Page 79 of Love ad Lib
She peeked inside the paper bag. ‘Henry!’
‘I know it won’t be as good as yours…’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because you’re brilliant at whatever you do.’
She pulled a face. ‘I’m really not. And it’s your birthday, not mine. You should be getting the presents.’ She sniffed the loaf and smiled. ‘Thank you. I love it.’
His heart lifted. Her happiness was the ultimate gift.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
‘Huh?’
‘And hold out your hands.’
He did, feeling something light land on his palms.
‘Happy birthday, Henry. It’s not wrapped, I’m afraid.’
He opened his eyes to see a paperback ofPride and Prejudice.
‘Thank you, Libby. This is perfect.’
‘If you really don’t get on with it, I’ll get you the TV version.’
He flicked through the pages. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s about a fifth of the size ofWar and Peaceand I managed that when I was fourteen.’
She grinned. ‘Well, I expect a full report by the end of the week.’
The driveat Foxbrooke Manor was filled with Teslas, Audis and Aston Martins. Henry suppressed a sigh as he pulled into a space. A Range Rover twice the size of Estelle’s and twenty times the price screeched to a halt behind them in a shower of gravel, blocking them in. It was his cousin, Rupert Hatton-Blythe, four years his senior and a hedge fund manager in the City.
‘Foxy, you bastard!’ Rupert roared as he climbed out of his car. ‘Happy bloody birthday!’
Henry got out of the BMW and went to open the door for Libby.
‘Hi, Rupert,’ he replied. ‘Can you move? I need to get out later.’
‘What the devil for?’ Rupert stood with his hands on his hips as his wife, Cecily, helped their children out. ‘Tonight’s the night to partaaaay!’ His gaze slid to Libby.
‘This is my girlfriend, Libby,’ Henry said. ‘Libby, my cousin, Rupert and his wife, Cecily. And their children, Araminta and Montgomery.’
‘Hi, nice to meet you,’ Libby said.
Rupert frowned. ‘You work in the City?’
She shook her head.
‘You sure? You look bally familiar.’
Libby’s smile looked forced. ‘No, I work in publishing.’
He sniffed. ‘Oh well, you remind me of someone. No idea who.’ He turned his head. ‘Minty! Monty! Come say happy birthday to Uncle Henry.’
Henry went to the boot of Rupert’s car to help Cecily lift their suitcases.
‘Leave them, Cec,’ Rupert barked. ‘Staff’ll sort ’em out.’
