Perfectly Pure and Good Read Online Free

she was freshly widowed, but he couldn't pretend she was partnership material, not in today's grey world. She was also the girl his wife favoured as daughter-in-law.
    Ì disagree,' he said aloud, banging the desk, wincing. 'All right, ALL RIGHT! I still disagree!'
    So: Sarah may well have turned his fat and isolated stepson into some semblance of a human being and brought him back into the fold, but one look at the child was enough to show the liaison would be a disaster. Women envied, youths simpered, clients salivated at the sight of Sarah, and although Ernest, out of respect to his age and his fragile health, did not follow suit, he considered his protégée as a jewel beyond price who belonged, for safety's sake, locked inside a watch.
    He also loved her dearly in a manner which made him feel only slightly treacherous for hoping she would go away, even though a morning when her feet went by his office without pausing was a bleak day indeed. Having made his announcements to an empty room, Ernest listened.
    She usually fell at the bottom step opposite his door, where the bad carpet curled against the good leading away from where important clients trod in quality shoes. The worn patch caught the headlong rush of her steps whenever she was blinded by the armful of flowers for her room and the minuscule briefcase containing some pretence of overnight work. As she tripped, she swore loudly. The sound of absent-minded obscenities made Ernest curl with laughter. He did not like to think what they did for his errant son.
    Òh shit a fucking brick. Not again.' She spoke it in her low, musical voice, like a person reciting poetry. Ernest flung open his door, pretending to be angry, terrified in case she should be gone.
    `What's wrong with you, woman? You do that every time and you always swear. I don't know.
    What's the matter with your vocabulary?'
    `What's wrong with your carpet, more to the point? Does this too, every time. I've just put a dent in the company car, nobody else's motor involved, you understand. Just some fucking concrete pillar.' She was standing there, grinning like a recently fed cat with half-clean paws, every inch of her unsuitable for the office of a solicitor of the supreme court, more like a bouncer at the Hippodrome if only she wasn't so tiny and so highly coloured.
    The colour came from the freckled skin and the brilliant red hair. No-one could say she dressed like a siren, in a perfect camel brown dress, but there was something about that great, wide belt of soft, tan leather which made her look as edible as the bacon sandwich she proffered in his direction, shrouded in greasy paper, the whole gift presented with a grin.
    `Yours,' she said. 'Oh, yes, and the racing pages. How's things?'
    Ernest relaxed. His large stomach growled and sagged like a parachute landing. Sarah always made a man mindful of his girth, first to suck it in, then to let it out in glorious relaxation.
    `Terrible,' he said. 'Awful, really. Come in. I've got a case for you. Should take you out of London for the summer. Come in.'
    The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them and he turned away abruptly, winded by the devilish inspiration which had been incubating for many days and only now came into words. It was like delivering a baby with a knife. He was saddened too, at this instinctive combination of wanting her out of the way while knowing he would miss her. There was something about the effect she had had on their late client, Charles Tysall, to say nothing of his stepson, her ability to make strong men putty, along with something else which smacked of love and a profound suspicion.
    Ònly if you want,' he added hurriedly, sitting to hide his confusion, lunging towards the bacon sandwich. Monday was always one of Mrs Matthewson's sensible days, Fridays were better.
    Ì'm only suggesting you leave for a while to save me from this,' Ernest mumbled with his mouth full, feeling the decadent bacon grease creep down his