Page 16 of An Unholy Affair
‘Yes, of course I do. Leslie is—’
‘Leslie?’
She gripped her mug.Thiswas why she hadn’t given Estelle this particular bit of information. She knewexactlywhat her friend’s response would be.
‘Yes. Leslie seems a lovely gentleman, and I am very much, er…’ She couldn’t lie. She wasn’t excited about meeting him anymore.
Estelle leaned back in her chair and tapped the edge of her custard cream on the table. ‘Cancel.’
‘I can’t. It’s tonight. That would be very rude. And besides, he might be, you know…’
‘The one?’
She nodded.
Estelle grabbed a book that Eveline had hidden under a Christian newspaper. It was one of her favourite romance novels by the bestselling author Polly Hart.
‘Hey!’
Estelle held up her hand as she read the title. ‘“Christmas Sparkles and Homely Hedgehogs at the Tiny Village School on Bluebell Bay”.’ She made loud retching noises.
‘Oi! I love those books.’
Estelle flicked through. ‘Aha! Now, I wonder why you’ve turned down the corner of this page. Could it be, perchance, a description of a fictional Leslie?’
‘Estelle, you know my love for you is infinite, but I am considering denying you further access to custard creams.’
Estelle took another nibble of the biscuit in her hand and read out loud. ‘So here I am, in an absolute pickle. I’m stuck in a snowdrift with my vintage bicycle, Bluebell. Poor Bluey has a puncture and I don’t know how I’m ever going to get my hand-crocheted tea cosies to the village hall for the hedgehog charity auction!’
Eveline turned her back on her friend and started washing dishes as loudly as she could.
‘But I hear a car. I stand in the road, waving my brightly coloured scarf as a sleek and very expensive-looking car pulls up. Who could this be? I wonder. The door opens, and a man steps out. He’s wearing polished brown brogues, quite unsuitable for the middle of a Cornish winter, I must say, and olive-green corduroy trousers. Oh my golly gosh, I think, as my gaze peruses the cosy argyle sweater he’s wearing under his Barbour jacket. But my heart skips a beat as I behold his ruggedly handsome face. “Hullo,” he says. “I’m Wolf Redwood. May I be of assistance?”’
Estelle slammed the book on the table. ‘Fuck my life, Eveline. Is this really what you’re hoping Leslie is like?’
Eveline stared out of the window at the yew hedge that lay a few feet away. As Estelle had been reading, all she could picture was Jack in the London bar. The way his voice made her shiver, and how his touch made her come alive.
‘Eveline? You in the kitchen?’ A man’s voice called through from inside the front door.
‘What the fuck?’ Estelle hissed. ‘Try knocking, arsehole. Seriously, Eveline, he doesn’t fucking live here—’
‘Simon!’ Eveline cried, wiping her hands on a tea towel as an older man entered the room.
‘Hi Simon,’ said Estelle. ‘We didn’t hear you knock.’
His lips thinned. ‘Lady Foxbrooke.’
Eveline’s stomach knotted as Estelle flinched. Her friend hated people using her title.
Simon turned to her. ‘I thought I’d pop by and see how it went with Patricia this morning?’
Eveline pulled a face. ‘Not very well, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, it was to be expected.’
She bristled. Patricia’s behaviour earlier was most definitelynotto be expected.
‘But no need to worry, dear. I’m here to offer my assistance as always.’ He sat at the table. ‘Has the kettle just boiled?’
