“Frannie was thrilled to see her. “Pull up a chair,” she smiled, laying down her Danielle Steel novel. “I haven’t talked to a grown-up in ages.” Claire mugged amiably. “Who you callin’ a grown-up?” “You’ll do,” said Frannie. “Believe me.” Claire lowered her formidable frame into an aluminum deck chair and sighed dramatically. “So where are the little darlings?” Frannie shushed her with a forefinger to the lips. “Don’t even mention it, Claire. It’s almost too good to be true.” “What?” Frannie mad...e a sweeping gesture with her arm. “This. Solitude. Blessed relief. I adore the children, as you know, but …” “You’ve found a baby-sitter!” The matriarch nodded triumphantly. “It was his idea, poor man. I hope he hasn’t bitten off more than he can chew.” “Do I know him?” asked Claire, pulling a blanket across her lap. “I think so,” said Frannie. “Mr. Starr.” Claire drew a blank. “You know,” added Frannie. “That American stockbroker from London.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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