Free The Tennis Party by Sophie Kinsella, Madeleine Wickham

any kind of hotel staff, come to that – I’d be grateful if you’d send ’em my way. Can’t run the place all on my own!’ Annie looked surprised, and glanced at Don’s wedding-ringed hand.
    ‘So Valerie’s mother . . .’
    ‘Passed away three years ago,’ said Don abruptly. ‘Breast cancer. Fifty-three, she was. She went to thedoctor as soon as she found the lump, but it was already too late.’
    ‘How terrible,’ said Annie. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
    Don looked sharply at her. ‘I hope you go for your scan every year, do you?’
    ‘Well,’ said Annie hesitantly.
    ‘Could have saved Irene, a scan could. If she’d only gone for a check-up.’
    ‘I’m not sure I qualify yet,’ said Annie soothingly. ‘But I will find out.’
    ‘Pay for one if you have to,’ insisted Don. ‘That’s what I say to all the ladies I meet now. Get yourself scanned. You never know. I pay for Valerie to be scanned every year. I see it as a tribute, almost, to Irene.’
    ‘How lovely,’ said Annie awkwardly – then, aware that this didn’t sound quite right, added, ‘I mean, what a thoughtful gesture.’
    They were interrupted by Caroline.
    ‘Lunch is ready,’ she said. ‘And before you start saying how wonderful it is,’ she added to Annie, ‘I didn’t cook it. The caterers did.’
    Annie struggled to her feet, feeling the effect of a morning’s drinking. The backs of her legs were covered in grass stains and the apricot tennis ensemble was looking rather rumpled. But I won’t have to wash it, Mrs Finch will, she thought, and was amazed to discover how elated that made her feel.
    The children were already on the terrace, piling their plates high with potato salad and crisps.
    ‘What about some of this lovely vegetable terrine?’ said Annie to Toby encouragingly. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. ‘Or some mushroom quiche?’
    ‘Don’t bother,’ said Stephen idly. ‘Let him eat what he wants. Potato salad and potato crisps. Obvious, really.’
    Valerie was first to start filling her plate. She approached each dish with an exclamation of delight, and then loudly wondered what it was.
    ‘Ooh! This looks like a swiss roll! But it must be savoury. How imaginative. I wonder what’s in it. Is the green spinach?’
    ‘Full of iron, spinach is,’ observed Don. ‘Ah, spring onions in the salad, I see. You know, they apparently reduce cholesterol. Worth knowing, that is. Worth repeating, too.’ He chortled merrily. ‘Get it? Worth repeating. Spring onions.’
    Valerie suddenly hooted with laughter. ‘Ooh Dad, really!’ She glanced at Cressida, standing at the other side of the terrace. ‘What will people think?’
    Cressida was not thinking of Don and his joke. She was wondering how early they could leave the next day without appearing rude. They would, presumably, attend church in the morning – and no doubt a large Sunday lunch would have been planned – but shedidn’t see why they shouldn’t leave as soon as that was over. She would, however, have to broach the subject delicately with Charles. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, heaping food onto his plate in indiscriminate piles, and cheerily waving his glass in the air as he chatted to Caroline. She rarely saw him so abandoned. It was as if he was on holiday. But did that mean that everyday life with her was the equivalent of work? For a moment her mind teetered uneasily on the edge of the question, subconsciously aware that to answer it might be to come to some alarming, unwelcome conclusion. But even as she began to feel disturbed, her mind fluttered and lost grip of the problem, and her thoughts slid easily onto the more mundane reflection that Charles really should put a hat on in this sun.
    Valerie came up to her, munching in an unattractive manner.
    ‘You should have some lunch,’ she said, ‘it’s delicious.’
    ‘I will in a minute.’
    ‘I suppose you’re used to lovely food like this all the time,’ continued