Farm Fatale Read Online Free

Bella. "I had to style some obscenely trendy producer's former flour mill turned living space for Insider only last week. Amazing place. All the chairs were shaped like teeth and the coffee table was an elephant's head made of chicken wire. All the work of this terrifically happening designer called Basia Briggs, who even you must have heard of, darling."
        Shaking her head, Rosie suppressed a shudder. She made a mental note to get a copy of the latest Insider and look in areas as far removed as possible from models who liked to sit on molars. On the other hand, Mark might be more interested in the whole movingout idea if he thought famous people did it too.
    ***

    "To put it at its simplest," Florian was saying as Bella and Rosie, bearing steaming plates of lobster-topped pasta, reentered the dining room, "the idea my company's currently working on is, quite simply, a vintage television station. One channel, as I say, is aimed at middle-class mid-thirtysomethings and devoted entirely to seventies children's TV. Another will screen footage of the Second World War. Another, and this is the one we're really banking on, will be devoted to Princess Diana…"
        "My idea," Xa said proudly, the brilliant beam she directed round the room marred only by a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. She caught Rosie's eye. "Your very charming boyfriend's just been telling us that you want to move to the countryside," she announced. "And that he doesn't."
        Rosie flashed a furious look at Mark. How dare he discuss their disagreements in public? He gave her a glazed look in return; his bleariness, she suddenly realized, was actually inebriation. His late arrival was no doubt due less to excessive working hours than to excessive after-hours consumption of gassy lager with his colleagues.
        "But I think the country sounds rather fun," slurred Xa. "We once thought about buying a beach hut in Norfolk. Simply brilliant for bucket and spade holidays."
        She looked wistful. At least, Rosie thought, that was the charitable interpretation of her rolling eyes and slack mouth. "I'd love to live in a village," she drawled.
        Across the table from Rosie, Mark's face was expressionless. He was either drinking everything in or had drunk everything already.
        A muscle twitched in Florian's cheek. "We live in a village," he said through gritted teeth. "It's called Blackheath. And what about Orlando, anyway? Where the hell would he go to school?"
        "I'm thinking of taking Orlando out of St. Midas's, actually," Xa retaliated. "There are at least ten other Orlandos in his class and it gets very confusing. Bloody headmistress is always bloody ringing up complaining how ginger Orlando has beaten up curly Orlando or run off with small Orlando's Pokémon cards."
        "Oh, dear," said Rosie. "What an awful bully. How worrying for you. Which Orlando is yours?"
        "Ginger."
        "Oh."
        There was a silence.
        "Thought of the pub market?" Simon suddenly barked at Rosie, the long hairs on his eyebrows bristling. These, along with his stubby, snouty nose and pink face, always reminded her of a wild boar.
        "Rosie wants to paint peacefully in the country, darling," said Bella, rolling her eyes at Rosie. "Not pull pints and dole out pork scratchings while everyone stares at her arse."
        "Realized that. Actually meant the buildings. Hundreds closing every week now, and don't I know it. Quite nice old places, some of them."
        "Oh. Shame," said Bella.
        "Well, they're there to make money for pub companies first and foremost," Simon said thickly as he drained his red wine. "Don't run them as bloody charities."
        There was another silence.
        "Abattoirs," said Florian suddenly.
        "I beg your pardon?" said Xa.
        "Abattoirs," Florian repeated. "New rock 'n' roll, propertywise. Thousands gone into receivership since the mad cow thing. Did a program