Page 67 of For Love or Money
Scott threw back his head and laughed. ‘He didn’t waste any time!’
‘Blimey!’ Lesley said to Al. ‘Isn’t Rafe a bit old to be getting lectures from his dad?’
‘Oh no, it’s the other way around,’ Al said. ‘Rafe will be the one giving the lecture.’
‘Oh!’
‘Rafe’s very alpha,’ Scott whispered to her. ‘We’re all a bit scared of him.’
‘Well, come and meet Dad,’ Al said to Lesley, putting an arm around her shoulders.
It was a blazingly hot day, and as soon as they stepped outside, Lesley wished she’d had the chance to shower and change before meeting the rest of Al’s family. She felt hot and clammy in the jeans and long-sleeved top she’d chosen to travel in, hyperaware of her clothes clinging to her and the trickle of sweat running down the back of her neck. She could practically feel her hair turning to frizz already.
Jane was sitting on a swing seat beneath a large white gazebo. Beside her, a heavy-set elderly man in a straw hat, who Lesley presumed was Al’s father, had nodded off over a fat paperback that dangled limply in his hands.
Jane leapt up and hugged them all in turn. ‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ she said to Lesley. ‘But I have a bone to pick with you, young lady,’ she whispered in her ear.
‘Oh?’
‘Later,’ Jane said, side-eyeing Scott and Joy who were nearby.
‘Michael.’ Joy gently nudged her husband awake. ‘Al’s here.’
Al’s father startled awake, blinking dazedly. He collected himself as Al introduced Lesley, and smiled at her warmly as they shook hands. He had a pleasant face – soft and jowly, with a heavy smattering of freckles.
‘It’s a real thrill to meet you,’ she told him.
‘Me? Really?’ Michael frowned in bemusement.
‘Bradshaw Biscuits,’ she explained. ‘I’m a huge fan. I consider the Chocolate Extravaganza one of the greatest inventions of our time.’
‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ Michael said. ‘I must say, it’s been very good to us.’
Just then, Peter came out onto the terrace, looking rather harried, followed by Rafe – TV’s Mr Darcy in the flesh.
‘Ah, you’re here!’ Peter’s face lit up as he joined them.
Lesley couldn’t help feeling a little star-struck as Al introduced her to Rafe. She had to admit he was seriously hot. With his square, stubbly jaw, thick black hair and penetrating green eyes framed by long, sooty lashes, he could have been a photofit of the quintessential romantic hero: the face that launched a thousand smutty fanfics. He didn’t look quite so intimidating dressed in chino shorts and a pale-pink T-shirt, and without his trademark haughty scowl, but she still felt a sense of relief when he gave her a friendly smile as they shook hands.
The Bradshaws were so welcoming, and Lesley felt a little guilty for deceiving them as Peter pulled her into a hug. They were all touchingly pleased to be together, and soon everyone was babbling at once, talking over each other as they caught up on their news and remarked on how well Peter looked.
‘Lesley!’ Everyone turned to see Stella in the doorway to the garden, both hands full of shopping bags. She dropped them and raced across the terrace to throw her arms around Lesley. ‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ Lesley was surprised but pleased that Stella seemed so excited to see her.
‘Well, I expect you’d like to freshen up,’ Al said to Lesley. ‘Come on and I’ll show you our room.’
Al showed her into a bright,airy room with pale wooden floorboards and walls painted a soft cornflower blue. Large shuttered windows opened onto a little railed balcony that ran along the back of the house, looking out over the pool and garden to the rooftops of the city beyond. He slung their bags onto a large wooden chest by the door, then joined her at the window, admiring the view. The family were still in the garden, gathered around the gazebo, and the sound of their voices drifted up.
‘You can take the bed,’ Al said in a low voice. ‘I’ll camp out on the floor.’
Lesley turned and looked at the bed properly for the first time. It was vast. She didn’t want to make Al sleep on the floor on his holidays, and they could easily share it without ever coming into contact with each other. ‘No need for that,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, it’s fine. You could fit the whole family in there. But we can make a pillow barrier down the middle, to be on the safe side.’
Lesley looked around the room. It was neat, and furnished with an eclectic mix of French shabby chic stuff and IKEA basics. A large bookcase stood in one corner, crammed with paperbacks. Her innate curiosity kicking in, she went over to study the rows of cracked and wrinkled spines, their colours faded in the sun. There were some generic thrillers, a small collection of classics and a few big bestsellers, alongside a couple of guides to the region and some well-thumbed French phrase books. But she was surprised to see a comprehensive set of Enid Blyton’s Malory Towers novels, the completeTwilightseries and all of Jilly Cooper’s ‘name’ books.
‘Oh, I loved these,’ she said, pulling outHarriet, her favourite. ‘I haven’t read them in ages.’ She flicked through the yellowed pages. It looked well read. ‘So, this was your room?’ she asked Al as she replaced it on the shelf.
