Party Games
“‘What?’ ‘Eating outside,’ Robert Blackwater said. ‘You’ve gone all Mediterranean on me.’ ‘I haven’t.’ She smiled. ‘I just thought it made a nice change from the kitchen. It’s such beautiful weather.’ A ploughman’s on the old picnic table in the garden wasn’t exactly the French Riviera, but the view was still breathtaking. The valley swelled and dipped like a rolling sea, crested on the top with bottle-green woodland. The sun bobbed on the horizon, taking its time to slide out of the day.
Fleur’...s dad chewed reflectively on a piece of cheese. ‘I suppose this is to butter me up.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You taking up with Beau Rainford.’ She eyed her dad. Did he really not remember the car crash? As with everything else, the events of that night had been swept under the carpet. Fleur didn’t know if her dad had really been out of it, or he was just embarrassed.
‘Beau’s OK, Dad.’ ‘You’ve changed your tune.’ ‘I’m not saying we’re like best friends or anything.’ ‘Be careful, Fleur.MoreLess
Fleur’...s dad chewed reflectively on a piece of cheese. ‘I suppose this is to butter me up.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You taking up with Beau Rainford.’ She eyed her dad. Did he really not remember the car crash? As with everything else, the events of that night had been swept under the carpet. Fleur didn’t know if her dad had really been out of it, or he was just embarrassed.
‘Beau’s OK, Dad.’ ‘You’ve changed your tune.’ ‘I’m not saying we’re like best friends or anything.’ ‘Be careful, Fleur.MoreLess
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