His Mistress Proposal?: Public Scandal, Private Mistress / His Mistress, His Terms / The Secret Mistress Arrangement. Susan NapierЧитать онлайн книгу.
years ago? I hear you got an extension of your school holidays to come to France?’
‘Yes, but I still have to do the work, and have it marked when I get back. I don’t mind, really—I don’t want to fall behind the others.’
‘That’s not likely—Sophie’s way out on top of her class,’ said Melanie smugly. ‘My late baby is a very early bloomer!’
‘Congratulations,’ Veronica said to Sophie, who didn’t look the least bit smug, just ever so slightly anxious at her mother’s boasting. ‘One of the burdens of brightness, huh, having to constantly beat off all that praise?’
Sophie’s air of gravity lifted at the dry comment, dimples forming in her plump cheeks as she grinned at Veronica with approval, her eyes bright behind their glass shields.
‘Obviously the school has worked out well, then,’ Veronica commented to Melanie, recalling the anguished soul-searching that Karen had reported going on in the Reed household when the idea was first mooted.
‘Yes, but it was Sophie who was determined to go,’ said Miles, giving her soggy braid a squeeze. ‘I don’t think our feeble brains were providing her enough of an intellectual challenge at home.’
‘Oh, Dad!’ the girl groaned at his teasing.
‘Come on, Shrimp, you can’t go dripping all over the cottage. Let Mum show Veronica around, and perhaps you can see her again later.’
‘Oh, yes—you will come over and have dinner with all of us tonight, won’t you, Veronica?’ said Melanie confidently.
‘Uh, ah, well …’ She immediately felt the awkwardness that she had feared would shadow her visit. Did Melanie think that she had to invite her over because she was by herself? ‘I really wasn’t planning on much dinner. I had rather a big lunch …’
‘Oh, but—’
‘Melanie,’ her husband cut her off with laughing affection, ‘give the girl some breathing room. Veronica would probably appreciate a little time to settle in, and maybe relax and do her own thing on her first night …’
‘Oh, of course, how thoughtless of me—we’re going to be pestering enough of you as it is.’ Melanie was instantly apologetic as her husband and daughter retreated along the path.
‘But you must at least drop over for a pre-dinner drink and a few nibbles, so I can give you all the gen about the area and the village opening hours and best places to eat—say, about six?’ she suggested, opening the glass door to the cottage. ‘It’s a tradition at the Mas when anyone rents the cottage, so Miles can’t claim I’m putting undue pressure on you, and it’ll give you a chance to say a casual hello to whoever’s around.’
Although there was no air-conditioning, it was cooler inside the cottage than out, which Melanie attributed to the traditional, thick-walled construction of the cottage, although it was of relatively modern vintage. To keep the temperature more or less constant she advised Veronica to leave the windows open with the shutters loosely folded across them to provide maximum ventilation and protection from the sun’s penetrating heat. ‘They’ve all got insect screens on them, so you can leave the windows open all night, too,’ she added.
The well-equipped kitchen and the rustically furnished living area were part of the same large square room, the pale walls and sloping, beamed ceiling high overhead adding to the illusion of space, even though the area was quite compact. Large, dark orange terracotta tiles were cool underfoot and led through to the large bedroom with its matching twin beds and adjoining bathroom, which also housed a washing machine.
‘I’ve left you some milk in the fridge, and there’s tea and coffee sachets in the basket on the bench,’ Melanie said as she headed back out the door a few minutes later. ‘If you do want to go up to the village, it’s only a two-minute walk turning right at the end of the vineyard and you’ve got a butcher, two groceries and three bread shops, so plenty of choice.’ She suddenly halted. ‘Oh, I just remembered the pool—feel free to use it whenever you like … follow the driveway down to the house and then turn left through the stone archway.’ She beamed at Veronica. ‘Just wander up around six and you’ll find us sitting out in the kitchen courtyard, under the vines. Or shall I send Sophie?’
‘To winkle me out?’ Veronica raised her eyebrows and Melanie laughed.
‘You needn’t feel shy,’ she said. ‘You know most of us already, although not everyone’s turned up yet. Ashley’s here, of course … she arrived a few days ago with her fiancé—she’s been working at a gallery in Melbourne while she continues her art studies. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you again—and to have another young woman around.’
Veronica smiled noncommittally. She had never particularly warmed to the younger girl on the few occasions they had met, but perhaps she had outgrown her snootiness.
‘And Justin?’ she asked of Ashley’s twin, who had always been the opposite—very amiable and easy to like.
‘He’s getting the train up from Rome in a few days—he’s been working as a chef in a restaurant there. Oops—listen how time flies,’ she said as the village bells performed their full carillon followed by the striking of the hour. ‘Must go back and see how Mum’s getting on with the apple tarts.’ Her ‘see you later’ and ‘don’t bother to dress up’ wafted behind her on the sun-soaked air.
After she had unpacked, Veronica made herself a cup of tea and sprawled on the sunlounger under a leafy tree in the walled garden, leafing through the stack of tourist brochures that had been left in the cottage. She had been intending to cool off with a swim but she fell into a doze and when she woke up it was nearly five o’clock so she decided to walk into the village and stock up on something for breakfast next morning as well as for dinner … not that she was particularly hungry after the trout with almonds she had eaten for lunch at a shady, riverside restaurant beside a giant waterwheel.
The little grocery in the main street had everything that she needed, so she bought sun-ripened melon, warm fuzzy apricots and tiny raspberries to go with her yoghurt in the morning, and a sampling of local fresh cheeses for her dinner along with a bottle of wine, stopping last at the boulangerie nearest the cottage to buy a small loaf of crusty bread.
When it was approaching six she had a silky-cool shower and washed her hair, confident it would dry within minutes in the heat, and, hoping that she could take Melanie at her word, slipped into a sleeveless green top and loose white muslin pants and thrust her feet into a pair of good old Kiwi Jandals.
When the clock-tower began to ring she was just stepping onto the driveway and Sophie trotted into view from the direction of the big house, wearing a tee shirt and baggy shorts. ‘Mum said I had to wait for the bells to start before I came,’ she said, pink-faced from her jog. ‘Wait ‘til you see what Gran brought back from her friend’s place for you.’
‘I don’t think I can wait,’ said Veronica with a smile, seeing she was practically bursting from the effort of withholding the news.
‘Her friend has a snail farm,’ Sophie said in tones of awe. ‘There are thousands of them from babies to big ones. You can go there and watch them feeding, just like in a zoo.’
‘Really?’ Veronica’s stomach gave a little lurch.
Her face must have given her away because Sophie said kindly: ‘They don’t really have much taste, you know, but they’re a bit chewy. If you pick a little one you can swallow it down real quick.’
‘Thanks for the tip, kid.’ She grinned as they walked past the stone pavilion that served as a garage and around by the row of young olive trees at the side of the house.
It wasn’t until they had stepped into sight of the group of people sitting in various casual attitudes around a large table on a sun-dappled terrace that Veronica suddenly registered what it was that she had seen out of the corner of her eye, parked in between two family saloons.
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