Free The Christmas Surprise by Jenny Colgan Page A

have second thoughts about marrying. Happy holidays.

    The airport was the first shock: a massive roof, no air conditioning, boiling hot, everybody shouting it seemed at once. People approached them from all angles, speaking loudly in French, asking if they needed taxis, hotels, bags carried … Rosie, who had only ever been to Spain before, on a package trip, looked around her in bewilderment. Stephen strode past it all, looking, Rosie thought, in his khakis and collarless cotton shirt, very much like he belonged here. She, on the other hand, was already regretting wearing jeans; they were hot and felt thick and uncomfortably creased against her skin.
    ‘ETIENNE!’
    A voice was calling insistently in their direction, and Stephen turned towards it. Standing waving furiouslywas a tiny, strong-looking girl with short dark hair, a light tan, and a pair of khakis exactly like Stephen’s. Her face was animated, her teeth very white.
    Stephen’s face broke into a smile.
    ‘FAUSTINE!’
    The two of them jumped into a massive embrace, then they started speaking rapidly in French, of which Rosie understood not a word. She coughed, gently.
    ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Stephen, his face still energised and excited-looking. ‘I haven’t seen Faust since … well, since everything.’
    ‘He was very naughty boy,’ said Faustine in the most charming French accent. ‘We write, we call, we send all the message,
tu sais
? And he does not answer us, he has forgotten us, he does not like us any more.’
    Stephen shook his head.
    ‘Oh it wasn’t quite like that.’
    Faustine smiled.
    ‘But now you are home, yes?’
    ‘No,’ said Stephen. ‘I’m back.’
    Rosie was glad he said this.
    ‘This is Rosie. My …’ he paused for a second, which caught at Rosie’s heart, ‘my fiancée.’
    Faustine made a face.
    ‘
Oui? Alors
, my goodness, congratulations,’ she said, but she did not exactly smile. ‘You work in Africa too?’
    ‘It’s my first time,’ said Rosie. ‘But I can’t wait to see it.’
    Faustine simply raised her eyebrows.
    ‘
Alors
, follow me.’
    If the inside of the airport had been hot and stuffy, outside it was like stepping into an oven. Immediately Rosie pawed through her luggage looking for her sunglasses. She couldn’t remember feeling the heat of the sun so strongly before. Everywhere people in bright clothing were getting into cars, piling luggage on to scooters and bicycles, selling small boxes of bits and pieces, newspapers, SIM cards, bottles of water.
    As if reading her mind, Faustine took out a large, dirty-looking plastic bottle and passed it round.
    ‘Drink,’ she said. ‘You’ll get thirsty.’
    Rosie wanted to pour the entire thing over her head, but took a few mouthfuls and passed it on to Stephen, who winked at her conspiratorially as Faustine barked a few commands in French into her phone. About five minutes later, just as Rosie was hoping they were staying in a nice hotel somewhere with air conditioning, a rickety old van with the organisation’s logo on the side bounced up, the driver, also in khakis – Rosie was beginning to curse the flowery dresses she’d packed – waving to them brightly.
    There was no suspension in the van, and they bounced uncomfortably in the back seat. There was air conditioning, of a sort, that puffed out occasional huffs of lukewarm air, as if in a bad mood, but it was pretty tricky to catch them.
    Even so, the city was such a stunning sight that Rosie forgot everything: she just wanted to lean her head out and catch all of it.
    Cars in varying conditions of terrible cluttered up the roads, with things attached to the top, mismatched wheels, men hanging off the back. There were some traffic lights, most of which were systematically ignored. Their driver spent a lot of time leaning on the horn, as did everybody else. Stephen and Faustine talked about all the people they had in common – none of whom Rosie knew – but she found she didn’t mind, as she