`Okay. Um, what am I looking for?'
If it was a cot, she hoped Florence wasn't expecting her to take it away with her now - to tuck it under her arm, perhaps, and lug it home on the bus.
`I'm asking you to look at the room, child.' Florence's tone was suddenly brusque. `It's empty. If you want it, it's yours.'
`Honestly, it's terrifying, like being a double-agent!' Miranda had to shout to make herself heard above the roar of the vacuum cleaner as she belted around Florence's sitting room hoovering up biscuit crumbs at a rate of knots. `I keep telling myself I'll wait until Bev hasn't mentioned