Quick Change

Perfect Harmony

Perfect Harmony

The moment her doorbell rang, Flora ran to the front door. She’d flung it wide open while the final chime was still resounding in the narrow hallway. In her haste to make William seem welcome, she allowed the doorknob to dent in the anaglypta wallpaper. Never mind, she thought, not letting this little accident take the edge off her excitement. I’ll coax it back into shape with a knitting needle after he’s gone.

Too late, she realized that William would know from her speedy response that she’d been hovering at the front room window, looking out for him expectantly. So much for the net curtain concealing her eager watchfulness. 

Her sallow face was unusually rosy, echoing the deep and unflattering raspberry pink of her best cardigan. Before he’d even crossed the threshold, she was already blurting out an apology.

“I feel terrible for leaving it so long before calling you. I thought you’d be cross with me and would refuse to come. And the longer I left it, the worse I felt. Then I started to think that if I put it off much longer, we’d never be able to get it back to how it was -  how it used to be – how it should be.”

As William took a conciliatory step towards her, one look at his long-lashed dark eyes compelled Flora to back up against the hallstand, where she stood shifting awkwardly from slippered foot to slippered foot. Her arms hung helplessly at her sides, surrendering, and she tried not to notice the hard umbrella handle pressing awkwardly against her coccyx from the hallstand.

“Don’t think I hadn’t been counting the months,” he admonished her. ““But I knew you’d call me in the end. You always do.”

He closed the front door behind him. So masterful! thought Flora. He paused for a moment to set down his black pilot’s case and cane on the floral carpet, freeing his hands so he could rub them together briskly, as if in anticipation of a treat.

“But don’t worry,” he reassured her. “It would never to be too late. Never too late to pick up where we left off.”

William hadn’t been away so long that he’d forgotten the layout of her bungalow. He didn’t need For a to show him the way. This was just as well, as Flora hung back, still penitent, as he strode confidently down the hall. To them both, the recollection of his previous visit was as vivid as if it had been yesterday, though for a moment William had forgotten Flora’s large marmalade cat.

Robertson, suspicious of William’s intentions, stood guarding the bedroom doorway, arching his back and hissing. Stirred into action by the sound, Flora scurried down the hall to catch up with them. Standing diplomatically between them both, she bent to smooth the cat’s back, as if stroking down his anger-spiked fur would change his opinion of William.

“I’m sorry about Robertson,” she said. “It’’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s just the noises that you make. Cats are very sensitive to sound, you know.”

As if demonstrating his own repertoire of sounds, Robertson responded to Flora’s touch with a purr reminiscent of a small food-mixer. But he didn’t take his angry eyes off William, as if hoping to stare him out.

“But those sounds don’t bother me, you know.”

Flora gave a faint, nervous giggle.

“In fact I like them. All part of the experience. I look forward to it all, I really do.”

William raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I won’t hold back then,” he smiled. “I’’m so glad.”

As he threw open the last door, keen to get down to business, Flora brushed past him and made a bee-line for the windows. She tugged at the net curtains to make sure they covered every last square inch of window pane. She didn’t want anyone watching them from outside, not realising that no passer-by would ever assume her life interesting enough to try.

“Can I get you a cup of tea before you start?” she asked.

Was she playing for time, or just too eager to please? William looked at his watch. He’d allocated her no more than an hour, as he had two more women lined up this afternoon. He gave a polite smile, shook his head and again rubbed his hands together, as if warming them ready for action.

“No thanks. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

He slipped off his navy blazer and laid it with his cane neatly across the back of the sofa. With a slight nod of her head, she perched beside it on the edge of the sofa, expectant.

“As ever, I’ve come prepared,” he assured her.

Slipping his hand into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a small silver tuning fork and turned his back on her.

“Now, let me at that lovely old piano.”

With a yowl, the cat fled through the cat flap, while Flora, oblivious, remained on the sofa, abstractedly stroking William’s white cane. 

(If you enjoyed this story, you might like to know that it's included, along with 19 other similar short pieces, in my book "Quick Change", now available to download as an ebook for Kindle. Paperback and more editions to follow this autumn.