The Token Wife. Sara CravenЧитать онлайн книгу.
shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. And it gives me something to do when you’re away.’
David worked for the regional office of a national firm of auctioneers and valuers. A recent promotion had involved him in a lot more travelling, and attendance at a series of courses in London, which had left Lou to her own devices more than she cared for, if she was honest.
Her own day job was working as a paralegal at the leading firm of solicitors in the nearby market town. The plan was that she would go on working until they started a family.
She loved the sound of that. Loved the thought of the future they would have together. It seemed to her that there had never been a time when David had not been a part of her life. They’d played as children, fought and made up again as teenagers, and rediscovered each other when he came back from university. And for the past year they’d been unofficially engaged.
It would have been put on a formal footing with a party for family and friends but for the sudden death of David’s father, and his mother’s subsequent refusal to cope with anything that approximated to ‘happy’.
‘She will come to the wedding, won’t she?’ Lou had asked at one point, with a faint irony that was lost on David.
‘Of course,’ he’d said, kissing her. ‘She just needs time, that’s all. Be patient.’
Secretly, Lou found patience difficult with David’s mother, whom she suspected to be milking widowhood for all it was worth. For one thing, it provided her with an excuse not to leave the family home, which now technically belonged to her son, and move to the bungalow in Bournemouth that she was to share with her sister. Something which had been planned forever, but which now seemed to have been shifted to the back burner.
But it would have to happen sooner or later, Lou assured herself. Because she was congenitally unfitted to share a roof with Mrs Sanders, and David knew it.
So, for the time being, she occupied Virginia Cottage in peace, most of the time, occasionally allowing herself memories of the time when she’d lived there with her mother, enjoying much the same placid existence, with her father coming home at weekends from Trentham Osborne, the independent publishing company which he ran in Bloomsbury.
But following Anne Trentham’s shocking and unexpected death after a two-day illness from a strain of viral pneumonia, Lou’s whole life had changed. She had been sent away to boarding-school, and her holidays had been spent with Aunt Barbara, her mother’s only sister, her big farmer husband and their rowdy, kind, loving family.
But no sooner had she become adapted to this new set of circumstances than they changed too. Her father, his eyes sliding away in embarrassment, had told her that he was getting married again, and she would have a stepmother and sister. Ellie would be going to the same school, and the rest of the time would be divided between the flat in London and Virginia Cottage.
In retrospect, Lou could see that her father had been involved with Marian long before her mother’s death, and that Ellie might well be her half-sister, but by the time she was old enough to realise this, it no longer seemed to matter that much. Marian could be kind enough when she remembered. And Ellie—well, Ellie truly deserved David’s epithet ‘sweet’.
She was blonde like her mother, but lacked Marian’s statuesque build. She was small, blue-eyed and shy, with a pretty, heart-shaped face, in total contrast to Lou, who was taller, and thin rather than slender, with a cloud of unruly dark hair. Lou had pale, creamy skin, and long-lashed grey eyes that were undoubtedly the best feature in a face that she herself dismissed as nondescript. And she had learned, over the years, to appear calm and self-contained.
At school she had soon found herself Ellie’s unofficial protector, and she seemed to have carried this role into their adult lives, although, admittedly, she didn’t see as much of her stepsister these days, as Ellie lived and worked in London as a copy-editor for Trentham Osborne.
And now, with amazing suddenness, Ellie was going to be married, and someone else would be looking after her. Someone called Alex Fabian.
‘I met him at the office,’ she’d confided to Louise only a few weeks before. ‘Apparently he’s a banker, and Daddy and he were doing some kind of business deal.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t think he’d really noticed me, but he rang the next day and asked me to go to the theatre.’
‘Terrific,’ Lou said absently, focusing rather on the words “business deal”. ‘Is Dad looking to re-capitalise?’ she enquired.
Ellie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we are bringing out the new art and architecture list, and they say times are hard for independents in publishing.’
‘They always were,’ said Lou.
Gradually, through Ellie’s artless disclosures, she began to build up a picture of this Alex Fabian. He was, it seemed, absolutely gorgeous. There wasn’t a club where he wasn’t a member, or a restaurant where he couldn’t get a table. He was usually seen out with models, actresses and rich girls-about-town. Everywhere they went, he was recognised.
Why, only the other evening they’d gone to the launch of a new brasserie, and this stunning woman, tall with red hair and a fantastic figure, had come up to their table. Alex hadn’t seemed very pleased to see her, but he’d called her ‘Cindy’ and she’d asked him if this was the sacrificial lamb.
Ellie had mentioned this later, and Alex had said that Cindy had a sense of humour all her own, and Ellie wasn’t to worry about it. But wasn’t it strange?
‘Weird,’ Lou had agreed with total sincerity.
As she went downstairs she found herself wondering yet again what someone like Alex Fabian was doing with Ellie, who was gentle to the point of naïveté, and certainly no party animal. In fact, she still lived at her parents’ flat under Marian’s watchful eye.
And what was Ellie’s slant on all this? She talked about fabulous meals she’d eaten, and celebrities she’d met. She mentioned the opera, and the ballet, and private viewings at art galleries.
But she said nothing about Alex Fabian himself, the man who was providing all these earthly delights. And demanding—what, in return? Just, it seemed, the pleasure of Ellie’s company.
Maybe he’d recognised her intrinsic innocence, and decided to respect it, although that kind of consideration seemed unlikely from someone who clearly lived his life on the fast track.
So, perhaps it was just the attraction of opposites. Whatever, he was coming down this weekend to become formally engaged to Ellie, having apparently first sought the permission of her mother and stepfather.
Very dear and old-fashioned of him, Lou thought, wrinkling her nose in a faint unease she was unable to explain.
And it had resulted in a string of frenetic instructions from Marian, who wanted Virginia Cottage at its quaint and sparkling best, to provide the perfect setting for such a momentous event.
Lou found Ellie in the drawing room, curled up in the corner of a sofa. She didn’t fit her mother’s description of ‘silly’ at all. Instead she looked remarkably serious—rather like a small creature caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
‘Hey there,’ Lou said gently. ‘Come and peel some potatoes for this man of yours. I thought I’d do rosti with the duck.’
‘OK. Fine.’ Ellie summoned a wan smile as she followed her to the kitchen. She sat at the table, staring without enthusiasm at the bowl of vegetables awaiting her attention.
‘Isn’t this a little early for bridal nerves?’ Lou enquired, surveying her with concern as she handed over an apron and a paring knife, then began swiftly and deftly to prepare the mushrooms for the soup. ‘You aren’t even engaged yet.’
‘No, but I will be in a few hours’ time.’
‘But only if that’s what you want,’ Lou countered, frowning. ‘So—is it?’
‘Of