Nomance, T Price [bookreader .TXT] 📗

transaction.That ten thousand pounds was less a payment, more a gift, given ingratitude for something which will bring pleasure and happiness foryears and years to come. Like a tree or a hardy shrub from yourshop might.’

Several seconds laterCarla said, ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Gerald jumped to hisfeet, opened the built-in wardrobe, in which his jacket hung, andpulled something from the breast pocket. He handed it to her.

Carla had been halfexpecting medicine of some sort, but it was his business card.

‘If I understood youcorrectly,’ Gerald went on, ‘your shop is on a knife edge and inneed of a cash injection.’ He sat down again. ‘You see, I’m alwayson the lookout for a good birth surrogate and I’d like to inviteyou for a preliminary examination. If you are interested, all youhave to do is give me a call. And remember what I told you.’

She searched his faceclosely. ‘What was that?’

‘You get ten thousandpounds, on average. And remember, there’s no tax.’ Gerald smiled.‘On top of which, there is all the wonder and mystery of conceivinga child. As a doctor I can assure you it’s an emotional andeducational experience rolled into one.’

Carla shook her head.‘Am I dreaming?’

Gerald seemed to likethis idea. ‘Well, you are on Cyprus, the birthplace of GoldenAphrodite.’

‘Who?’

‘The Goddess ofLove.’

Poetic allusion wasjust the thing to give Carla the willies. ‘I think I’ll get back tomy room now.’

‘Feeling better?’

‘Better?’

‘Your stomach?’

She scowled. ‘Oh yes,that’s better.’

‘It’s just the tax now,eh?’ They stood up. ‘Well, like I say, just remember I’m a doctorand I’m here to help.’

Eight months later,sitting in her large, cold kitchen and staring at the shop’saccounts, Carla heaved her heavy sigh once more. A remortgage wasout of the question and she was already paying off an extortionatebusiness loan (sodding banks!). If she wanted to keepRomance viable then artificial insemination seemed almostinevitable. The notion appalled her – almost as much as it amazedher.

But what else could shedo when lobelia, geraniums and lilies added up to such a heap ofheart ache?

Three: The Vultures of Romance

Monday morning.

Carla moved restlesslybehind the foliage of Romance. The waiting around was thehardest. She longed to start opening at midday, but there was atiny contingent of mad bats who only dropped by at the crack ofdawn. In terms of profitability she could afford to lose them. Thetrouble was, she sensed they exerted a hidden but powerfulinfluence throughout the affluent streets all around. If shethwarted them, she might find her other customers slipping awaywithout apparent explanation.

And here was one of herother customers, right now.

‘Oh Carla, theblossom!’

It was Serena – theprincess of bitty shoppers and the human equivalent of a pointedstick with which life poked at the ulcer of Carla’s resentment.

Every year, the sameexquisite torture!

By now Carla almostadmired Serena’s dogged persistence in believing that the seasonalchanges of the natural world held any interest for her, justbecause she happened to run a florist’s shop. That said, the way inwhich Serena used the same weary stock phrases, delivered in acreaky pitch of delight (one which hadn’t altered a jot over thepast decade) suggested that Serena’s interest in the blossom waseven feebler than her own.

Unlike the blossom,Serena’s true enthusiasms surrounded her at all times of the year –outrageously expensive clothes.

Carla was very, verycareful to avoid the whole subject of clothing. She refrained fromopenly noticing that Serena never seemed to wear the same garmenttwice, and that what she did wear wasn’t on sale in any of theshops she went to. But to give Serena her due, she didn’t need tobe told that fashion was a complete nonstarter for Carla, and shewas considerate enough to return the favour of not openly noticingwhat her favourite florist wore.

It was supremely ironictherefore, considering how much more she had to lose by breakingtheir tacit agreement not to learn anything personal about eachother, that it was Carla and not Serena who went and spoiled it allby opening her big fat mouth.

Thus one unforgettableday, in a fit of temporary insanity, Carla had once casuallymentioned that she was going to the hair dressers.

Straight away thisthrowaway little remark blew up in her face when Serena said shewished she could go to a hair dressers just like that, but her hairwas so difficult that she was obliged to visit a special woman. Infact, she had seen her just last week.

This information cameas a huge surprise to Carla, not least because Serena’s hair hadn’tchanged one iota in the last ten years – fringe at front, shoulderlength everywhere else.

In fact, she had alwaysassumed it was a wig.

‘Well, I never.’

Carla was confidentthat this note of mild wonder would be enough to draw a line underthe whole topic. But wait! Serena hadn’t finished the story of herhair. Having agreed with whatever it was Carla was talking about,she went on to add how lucky she was to have her special woman,because not only did her special woman understand her hair as noone else ever would, but she also did it on the cheap. To wit –fifty quid per trim.

Fifty quid!

Carla reeled. Shealways felt ripped off paying a tenner. And that was for a permthat took ages and really hurt. Carla’s hairdresser didn’t ponceabout like Serena’s. She made damn sure that Carla, and everybodyelse too, knew that her hair had been done, and done propertoo.

The blossom, theclothes, and now the hair, the more Carla knew about Serena themore she ached afterwards.

Not that Serena stoppedat making Carla ache at what she knew. She also made her ache atwhat she didn’t. For there was a niggling riddle about Serena. Anenigma born of a contradiction. First up, the facts were these:

One, Serena wasa freelance designer.

Two, her clotheswere from Paris.

Three, she spentfifty nicker on her hair.

Now, could they comemore rarefied than that? No, of course not. Everything about Serenascreamed posy.

So then, the bigquestion was, Why the hell didn’t she buy more flowers?

By rights she shouldhave been ordering them in by the cartload. Well okay . . . it wasjust possible she was too rarefied even for flowers. However, Carlacould not bring herself to believe such a level of snobbery waspossible,