Free Windfallen by Jojo Moyes Page B

woken to the sound of the sea and drunk good wine while watching the sun set. Our new home is a little paradise and its hidden charms all the better for their slow appreciation.”
    “Ah. I am an expert at slow appreciation, as you know.”
    “But, my dear Julian, I know you are also seduced by the bright and the new. And I and this house are neither. So we have to make sure that you view us with the right eyes. Isn’t that right, Lottie?”
    Lottie nodded dumbly, not entirely sure what Adeline was on about. Lottie was having trouble concentrating—she had never seen anyone behave toward her husband the way Adeline was, this excessive courtliness.
    “Then I promise I shall say not a word. So—who is going to show me around? Frances? Are you well? You look like the sea air agrees with you.”
    “I’m fine, thank you, Julian.”
    “And who else is here?”
    “George. And Minette has just left. She is writing again. And Stephen is coming at the end of the week. I told him you would be back.”
    “Marvelous.” Julian beamed and patted his wife’s hand. “A home already. All I have to do is sit down in the midst of it all and pretend I have always been here.” He turned around slowly, pivoting on his stick as he examined the room. “And this house? What is its history?”
    “We know a little, thanks to Lottie and her friend. It was built by the son of a local family, and when he died, it was owned by a couple . . . who?”
    “The MacPhersons,” said Lottie. He was wearing a great big fat ring on his little finger. Like a woman’s dress ring, it was.
    “Yes, the MacPhersons. But it is in Art Moderne style, as you can see. Quite unusual, I think. And it has a wonderful light, non? Frances says it has a wonderful light.”
    Julian turned and looked at Frances. “It certainly does, dear Frances. Your taste and judgment, as always, are impeccable.”
    Frances smiled back, a slight, almost pained smile.
    “And will you be returning to Cadogan Gardens soon?”
    Julian sighed. “No, I’m afraid we have slightly burned our bridges as far as that’s concerned. A little misunderstanding about money. But we will have a lovely time here, until things are entirely sorted out. I will be here until the Biennale. If that is not too much of an inconvenience.”
    He smiled as he said it, apparently secure in the knowledge that his presence was never an inconvenience.
    “Then let us make you fully at home. I will show you around.”
    Lottie, jolted into movement, became suddenly aware of her manners. “I’d better go,” she said, shuffling backward toward the door. “It’s getting on a bit, and I only said I was going for milk. It . . . it was nice to meet you.”
    She waved and left through the door. Adeline, raising an arm in farewell, had already walked out onto the terrace, her arm draped around Julian’s tweedy waist. As Lottie turned to close the door behind her, she saw Frances. Oblivious to Lottie’s presence, and as still as one of her own compositions, she was staring after them through the doorway.
    L OTTIE HAD BEEN PREPARED TO FEEL RATHER SAD FOR Frances; she had looked rather left out. It must be difficult for her with Julian back; Lottie knew all about how easy it was to feel like a spare part. And George evidently didn’t fancy her, or he wouldn’t have flirted so much with Celia and the Awful Irene. But then, two nights later, Lottie saw her again.
    It was nearly half past nine, and Lottie had offered to walk Mr. Beans, the Holdens’ elderly and irascible terrier. It was really Dr. Holden’s job, but he had been unavoidably detained at work, and Mrs. Holden, who had gone all wobbly at the news, was having trouble getting Freddie and Sylvia to stay in their beds. Freddie said he had eaten her begonia and kept running to the bathroom pretending to be sick, while Sylvia, reappearing at the top of the stairs in her slippers and an old gas mask, had demanded her eleventh glass of water. Joe was