Shadows Over Paradise Read Online Free

coming!”
    “Congratulations, Jon,” Rick said warmly. “It was a lovely service. Congratulations, Nina.”
    Now we moved on into the large sunny sitting room where drinks were being served. I put our gift on a table among a cluster of other presents and cards. A waiter offered us a glass of champagne. Rick took one and raised it. “Here’s to the happy couple.”
    I sipped my fizz. “They are happy. It’s wonderful.”
    “How long have they been together?”
    “About the same as us. They got engaged on their first anniversary,” I added neutrally, then laughed at myself for ever having thought that Rick and I might do the same.
    I looked at Rick, so handsome, with his open expression, dark hair, and blue gaze. I tried, and failed, to imagine life without him. We’d agreed to talk things over again the next day. Before I could think about that, though, a gong summoned us into the marquee, which was bedecked with white agapanthus and pink nerines, the tables gleaming with silver and china. We found our names and stood behind our chairs while the vicar said grace.
    Rick and I had been placed with Honor, and with Amy and Sean, whom I’d known at college but hadn’t seen for years, and an old schoolfriend of Jon’s, Al. I was glad that Nina had put him next to Honor; she’d been single for a while now, and he was very attractive. Also at our table was Nina’s godfather, Vincent Tregear. I vaguely remembered him from her twenty-first birthday. A near neighbor named Carolyn Browne introduced herself. I steeled myself for the effort of making small talk with people I don’t know; unlike Honor, I’m not good at it, and in my frame of mind I knew it would be harder than usual.
    I heard Carolyn explain to Rick that she was a solicitor, recently retired. “I’m so busy though,” she confessed, laughing. “I’m a governor of a local school; I play golf and bridge; I travel. I was dreading retirement, but it’s really fine.” She smiled at Rick. “Not that you’re anywhere
near
that stage. So, what do you do?”
    He unfurled his napkin. “I’m a teacher—at a primary school in Islington.”
    “He’s the deputy head,” I volunteered proudly. Carolyn smiled at me. “And what about you, erm …?”
    “Jenni.” I turned my place card toward her.
    “Jenni,” she echoed. “And you’re …” She nodded at Rick.
    “Yes, I’m Rick’s …” The word
girlfriend
made us seem like teenagers;
partner
made us sound as though we were in business, not in love. “Other half,” I concluded, though I disliked this too; it seemed to suggest, ominously, that we’d been sliced apart.
    “And what do you do?” Carolyn asked me.
    My heart sank—I hate talking about myself. “I’m a writer.”
    “A writer?” Her face lit up. “Do you write novels?”
    “No,” I replied. “It’s all nonfiction. But you won’t have heard of me.”
    “I read a lot, so maybe I will. What’s your name? Jenni”—Carolyn peered at my place card—“Clark.” She narrowed her eyes. “Jenni Clark.”
    “I don’t write under that name.”
    “So is it Jennifer Clark?”
    “No—what I mean is, I don’t write under
any
name.”
    I was about to explain why when Honor said, “Jenni’s a ghost.”
    “A ghost?” Carolyn looked puzzled.
    “She ghosts things.” Honor opened her napkin. “Strange to think that it can be a verb, isn’t it? I ghost, you ghost, he ghosts,” she added gaily.
    I rolled my eyes at Honor, then turned to Carolyn. “I’m a ghostwriter.”
    “Oh, I see. So you write books for people who can’t write.”
    “Or they can,” I said, “but don’t have the time, or lack the confidence, or they don’t know how to shape the material.”
    “So it’s actors and pop stars, I suppose? Footballers? TV presenters?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t do the celebrity stuff. I used to, but not anymore.”
    “Which is a shame,” Honor interjected, “as you’d make far more money.”
    “True.” I