Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase Read Online Free Page B

be enough for the next night too. She bought lemons to make a tart and a small pot of double cream for pudding. At the cheese counter she anguished over a piece of Stilton, before finally giving in and buying a slim piece – just enough for two people to share.
    When she got home, she went out into the wintry garden and picked a few late dahlias for the table. She looked around for a vase before remembering that Georgie had broken her only glass one. She wandered into the hall and removed the dusty hydrangeas from the blue and white vase on the hall table. She took it into the kitchen and ran it under the tap to remove the dust, knocking it slightly against the side of the stone sink as she did so. She dried it carefully before filling it with fresh water and arranging the dahlias in it, and set it in the middle of the kitchen table. She had already decided to feed Georgie early, as a treat in front of the television, and so laid the table carefully for two. She put out some blue and white napkins that she’d had since the Guy days, and set out two of her four crystal wine glasses – another thing she had rescued from their wedding presents.
    Then she set about making her chicken tarragon and the lemon tart. It had been quite a while since she had cooked a meal for someone other than Georgie and Jeremy, and it felt good to be chopping and frying and grating.
    At four-thirty, she drove to the bus stop to collect Georgie, who threw her bag into the back of the car as she leapt into the passenger seat.
    ‘God I’m starving,’ said her daughter.
    ‘Good; I’ve made a nice supper of chicken tarragon; you can have yours in front of the TV if you want?’
    ‘What?’ her daughter exclaimed. ‘You never let me do that. What’s going on?’
    ‘My friend is coming to supper and I thought it would be better if you were banished,’ Miranda said with a smile.
    With Georgie settled happily with a tray on her lap, Miranda went upstairs to change. Not wishing to appear to have made too much of an effort, she put on a pair of clean jeans and a black t-shirt. But she also put on a little make up and brushed her hair up into a chignon. She hoped Georgie wouldn’t notice and make something out of nothing. She had a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge and at seven-fifteen opened the bottle and poured herself a glass.
    The doorbell rang at seven thirty-five. Georgie beat her to the door, and yanked it open to reveal Charles Davenport, wearing a dark suit and brandishing a bottle of wine and a bunch of peach-coloured roses.
    ‘Charles!’ exclaimed Miranda as she shepherded Georgie out of the way. ‘Georgie, this is Charles Davenport – the gentleman who bought that beautiful book about Alice that I mentioned the other day; Charles, this is my daughter, Georgina.’
    Georgie, who had been scowling at Charles, guffawed as her mother introduced her. ‘Georgina! Since when do you call me that?’
    ‘Very funny G, now toddle off and let me get Charles a glass of wine. Oh, you brought some, how kind, and flowers too; that’s so thoughtful!’ Taking his gifts, she led the way to the kitchen.
    ‘I’d better put these in water,’ Miranda said, frantically opening cupboards in search of another vase. ‘My daughter broke one the other day. I’ll put them into the one on the table. It’s not really a vase, but it’s all I have.’ She unwrapped the roses and cut the stems before laying them on the draining board and bashing the bottoms with a rolling pin. She arranged the roses in the vase; their colours blended well with the dark reds and oranges of the dahlias. ‘I’m never sure that roses mix with other flowers really,’ she muttered, ‘but they look rather jolly all mixed in together.’
    Charles smiled and offered to open the wine.
    ‘Let’s have that with dinner, I’ve got some white already open in the fridge, will that do?’
    She poured and they clinked the crystal glasses.
    They made small talk, about the