The Cinderella Moment. Gemma Fox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ smile warmed up. Cass stared determinedly at her book.

      ‘It’s really good to sit down. I’ve been standing since King’s Cross.’

      She nodded just a fraction; she’d been standing too, but decided not to mention it in case it encouraged him.

      ‘Long day,’ he said.

      Cass wasn’t altogether certain whether that was a statement or a question, so didn’t say anything.

      ‘Me too,’ he said, as if she had. It was meant as an opening, she was meant to say something. He stretched. ‘It’s been a good day, though.’

      Depends on where you’re standing, Cass thought grimly as she stared at the page; she had read the same line three times.

      ‘This is such a beautiful part of the country, people really have no idea.’

      Was that in general or just about the beauty of East Anglia in summer? growled her brain. Cass closed her eyes; if she wasn’t careful, she was going to turn into a curmudgeonly old woman who talked to herself and who nobody loved.

      What do you mean, turn into? snapped her inner bitch.

      ‘It is breathtaking, isn’t it?’ the man said, staring longingly out of the carriage window at the great rolling expanse of the fens. The fens, flat as a newly brushed billiard table, stretched from horizon to horizon as far as the eye could see. Picked out on the pitch-black soil were row after row of celery heads and lollo rosso lettuces in startling greens and scarlets, and above them a cloudless cerulean blue sky that seemed to go on forever. It did have a peculiar, unforgiving beauty.

      Cass looked across at him; he was still smiling at her. Maybe it was time to admit defeat. It was obvious that he was impervious to indifference and people who couldn’t look grumpy however hard they tried, and whatever had happened to him that day, it was obviously an ice age away from Feckett, Reckett and Snore.

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. It is.’

      ‘Good-oh.’ He grinned as if her response was a personal triumph. ‘There,’ he said with delight. ‘That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?’

      Cass laughed. ‘What?’

      He opened up the rucksack at his feet. ‘Do you fancy a peach? I bought all sorts of fruit from this fantastic street market. Kind of celebration. I’ve had so much to sort out, lots of financial stuff – but I think I may have pulled it off. I think it’s going to be OK after all.’ He pulled out a selection of brown paper bags and set them down on the table. Some were damp at the corners where things inside had been squashed.

      ‘Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all my woes. Oh, how about cherries? Look at these, aren’t they wonderful? Please feel free. Help yourself; there’s loads.’

      Cass stared at him over the growing pile of fruit. He had to be mad or, worse, he was a social worker or a psychiatric nurse; maybe he cared in the community and got people to make raffia lampshades and sing ‘Kumbya’ while he played the guitar. Whichever it was, he was obviously relentlessly cheerful.

      He grinned, shaking a bag in her direction. ‘It’s all right, I’m not mad – it’s just that I’ve had a really good day.’

      Cass found it was particularly unnerving when people read minds, or told you they weren’t mad. He held out a peach. ‘Try one of these,’ he said. ‘They’re absolutely amazing. Really.’ He waved it at her again.

      Cass took a bite. He was right.

      ‘Sadly, blah blah blah, high number of exceptionally well-qualified applicants. Blah blah, on this occasion you lucked out, chuck.’ Cass screwed the paper into a ball and slam-dunked it into the swing bin before taking a long pull on her coffee. ‘Another one bites the dust.’

      ‘Try and resist humming the tune, would you,’ said Jake. ‘From Messrs Moustache, Lecher and Nosepicker, I presume?’

      ‘Uhuh – the very same. I could have done that job standing on my head while juggling puppies and playing the banjo.’

      ‘Maybe you should have mentioned that in your CV.’

      ‘This is driving me nuts, Jake. I’ve got to find a job. I needed this job. I’ve sent out dozens of applications, I haven’t made the short list on half of them. What the bloody hell is wrong with me?’

      ‘Nothing. If it’s any consolation – and I can see that it probably isn’t – in this particular case it sounds as if it was already a done deal. They’d got someone in the frame but they’re still obligated to advertise.’

      ‘Bastards. What the hell am I going to do? I have to get a job. Maybe I should put a card in the post office window. Cleaning – or how about dog walking?’ She sighed. It was just after nine in Cass’s kitchen, the sun was shining and Cass was dressed in her interview suit. Well, most of it, the long-line flattering-for-the-pear-shaped-woman-jacket that she had bought on the recommendation of someone in the Mail on Sunday was hanging on the back of the kitchen door, well away from all the stray buttered toast, cat and dog hair.

      ‘Maybe I’ve been setting my sights too high. Don’t pull that face. I’ve got to find a way to earn some money, Jake. I’ve got a house, a dog, a cat and kid to look after, and you can’t do that on nothing. Maybe I should take in washing?’

      ‘What you need to do is go back and talk to your solicitor. David should be helping.’

      ‘He did, remember? He helped himself to the hired help and buggered off.’

      ‘Cass, if I made you a suggestion, would you promise not to slap me or go off on one?’

      ‘Depends. If it’s sex, then the answer is still no, Jake. I’m still way out there on the rebound.’ She mimed a far distant horizon. ‘And I draw the line at pensioners.’

      He mimed deep hurt and then said, ‘And if it’s not?’

      She smiled. ‘Try me.’

      ‘Well, I’ve got this friend –’

      ‘Fitting me up with one of your peculiar mates is the same as having sex. You’re my neighbour, we’re good friends, we’ve been good friends for a long, long time, and I love you dearly, but I don’t need you to procure men for me.’

      ‘Wait, wait,’ Jake said, holding up his hands in protest. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it, but please hear me out. I’ve got this friend who runs a little place in Brighton. Barney Roberts – you must have heard me talk about him. Anyway, he owns this great little gallery, deals in all sorts of art, there’s some workshop space, a craft and gift shop. He’s looking for someone to help him out for the summer.’

      Cass glanced at her watch. ‘Your point being…?’

      ‘Barney is an awkward old bastard. He’s just had an operation on his back and needs a hand. Last time I spoke to him, he was like a bear with a boil on its arse.’

      ‘Uhuh.’ She took her jacket down off the hanger and slipped it on. ‘Take my advice, Jake: don’t ever go into advertising.’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ