Page 156 of Love ad Lib
She nodded and took his bag, following his parents into the house as he went after the horse. She couldn’t face the whole family, so dropped their bags by the front door, sent Estelle a text and wandered to the kitchen, hoping she might be there.
Estelle was sitting on the centre worktable, her phone in one hand and a Chelsea bun in the other. She looked up as Libby entered.
‘I woff wus exxing oo,’ she said, her mouth full of pastry.
She hopped off the table, put the phone and bun down and drew Libby into a hug.
London disappeared in a puff of smoke as she smelled the familiar scents of Foxbrooke on Estelle. It felt like home. She swallowed her emotion as Estelle swallowed her mouthful of Chelsea bun.
‘God, I’m glad you’re here.’ Estelle said. ‘How is she? I saw her earlier and she looked fucking awful.’
‘She didn’t look good. I’m so sorry.’
Estelle swiped at her eyes. ‘This is what I hate about old people. They never tell you what’s really going on. And posh old people are the bloody worst. It’s all “How impertinent for you to ask about details of my health. I don’t even talk to my doctor about that!”’
Libby smiled. ‘I know what you mean. My nana once tripped over my grandad’s walking stick and broke her ankle. She refused to see the doctor for three weeks and didn’t tell anyone what had happened. It was only when my mum demanded a proof-of-life visit that she fessed up.’
Estelle snorted. ‘Jesus, I hope I never end up that pig-headed.’
Libby gave her a sly look. ‘I think that ship may have already sailed.’
Estelle threw her head back and roared with laughter. ‘Thank you for that, Libby Bennet. For the laugh, and for making me remember why I like you so much.’ She held out the tray of Chelsea buns. ‘Want one? Perry made them to help me cope with the current crisis, and even I can’t eat them all.’
‘Thank you, I haven’t eaten much today.’ Biting into one, Libby was hit with another sensory wave of longing for a life she could never have. She’d lied about who she was and now Henry was about to break up with her because of her impulsive mouth.
Estelle picked at the edge of the table. ‘I never got a chance to thank you in person for what you did to save the tour. You were outstanding. We got the best reviews we’ve ever had.’
Libby smiled, but inside guilt ate at her.
‘Honestly, if you wanted a job doing that, I’d employ you in a heartbeat.’
‘You would?’
Estelle glanced up. ‘God yes, but I know you’d never leave your fancy job in publishing to be a tour guide for a small and infamous stately home.’
Libby thought that sounded like her perfect job. Swanning around all day pretending to be in an Austen novel and waiting for Henry to ride in on his horse.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, Duke got out just now. Henry’s gone to bring him in.’
Estelle bashed her forehead with her hand. ‘Fuck’s sake. I need to fix the latch on the stable door. That’s the second time he’s got out this week.’
She smiled. ‘I feel your pain. Mr Pussy keeps trying to make a bid for freedom every time I come back to the flat.’
Estelle snorted. ‘Excuse me? Mr Pussy?’
‘Yes, Jack’s cat. I’ve been flat-and cat-sitting for him in London. Didn’t Henry tell you?’
She looked confused. ‘Jack?’
‘Jack Newton, Henry’s friend? He pays someone to live in his flat and look after his cat when he’s abroad.’
‘His cat?’
‘Yes, Mr Pussy. Although despite the fact he’s meant to be a therapy cat, I don’t think he’s used to having new people around. We’ve had to replace all the rugs after he crapped on them, and he’s scratched everything he could get his claws into.’
Estelle was frowning. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Understand what?’
