Deborah Carr - Mrs Boots

As her gloved hands took the daisy from his, the thin stem slipped through her fingers.

‘Oh, I’ve dropped it,’ she said, embarrassed by her clumsiness.

‘No matter, there are many more.’ He reached out to pick another one from the sloped bank, placing the flower in the palm of his other hand and waiting for her to take it.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I love daisies, don’t you? So pretty, yet not at all … what’s the word I’m trying to find.’

‘Ostentatious?’ Mr Boot suggested.

Florence mulled over his suggestion as she gazed at the plain white petals fanning around the egg-yellow middle. ‘Yes, that’s perfect.’

It was hotter than Florence had anticipated, and her corset was uncomfortable. One part of her longed to get back to her bedroom and remove the restrictive garment, but she was also enjoying herself much more than she had imagined.

‘This common has the best view of any I’ve seen,’ Mr Boot said, gazing at the view ahead of them. ‘I presume events are held here at times?’

‘Yes,’ Florence said. ‘There’s horse racing occasionally, and the military come here to carry out training and exercises sometimes.’

‘There’s certainly the space for it.’ They walked on a few more yards. ‘Your father has invited me to dine with your brother and his wife,’ Mr Boot said. ‘It really is very kind of your family to make me feel so welcome. I appreciate it.’

‘We enjoy meeting new people. It gives us something different to discuss in the evenings.’ She was joking, but only a little. ‘Your life seems so different to ours and it fascinates us.’

His step faltered and he widened his eyes. ‘Really? Why so?’

Florence hoped he would not think her forward or talking out of turn by saying such things. Her parents often scolded her for her forthright way of speaking to people they insisted she had no right addressing or giving her opinions to.

‘You come from the mainland and the Midlands at that,’ she said, hoping to show that she had paid attention to what he had been saying. ‘You’re a druggist; that is something unusual in itself. You also run factories and chemists. Not like the small chemist next to Rowe’s at number twenty-nine. It’s diverting for us to think about these things.’

He seemed pleased at her interest. ‘I wanted to build up my business, because I believe that, the larger my business, the more I could buy in bulk and thereby afford to lower costs. I liked the idea of providing health for a shilling, because I believe the health of the poor man or woman is just as important as the health of someone with money.’

His sentiments matched hers completely. How incredible must it feel to be able to develop then produce and sell medicines, and know that products you had made could save your customers’ lives. She struggled not to sound too in awe of him. ‘Your work is very commendable.’ She was painfully aware that she wasn’t vocalising her thoughts as well as she had intended.

‘You’re very kind to say so. Thank you.’

‘Do you produce all the medicines?’

‘No. I was lucky enough last year to be able to open shops in Lincoln and Sheffield and take on my first qualified pharmacist. He is young man, not much older than you, and a marvel who creates and dispenses new medicines to my customers.’

‘I envy him. To think he has the opportunity to work for a progressive man such as yourself.’ Thinking she might have been too forward and spoken out of turn, Florence reddened. ‘I didn’t mean to offend by what I said.’

He patted her arm. ‘No, my dear. I’m fully aware you did not. Nor have you. I am intrigued, and secretly delighted that I am considered interesting to others. It’s not something I have ever presumed to be.’

Mr Boot might be older than her, Florence decided, but, for all his success, he didn’t seem at all judgemental or priggish. She decided that if he asked her, she would agree to meet up with him again.

‘I read that the train line from St Helier to La Corbière was opened earlier this month. Do you think you might consider accompanying me to see the lighthouse there?’

Florence wondered if he had been able to read her thoughts, then shrugged off the notion as nonsense. ‘I would like that very much,’ she admitted. ‘In fact, it’s been a few years since I went there myself.’

‘Good,’ he said, looking, she thought, rather pleased with himself for making the suggestion. ‘Then we shall have to rectify that. What day do you next have time away from work?’

‘Not until Thursday afternoon when we close half-day, I’m afraid.’ She wished she didn’t have to wait so long to spend more time with this interesting man who treated her as an equal despite her younger age and being a woman. ‘However, maybe my father might make an exception as you are on holiday, and let me have time off before then.’

‘I can ask him, if you think he will be more likely to agree?’

She thought that was a splendid idea and said so, trying not to show how excited she was at the prospect, as they continued their stroll to the seafront.

Florence was used to speaking her mind up to an acceptable limit, but for some reason she felt as if she was with a kindred spirit with this man. On the face of it they had very little in common – their ages were not similar, nor were their backgrounds – but there was something about him … something she liked very much.

Later, as she lay back against her pillows in a quiet moment of solitude before being called for supper, Florence went over her day spent with Mr Boot. She had enjoyed herself in his company. She sighed happily, thinking of their next outing together. This time they would see the west of the island. For some reason she wanted him to love her homeland as much as she. She wasn’t sure exactly why this need was so great in her, but she felt almost panic to show him as much as possible before the time came for him to return to the mainland.

She had never expected to meet a man with whom she felt this much at ease, or who intrigued her so much. She thought about the little he had told her about his work as a druggist. It all sounded fascinating. Florence loved her job and knowing that she made the Rowes’ customers lives that much happier through the books and art supplies that they sold to them was an added bonus.

Maybe that was what connected them: their work. Hers catered for the customers’ spirits, their creative side, either by helping them escape in a novel, or providing them with books on how to make something, while Mr Boot’s business took care of their physical health. They were two sides of a coin that served the people living near them. The thought made her very happy.

Amy knocked on her door and opened it before waiting to be given permission. ‘Father has asked that you come downstairs.’

Florence glanced at her small mantel clock. It was one her grandmother had left to her and Amy, which her sister hadn’t wanted. ‘It’s earlier than usual tonight,’ she said, wishing she could be left a little while longer with her thoughts.

‘I have a feeling he and Mother wish to speak to you about something.’

Her stomach contracted slightly. On her return she had asked that she be allowed tomorrow off from work to accompany Mr Boot to La Corbière, but having already taken today away from the shop, she couldn’t imagine her father would agree. She hoped he would though. Mr Boot only had one week left on the island and she wasn’t looking forward to returning to find entertainment without his refreshing banter.

She checked her hair in the mirror and smoothed down her skirt. ‘I’ll be along directly,’ she said, wanting a moment to collect herself.