Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr
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love to keep my own home at some point; however, I hope to have more for myself.’
‘Such as what, may I ask?’
She spotted a twinkling in his hazel eyes but knew it wasn’t due to amusement, but she suspected that he was enjoying their conversation as much as she. ‘I would like to run my own business. I don’t believe that being in charge of a home will be enough for me.’
His eyes widened. ‘Do you know something, Miss Rowe? I believe you will find a way to achieve your ambition.’ He tilted his head. ‘What’s more, I feel certain you will be successful at it.’
She was taken aback by his confidence in her. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘I do. You have intelligence, you work hard, and you seem very determined. There is no reason why you should fail.’
She smiled at him, delighted with his reassurances. ‘People do fail though, and maybe I could be one of them.’
‘That is always a possibility. I’ve failed at some of the things I’ve attempted to do, quite a few times,’ he said, surprising her with his honesty, ‘but to me, a successful person is not someone who falls at the first hurdle, but who dusts themselves off, rethinks their strategy and tries again. And sometimes has to keep on trying until they find a way of achieving what they set out to do.’
She gazed at him in awe of his open-mindedness and frankness. ‘You make a lot of sense. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.’
‘It is my pleasure. For now, though, you assist your father at Rowe’s. He must enjoy having you and your sister working for him?’
Florence agreed. ‘He does. I think he would have preferred my brother to work for him, so that he could train him to take over from him when he retires, but Willie hasn’t never been interested in the shop.’
‘That’s a shame,’ he said, looking a little unsure. ‘Although I don’t see why you and your sister wouldn’t be any less successful at running the business. My mother took over from my father when he passed when I was ten years old. She was a good business-woman too, and I learnt everything I know from her.’
Florence liked his attitude to women and business. It gave her hope that in this world where man was king of all he possessed, that maybe Mr Boot wasn’t the only man to believe women were capable of much more than was usually expected of them.
The train moved off once again. ‘I don’t know why but I hadn’t realised there would be so many stops on such a small island,’ he said.
‘We’ll reach Pontac soon and you can see the coast from there. It’s one of my favourite stops,’ Florence explained. ‘When I do come this way, I love to look out at the rocks in the bay. I’m told it can be very dangerous for the fishermen’s boats, but the bay is very pretty for those of us looking out from a carriage window.’
‘My sister tells me that this island is blessed with many bays worthy of inspection.’ He laughed. ‘She also said that she believes you and she visited most of them during her time here.’
He had a wonderful laugh. Deep and rumbling, infectious.
‘We did visit a few.’ Florence recalled only too well those pleasant, sunny days with Jane. It wasn’t hard to imagine her and her brother getting along well; both seemed such friendly people. ‘But there are many more we didn’t explore.’
‘You’re very lucky to live on such a beautiful island,’ he said, as they passed several pretty gardens with the glistening sea in the background.
‘What’s Nottingham like? I’ve never been.’ She wanted to know more about this man and where he came from.
‘It also has its beauty, but a different one to this place. I particularly admire the red-brick buildings in the town. I enjoy the hustle and bustle of the streets. I find it inspirational.’ He gazed at her for a moment. ‘There’s a lot of green open space around the city, and if I’m not working, I’ll go for a ride in my carriage to take in the air.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said, trying to picture the place. The largest town she had ever experienced was St Helier and she doubted that was anything like the size of Nottingham. ‘And of course, Nottingham is where such beautiful lace mostly comes from. We have a customer who will only wear lace sourced from there.’ She recalled the last time Mrs Wolstenholm had boasted about the fine lace on the sleeves of one of her dresses.
‘It is a thriving industry,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘However, with that comes its own issues and pitfalls. On the one hand the industry provides work for many of the populous, but the hours are long, and a lot of the factories provide little in the way of benefit for their staff. We have a lot of poverty in many areas and the poorer people of Nottingham suffer as all do who have very little.’
She had witnessed the slums in St Helier a few times when her father took her and her siblings to deliver food from their church a couple of times around Christmas time. He believed it was a valuable part of their education and had wanted them to see how sheltered their lives were. She had never forgotten it and was grateful to live with her family in their little flat above their shop. She had so much compared to those with very little.
‘I feel rather ungrateful to have moaned about being a shop assistant after hearing about these poor workers in the factories.’
‘You shouldn’t. You’re ambitious, and, as I’ve said, there is nothing at all wrong with that. I don’t want you to form the wrong idea about Nottingham; it does have its slums and overcrowding and occasionally there have been riots.’ Florence gasped at the thought. ‘However, it is a vibrant place, and I do enjoy living there.’ He hurriedly added, ‘That’s not to say I think any less of your island. I only wish I had thought to visit here before now.’
‘At least you’ve discovered it now.’
A silence descended on them and, surprised to be caught without any idea what to say next, Florence stared out of the window. It was disconcerting to not feel in control for once. Wasn’t she the one who always knew what to say? The person her friends relied upon to take the lead when conversation dried up? What was wrong with her that she felt so empty-headed now?
‘It really was very kind of you to come out with me today on your day off,’ he said, breaking the silence and putting her at her ease once more. ‘I hope I didn’t disrupt any other plans you might have had.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’ She usually spent her days off going for a walk to the sea and finding somewhere peaceful to read the latest novel she had chosen from W. H. Rowe. The thought reminded her of the book she must now return to the shop display before her father discovered it was missing.
The train came to a halt and several passengers exited. Florence spotted one of congregation from their Wesleyan chapel stepping onto their carriage and suppressed a groan. She was a particularly nosy woman and Florence suspected that she would stay in their carriage just to find out more about her companion.
‘Good morning, Miss Rowe,’ she said, not looking at her, but at Mr Boot instead. ‘And you’re with a friend today, I see. Sir, I’m Mrs Bisson. We attend the same church in Grove Street.’
Mr Boot stood and doffed his hat. ‘Good morning, Mrs Bisson,’ he said, his tone friendly.
‘Do you mind if I take this seat?’
Florence quickly scanned the rows of empty seats nearby. She wasn’t surprised that the woman was so insensitive, merely disappointed to have their journey interrupted.
‘No, please,’ Mr Boot said politely, giving Florence an apologetic glance. He sat back down, his breath catching slightly as he did so, Florence noticed. ‘Let me introduce myself.’ He took Mrs Bisson’s hand. ‘My name is Mr Jesse Boot. I’m on holiday on the island and Mrs Rowe has kindly offered to show me some of the sights you’re lucky to enjoy here in Jersey.’
She seemed charmed by his friendly way. ‘We are