Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ liked what she saw. A deep bar was surrounded by pine tables through which the serving staff threaded their way, carrying plates of steaming fresh food. Richard’s friends were on the far side of the room. He introduced her to his business partner, Tom, Tom’s girlfriend, Sally, and a couple staying with them, Helen and Robert. Richard encouraged Tom to move down the bench so Christie could sit between them.

      As soon as she got the chance, Sally couldn’t resist quizzing Christie. ‘How long have you known Rich? Can’t have been long. Or else he’s kept very quiet about you.’

      Richard overheard and answered for her: ‘School-gate Mafia, Sal. That’s all. Our sons are best mates and can’t be separated.’

      Christie shot him a look of gratitude. He winked at her as he moved the conversation smartly on to Tom and Sally’s children, a subject on which Sally could hold forth for hours. Only being presented with the short but delicious-sounding menu made her break off mid-flow.

      Having ordered, they began to talk again. Richard made sure that Christie was included in the conversation, taking time to explain when they wandered onto people or stories she didn’t know. It was almost as if he sensed that this was the first date (if it could be called that) she’d been on since Nick died, and he was doing everything he could to make her feel comfortable. And his efforts were paying off. As she smiled and nodded, joining in when she could, her mind wandered to the real reason for her being there. Was she just a convenient walker for him, a stand-in for the team or, she caught her breath, might he be interested in her in another way?

      Eventually, the meal over, the quizmaster emerged and propped himself by the long oak bar, waiting for the tables to charge their glasses before he began the questions. Their team soon discovered a shared competitive streak a mile wide as they urgently whispered their answers to one another and scribbled them down. When Christie confidently put forward a completely wrong answer, she was relieved that Richard just nudged her and smiled without making her feel any more stupid than she already did. Eventually joint highest scorers, no thanks to her sporadic contributions, they faced sudden death. Breath held, they listened intently for the final question. The quizmaster ramped up the tension with a long pause, then: ‘What’s the fewest number of moves with which a person can win a game of chess?’ They turned to one another, each disappointed to realise that no one else knew the answer either. Richard and Tom started whispering and counting on their fingers. The other team were looking just as frantically ignorant.

      ‘Never understood the game, myself,’ said Sally, draining her gin and tonic, prepared for defeat.

      ‘My husband played once.’ As Christie envisaged the board permanently set up in their Chelsea living room for Nick’s longdistance game with his father, she remembered his frustrated efforts to explain it to her. ‘Fool’s mate,’ she said suddenly.

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘It’s just come to me. Fool’s mate. Two moves. The answer’s two, I’m sure.’ She scribbled it on a piece of paper and dashed over to the quizmaster, who loudly declared them the winners. The rest of the evening was a blur of congratulation and laughter as they shared a celebratory round before saying their farewells and heading home.

      Richard and Christie left the pub flushed with victory and, in her case, an extra glass of wine. To her consternation, an air of awkwardness settled over them in the Land Rover and they found themselves casting around for things to talk about.

      ‘How’s work?’ Richard tried, opting for the safe ground.

      Christie’s relief was mixed with a touch of regret that he hadn’t hit on something more personal. ‘Actually, fine,’ she said. ‘I thought after that awful start that it was going to be a disaster, but there’s a great team and I’m beginning to love it.’

      ‘And Julia? Still happy with her?’

      Her heart sank at the mention of her agent’s name. ‘Do we have to talk about her now? It’s been such a great evening. I don’t want to think about work at the moment.’

      ‘Oh, OK.’ Richard sounded surprised but seemed happy to listen to her talking about how much Fred had enjoyed camping with them and how she’d spent the time with Libby. As they neared Christie’s house, Richard seemed to withdraw even more into himself. She felt as if she had babbled for the most of the way, cramming words into the silence as fast as she could while he slipped away from her, concentrating on the road ahead, nodding and smiling when he thought appropriate. But, if she was honest, there was only one thing on her mind: would he or would he not kiss her goodnight? And, if he did, should she invite him in? She ran her tongue round her teeth, regretting that last drink and wishing she had a peppermint.

      When the car stopped, Richard kept the engine running. A sure sign he wouldn’t be coming in. However, as he leaned towards her, she readied herself for the kiss goodbye, half closing her eyes in anticipation. She could feel the warmth of his skin as he came close, could smell his faint cologne. Just when she expected him to make contact, he swerved past her to wrestle with the door handle until he finally pushed open her door.

      ‘Wretched thing often sticks,’ he explained, as he sat back in his seat, putting both hands on the steering-wheel. He turned towards her, his features unreadable in the shadowy dark of the car. ‘You were a star tonight. Thank you.’

      Picking up her cue, she got out swiftly and said good night.

      Later, sitting up alone and nursing a small, consoling glass of whisky, she had written off her disappointment in his evident lack of interest as an aberration brought about by the effects of alcohol and success. Her response moved from disappointed to pragmatic. If that was how he wanted things between them, fine. She counted herself lucky to have him as a friend. Thank God she hadn’t embarrassed herself. She twisted her engagement ring round her finger. She had never doubted her feelings for Nick and she was sure he had felt the same for her. She still found it extraordinary how certain they had both been about each other from the beginning. Would she ever find someone like him again?

       As soon as they were engaged, Nick wanted to make things official by asking Maureen for Christie’s hand in marriage. He had spoken to her once or twice on the phone when she had rung to talk to Christie. She hadn’t been impressed. ‘Christine, why is your young man at your flat so early in the morning on a weekday? I hope you aren’t living together. Your father would be so disappointed.’

       ‘Mum, no, he’s not living with me but he does stay the night sometimes. It’s almost the year two thousand so, please, let me be.’

       Hmm. Well, I’d like to meet him, that’s all. Just to make sure he’s right for you. You’ve always been such a bad judge of character and could do with the benefit of my experience.’

       ‘Mel likes him,’ Christie protested.

       ‘Well, I don’t much approve of her lifestyle either. Fashion students don’t live in the real world, do they?’

       And now Nick and Christie were engaged. Mel knew and so did their friends. But they deliberately kept Maureen in the dark. As soon as Christie was wearing her rather large and sparkly engagement ring, she arranged to drive up to see her mother. ‘Mum, is it OK if I come up for Sunday lunch?’

      ‘Well, if it’s nice I may be working in the garden and not want to cook.’ Maureen was justifiably proud of her small garden on which she lavished much care.

       ‘That’s all right. It’s just СКАЧАТЬ