Page 21 of Kissing Games
Charlie sighed and rubbed his face. How could he explain the disgusted look he gave Valentina without making it all worse? He looked at his watch. He had plenty of time to kill whilst he worked out what to say to her. Right now, he owed Rory’s mum a visit.
8
Barbara opened the door to her flat and ushered him through to the living room. ‘Take a seat, dear, whilst I make tea. You can cast your eye over my latest project.’
Charlie sat on one of the large sofas and picked up Barbara’s needlepoint from a side table. He’d always been fascinated by the skill of the surgeons who’d patched him and his friends up. Shawn, the doctor who’d operated on him, had shown him the various techniques and he’d practised on pigskin. Rory had been more seriously injured, and when Charlie visited him in hospital, Barbara had been there, passing the time doing embroidery whilst Rory slept. She’d left a piece behind and Charlie finished it, then sent it back to her. Only Rory and Barbara knew about his secret sewing hobby and he wanted to keep it that way.
Her latest work was a landscape showing the glen sweeping up from the loch with the castle in the distance. It was perfect, neat, immaculate.
Barbara brought a tray through with a teapot and china cups. She set it down and poured for both of them. ‘It’s so nice to be able to use the china with someone other than myself. You know Rory only drinks water.’
He nodded.
‘And he insists on drinking it,’ she shuddered, ‘from apintglass.’
Charlie smiled. Barbara oozed posh. Beautiful, with short blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, she was in her early fifties, yet looked twenty years younger. She had never hidden her dismay that her son grew his hair long and looked more like the wild man of the woods than the Earl of Kinloch.
He lifted her needlepoint. ‘This is looking good.’
Barbara’s pert nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t know. It’s not inspiring me any more.’ She lifted three more frames out of a drawer and handed them to him. ‘Take a look at these. I just can’t seem to finish anything at the moment. I get bored and start again with a new one.’
He looked through them. The bottom one was of an English cottage garden at the height of summer, filled with flowers. ‘This is lovely. These are the flowers Mum grows.’
Barbara smiled. ‘I did think of her when I was doing it. How are your parents? Is your father enjoying his retirement?’
Charlie shifted in his seat and put the embroidery to one side. He took a sip of tea and looked down into the cup. ‘They’re fine. They both seem busier than when Dad was serving. They’re on so many boards and committees I’ve lost count.’
‘And Tabitha?’
Charlie puffed out his cheeks. ‘Colonel now, running the signals regiment down in Blandford. I expect her to outrank Dad by the time she retires.’
‘Hmm. Unless she has children, of course.’
‘Tabbie? Kids? She got about as much mothering instinct as a cuckoo. I think the only reason she married Miles was for show.’
‘Charles, really now,’ Barbara scolded.
‘Sorry, I’m not in Tab’s good books at the moment.’
‘Have you tried picking up the telephone?’
He gave her a cheeky grin. ‘I can pick it up, but do I actually have to use it?’
Charlie left the flat an hour later, the unfinished cottage garden piece in a bag with spare embroidery silks. Barbara had insisted, telling him she was never going to finish it, so he might as well have it. Rounding a corner, he saw Valentina facing away from him, her phone held up in the air. She had changed, now dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater that had ridden up over her perfect backside as she waved the phone around. Charlie forced his eyes to stay on the back of her head. She stomped down the main staircase, pausing at the half landing to hold the phone up again.
‘Can I help at all?’
Her head whipped around. ‘No, thank you, you cannot.’ She continued down the stairs.
‘Do you need to borrow a phone?’
She shook her head. ‘I just need Wi-Fi. It’s stopped working.’
He pulled out his phone to confirm there was no signal. ‘Could you use data?’
Valentina didn’t stop. ‘The signal is too bad.’
‘I can sort it.’
