Free Naked Truths by Jo Carnegie Page B

reassuringly. ‘I miss Arch, too, darling. But we’re going to see him in a few weeks, and then before you know it, he’ll be home for Christmas.’
    Angie looked cheered. ‘You’re right.’ She tried to look brave. ‘I just miss having a young person around the house.’
    Freddie smiled. ‘Would a glass of champers make you feel better?’
    Angie laughed for the first time. ‘I suppose it would go some way.’
    Freddie looked pleased: he hated seeing his wife so sad. ‘That’s decided, then. I thought we’d pop next door to try out Pierre’s latest offering. And then, if you fancy, we can go for a long walk afterwards. It’s such a beautiful day.’
    Business was quiet, and Angie had been putting off doing her tax returns all morning. She couldn’t think of a nicer diversion.

Chapter 10
    CARO WAS STARTING to find her feet in London. Milo was settled in nursery, and she really loved their quirky little cottage. Churchminster would always be
home
home, but there was something special about living in Montague Mews. Even when the sky was overcast or it was raining, the place radiated quaintness and tranquillity. Caro had had her reservations about living so close to other people, but Stephen had been right. You could happily live your own life, but there was always someone to talk to or share an early evening drink with. One night Velda had had them all round for a North African banquet in her Moroccan-inspired purple-and-gold dining room. The food had been delicious, the company even better.
    At home, Caro and Benedict had fallen into a contented domestic routine. He still worked long hours, but made sure he was home two nights a week to tuck Milo up in bed. Afterwards, he and Caro would curl up on the sofa and watch television, or chat over a late supper.
    On a few occasions they had ventured into central London to the theatre. After the last play they’d seen, Caro and Benedict had joined the throng and walked to Soho, stumbling across an energetic Vietnamese restaurant where the staff spoke no English, and the chef came and cooked from a flaming wok next to their table. The place had been packed, and Caro had enjoyed watching the kaleidoscope of life pouring in as they tucked into their fresh, steaming plates of food. Outside she had persuaded a reluctant Benedict to get a rickshaw – ‘This is so cheesy, if anyone I know sees me . . .’ – but they’d ended up helpless with laughter, hanging on for dear life as the driver hurtled through the narrow, bustling streets, scattering pedestrians like dominos.
    They’d had a rather embarrassing moment a few nights ago, in a dinky little bistro a five-minute cab ride away. They had just sat down when a large shadow fell over them. Caro had looked up to see Minty Scott-Brocket, who Caro had lived next door to in her halls of residence at university. Caro hadn’t seen Minty for years, but with her unruly thatch of straw-blonde hair, wide shoulders and sporty wardrobe, Minty hadn’t changed a jot.
    â€˜Caro! I thought it was you,’ she boomed. ‘Bloody hell, it must be ten years. Young Farmers’ ball in Cirencester, wasn’t it?’
    Minty’s eyes settled on Benedict. His chiselled jaw was freshly shaved, and he was wearing a light blue shirt that set off his eyes perfectly. Her eyes goggled like a randy bullfrog’s.
    â€˜Hel-lo! I know who you must be!’
    â€˜Minty . . .’ Caro tried to say. An awful feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach, as her old school chum charged on, oblivious.
    â€˜Been working abroad for a while, but I still get all the gossip on the grapevine. Heard Caro had landed herself a catch, but golly!’
    Minty goggled at Benedict again, and stuck out a large, man-sized hand.
    â€˜Sebastian, isn’t it?’
    There was a silence. Caro wished for the ground to open and swallow her up.
    To her relief,