An Affair to Remember Read Online Free Page A

he’s on the wagon at the moment; nothing to put in it but water, but it might help.”
    Beatrice sits up, dries her eyes. “I would absolutely love a good, strong drink, Syl, and you’re the best friend a girl ever had. There’s nothing at this moment I’d like to be more than completely, utterly sloshed.”
    Syl, a little worried by her reaction – had her offer been a mistake? – makes for the kitchen, “I’ll just get some ice to put in the water, it might improve the taste of the gin a bit.”
    “Frankly I don’t care how nasty it tastes as long as it does the trick,” Beatrice calls after her, picking up a copy of The Lady magazine lying on the coffee table beside her chair, “and what on earth are you doing with The Lady ? I wouldn’t have thought it was your sort of thing – all those knitting patterns and ‘how I love my moggy’ stories.”
    “Actually it’s not a bad magazine,” Syliva returns from the kitchen carrying two brimming glasses and a packet of cheese and bacon crisps on a small tray, “and they do sometimes take the odd article of mine. Not good payers, but all outlets are grist to the writer’s mill, you know.” Beatrice accepts the gin, takes a grateful gulp, crunches a crisp.
    “Look at these ads, Syl, honestly I can’t believe such people still exist. ‘Second footman for Lady Deidre Delaware, must be reliable and a car driver’; she reads out; ‘Wanted: Housekeeper for elderly lady. Own flat, staff kept’; ‘Harassed Author/TV Exec urgently requires literate P.A. Must have shorthand/typing skills and be willing to learn computer. Good accommodation offered right person in pleasant house in Suffolk. Please write Box…’” Beatrice’s voice trails away; she sits quite still, looking disbelievingly at the words in front of her. “Brian,” says the voice in her head, “Brian?”
    “Christ!”
    “What on earth’s the matter? Is there something wrong with the gin? I know it's a bit –”
    “Syl, I think I’ve found the answer. They must have meant me to – it’s here, in The Lady .” There’s a kind of awed bewilderment in Beatrice’s voice. Syl looks at her; sips her drink. Oh crumbs, she thinks, what next, what bloody next?
     

 
    Chapter 2
     
    “And where are you off to now? Didn’t I tell you last night I’d need the car this morning. I’ve promised to deliver that stuff to the Campbells and then there’s some coffee do up at The Gables.”
    Sam Mallory climbs slowly out of the car and, slamming the door behind him, looks up at his wife with distaste. Leaning out of their bedroom window, still in her dressing gown, her hair, as it appears to Sam more often than not to be, screwed up in heated rollers, her face devoid of makeup, Emmie Mallory is a far from glamorous figure.
    “Sorry dear, I thought you said you wanted it tomorrow, I was only going to nip up to the garage and get some more of that mulch for the garden. It can wait.”
    “It’ll have to! Anyway, I’ll be tied to the shop tomorrow, it’s Karen’s day off, and I can’t see you helping out.” This was unfair: he did, frequently, but he can’t be bothered to argue.
    “Will you be out to lunch?” he asks hopefully.
    “Of course I won’t, so don’t think you can slip off to the pub the moment my back’s turned.”
    “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He turns back into the house; he’d better, he thinks gloomily, make a start on those damned VAT returns.
    Emmie shuts the window with a slam. She hadn’t in fact told Sam she’d need the car today, but Jack Fulton rang first thing this morning while he was out on the deliveries: “Look, pet, can we meet? I’ll be passing your way this morning, so what about the Grove – you know, that clump of trees at the top of Dog’s Head Hill – where we met before, say half eleven?”
    “But Jack,” she’d said, her legs as usual turning to water at the sound of his voice, “someone might see the car – you know last