Maxwell's Island Read Online Free

ankle.’
    He reached round and pinched her cheek, shaking it roguishly. ‘Nothing much gets past you, Woman Policeman, does it?’
    â€˜No.’ She shook her head. ‘Can you let go? Now
I
sound like Marlon Brando.’
    â€˜Sorry.’ He let go of her cheek, smoothed it just because he wanted to and tucked his hand back under the covers.
    â€˜No, it doesn’t. What I would like you to tell me is that Sally had a holiday booked in Corfu in October that she can’t do with a broken ankle. So you, kindly, have taken over the booking.’
    â€˜That would be nice,’ he said, hopefully.
    â€˜But, instead, you are going to tell me that in fact you are going to run her week on the Isle of Wight.’
    He raised himself up on one elbow. ‘You’re good,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘My word, you’re good. However did you work that one out?’
    â€˜Low cunning.’
    â€˜Well, clearly that, but how did you find out?’
    She slid further down until she was completely hidden under the duvet and rolled it round herself, to protect her ticklish bits. Her voice was muffled, but clear. ‘I bumped into Sylv in Morrisons on my way home. She told me.’ She spluttered as he made an attempt at the soft bit on the inside of her thigh. ‘She made me promise not to tell you until you had spoilt me all evening first.’ She curled up into a tighter ball. ‘No, Max, no tickling. No. Look, you’ll wake Nole. No. Stop it.’
    Suddenly, he did stop and she peeped out from behind the quilt.
    â€˜Don’t you mind?’ he asked.
    She emerged fully and kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Of course I mind. No sun. Sort of sea, but we have that here. A hotel, but full of kids. But, it’s a week more or less with you, Nole will love it and it is the week after next, not months away.’
    He kissed her back. ‘I do love you, you know. You’re a woman in a million.’
    â€˜No,’ she corrected him. ‘In a squillion. And don’t think you’ve paid me back yet,’ she turned over, pulling most of the quilt with her and turned out the light. ‘Because you haven’t. Not by a long chalk.’
    Â 
    By mutual but unspoken consent, Maxwell and his good lady decided not to tell Nolan the goodnews about his unexpected holiday until they had to. Before they could share it with him, they had to broach the subject with his new Headmistress, who made Snow White’s stepmother look mild and fond of children. Maxwell had drawn the short straw. And lost at scissors-stone-paper. And lost at coin-tossing. He suggested they cut cards, but Jacquie was already halfway out of the door, with Nolan in tow.
    â€˜Sorry, Max,’ she called back up the stairs. ‘Best of three is best of three. No more chances. I’ll make you an appointment for this afternoon after you finish. Best of luck.’ And with a slam of the door, she was gone.
    It wasn’t that Maxwell was scared of Mrs Whatmough. She was only a Headmistress after all and Maxwell had eaten better men than her for breakfast. But she did have a moustache, something which Maxwell always found rather disconcerting on a woman, especially when she seemed to use wax not to diminish it but to accentuate its curled ends. She also had a cunning way with feng shui, so that her office somehow had, without overt artefacts or artwork, the look and feel of a dungeon, torturers for the use of. And bearing in mind that the oldest child in her care was eight, it did seem rather an expression of her personality, rather than an attempt at controlling the pupils in her school.
    Maxwell gave himself a little shake and clearedthe breakfast table. Nolan was taking Proper School very seriously and the Coco Pop spillage was now quite minor. No need to get out the Hoover these days; a wet cloth and a bin bag would usually suffice. How quickly they seemed to grow up. A week on the Isle of