Dolphin-san: Hey there! Here's the next chapter for you all to enjoy. I guess it's mostly with Florence in this chapter, but it ties in with something that I plan to do later on (which involves Kai!). So all I can say is R&R please.

Chapter 17

'You see, the thing is mother,' said Bruce, 'if we go through the bank, the amount of interest they would charge would be extortionate. Then it occurred to me that you've got all this money sloshing around in your accounts . . . and it's not like you're using it for anything . . .'

Verity had taken Jason through to the kitchen in search of Coca-Cola. As soon as Bruce had pulled his chair closer to hers and assumed an earnest expression, Florence had known what to expect.

Her heart had sunk.

It's my birthday and what do I get? A brief duty visit from my family and a request for money.

A request for more money, Florence amended. Whatever had happened to the last ten thousand . . . and the twenty before that?

'How do you know I'm not using it? I may have plans,' she said calmly.

Bruce shot her a look of disbelief.

'Plans to do what? You don't have a business to keep running. You never do anything, go anywhere . . .'

'I know.' Florence shrugged, indicating with a wiggle of her empty glass that a refill wouldn't go amiss. 'So maybe it's about time I started. Doing thins and going places,' she mused, enjoying the expression on her son's face. 'Jolly expensive things and frighteningly expensive places.'

'Okay, fine, but surely you can spare some cash.'

Bruce's neck had reddened, signalling his discomfort. Normally, Florence remembered, she said yes straight away and scribbled out a cheque on the spot.

Oh Bruce, I'm your mother, not a gourmet meal-ticket for life.

Aloud she said, 'Darling, pour me another drink, would you? Plenty of ice this time.'

In the kitchen a lot of furious whispering ensued.

'I don't know why she has to be so difficult,' Florence heard Verity hiss. 'You'll get everything when she dies anyway.'

'Is Granny going to die?' Jason sounded enthralled. 'When, soon?'

If this were a P.D. James thriller, Florence thought, I'd be lucky to see out the night.

Wheeling herself over to the kitchen doorway, she announced, 'I'm sixty-two, Verity, not a hundred and two.'

'Sorry, Florence, you weren't meant to hear that.' Tight-lipped, Verity braced herself against the fridge. 'But it's true, isn't it? Bruce is your son. It's practically his money, and I don't think you're being terribly sensitive here. Can't you understand how humiliating it is for him having to ask you for something that's rightfully his anyway?'

Since nobody appeared to be getting her that drink, Florence manoeuvred past them and did it herself.

'How much do you need?'

Bruce's stubby fingers fiddled with the knot of his topaz Armani tie.

'Fifteen.'

'Fifteen pounds or fifteen thousand?'

Not in the mood for jokes, Bruce flicked her a glance and helped himself to a good inch of gin.

'I'll give you five thousand.'

Verity, looking as if a couple of hundred volts had just shot up her bottom, yelped, 'Oh, come on, that's not –'

'If it isn't enough,' Florence went on, 'I suggest you sell that shiny new Mercedes.'

Heavens, this was so liberating! Like wriggling out of the world's tightest corset, Florence thought delightedly. I should have done this years ago.

'You mean you want us to live like paupers, mother? Is that it?'

'I just think it would be nice to see you learning to support yourself,' Florence said pleasantly. 'Living within your own means instead of relying on endless hand-outs from me.'

'Okay, if that's how you feel.' Draining his glass, Bruce pointedly looked at his watch. 'Anyway, we'd better be off. Don't worry about us, mother. The shop will probably go under, we'll sell the house, Jason will have to go to some godforsaken state school, but don't let that bother you for a second –'

'Bruce, do you love me?' Florence interrupted him in mid-rant.

'What?'

'Do you love me?' Reaching for her cigarettes, she lit one, chiefly to annoy Verity. 'Do you care about me, do you want me to be happy?'

'That's a ridiculous question.' Still flushed with anger, Bruce shook his head. 'Of course I do.' He put his arm around Verity's thin shoulders for emphasis. 'We both do.'

'It's just, you've been here for over an hour.' Florence gazed steadily at the pair of them. 'And all we've done so far is talk about you. You haven't even asked me yet how I am.'

She saw Verity give him a meaningful jab in the ribs.

'Mother, I'm sorry.' Like a small boy prodded into politeness, Bruce recited dutifully, 'How are you?'

'Extremely well, thank you. Feeling quite – what's the word – rejuvenated.' Florence beamed. 'That's the amazing thing about ruts, isn't it? You don't realise quite how much of one you've been stuck in, until someone comes along and hauls you out.'

Bewildered, Bruce said, 'You've lost me, mother.' Surely this wasn't something to do with religion?

'I have met someone,' Florence announced, who makes me feel very happy.'

'Good grief.' Bruce's double chins quivered, signalling his amazement.

'A gentleman friend,' said Verity. 'Florence, how nice. I'm so pleased for you.'

We want to enjoy ourselves. Have fun,' Florence said. 'Travel the world, in style.'

'So he's retired.' Bruce nodded with approval. Fellow must be loaded if he could afford holidays like that. 'What line of work was he in?'

'Ooh, this and that.' Florence gave her son and daughter-in-law a bright smile. 'But he's not retired.'

'If he isn't retired,' said Verity, 'how's he going to manage to travel the world with you?' Although with computers these days, she supposed, anything was possible.

'Easy.' The extravagant rings on Florence's fingers flashed as she waved her hand. 'He's between jobs right now.'

'So how can he afford to whisk you off –'

'He's not whisking me,' Florence announced, 'I'm whisking him.'

'Mother, are you mad?'

'He takes care of me. He makes me laugh. When I'm with him I feel alive again, for the first time in years.' Calmly Florence blew a perfect smoke ring. 'And I don't care if people think I'm a silly old fool, because they don't know what he's like. We're happy, and that's what counts.'

Bruce didn't like the sound of this at all. Suspicion wrinkled his forehead.

'Why would people think you're a silly old fool?'

With a careless shrug, Florence said, 'He's what you might call a younger man, that's all.'

Oh, terrific.

'How much younger?'

'Look, it's my life. If it doesn't matter to us, why should anyone else be bothered?'

'Mother. How much younger?'

'Quite a bit younger than me. Oh, all right, all right,' she admitted with a sigh. 'If you must know, younger than you too.'

'Look at you, all sparkly-eyed,' Florence said fondly, when Ray returned just before midnight. 'No need to ask you if you had a good evening.'

'I did, I did.' Kicking off his shoes, Ray pirouetted around the sitting room.

'So where is he?'

'I'm playing it cool, keeping him keen.' Dizzy from spinning, Ray threw himself down on the velvet sofa. 'Don't want him thinking I'm a pushover. I mean, you know I am and I know I am, but he doesn't need to find that out just yet.'

'Tactics,' said Florence. 'I'm impressed.'

'Me too.' Ray grinned. 'So how was your evening?'

'Remarkably similar, as a matter of fact. I refused to give Bruce what he wanted. Except in his case, of course, it was money.' Florence's mouth began to twitch. 'Actually, I did a bit of a naughty thing tonight.'

Sitting up, Ray hugged his knees.

'Don't tell me, you ate all the vanilla truffles. No, better than that, Jason kicked you too. You went berserk and dangled him by his ankles out of the window until he squealed for mercy.'

If Jason had tried to kick her, Florence thought, she would certainly have been tempted to go in for a spot of ankle-dangling.

'I told Bruce and Verity I couldn't give them the money they wanted because I needed it for myself. I said I'd got myself a toyboy and that we were going to take off together on a round-the-world cruise and spend spend spend until every last penny was gone.'

'You didn't!' Ray squealed and clapped his hands.

'Oh yes. You should have seen their faces. Sheer bliss,' sighed Florence. 'When I assured Bruce that if we married he wouldn't have to call Orlando dad, he almost had a panic attack on the spot.'

'They really believed you?'

Ray was by this time crying with laughter. He wiped his eyes with the front of his black shirt; being black it was handy for soaking up any running eyeliner.

'They believed every word.'

'But . . . Orlando!'

'Seemed like the kind of name a gigolo would have.' Florence looked pleased with herself. 'I didn't plan any of this in advance, you know. All spur-of-the-moment stuff. I just made it up as I went along. It was brilliant, I was so impressed with myself . . . heavens, I could become the next Barabra Cartland.'

'One's enough,' said Ray. 'Anyway, there isn't enough pink lipstick in the world for two of you. A fortune-hunting gigolo,' he went on, reaching for the box of vanilla truffles and generously offering one to Florence. 'What gave you that idea?'

'Tom Barrett and his mail-order bride, the girl he brought over from Thailand. I told you about him, remember?'

Ray nodded.

'You told me it wouldn't last.'

'He knows that. Tom isn't stupid. But he's having fun, doing what he wants to do,' said Florence. 'And his daughter isn't giving him grief about it. As long as Tom's happy, she's happy. She isn't having a nervous breakdown at the thought of all the money she won't be inheriting.'

'So how long are you going to keep this up?' Ray spoke through a mouthful of truffle.

'Ooh, a couple of months, I thought.'

'A couple of months! Isn't Bruce going to want to meet this no-good lover of yours?'

'Probably.' Florence shrugged. 'But he won't be able to, will he?' She took a jaunty swig of Scotch. 'I'll tell him Orlando's fussy about who he meets and that, basically, Bruce just isn't rich enough.'

Dolphin-san: Well, there you go. I bet none of you can guess what's going to happen later on, can you? Oh, this is so much fun to write. .