Read Online A Groom With a View by Sophie Ranald - Free Book Online Page A

put on their sea trout.
    “We have some canapés for you to enjoy with your drinks,” said the handsome Spanish waiter, putting down a square of slate and topping up our glasses. “This is a grouse-liver bonbon, and this is a shot of celeriac velouté with a Sussex crumble crisp. Your table is ready whenever you’d like to come through to the dining room.”
    I took another gulp of champagne and ate my bonbon. It was delicious. Nick watched me expectantly. “It’s lush,” I said, “that’s a technical term.” And he looked as proud as if he’d made it himself.
    “And how about this? This soup stuff? And the whatchamacallit crisp?”
    “Sussex crumble,” I said. “It’s a cheese. It’s gorgeous.”
    “Pippa, I’m so pleased you like it,” he said. “I was really worried you wouldn’t. I was worried things wouldn’t be right.” To be fair to Nick, I do have form. He’s banned me from ever ordering steak when we go out for dinner because I send it back if it isn’t cooked right, which it hardly ever is.
    “Well, they’ve got seven courses left to fuck up,” I teased him. “So shall we go through and let them get on with it?”
    But they didn’t fuck up any of the courses. Everything was perfect, even the steak I insisted on having in order to put Hugh Jameson through his paces. We ate every bit of all the dishes on the tasting menu, plus the little random palate-cleansers and pre-desserts that weren’t on it. Afterwards, replete with food and drink, we went for a wander in the moonlit rose garden and watched the black swans drifting on the moat, their heads tucked under their wings. We found our way to the centre of the maze and Nick kissed me and said, “I’m so glad I’m marrying you, Pip. I still don’t know how we decided but I’m glad we did.”
    I said I was the lucky one, and felt a lump in my throat because it was all so romantic and perfect, and I was being an ungrateful cow for feeling that something, somehow, wasn’t right. But I pushed aside my feelings of unease and followed Nick up the spiral staircase to the enchantingly romantic bridal suite and we made love in the four-poster bed and I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder.
    The next morning was a bit of a mad scramble. I’d told Guido I was going away for the night but would be in the office by eleven o’clock, and Nick had a lunch meeting with a new client who he wanted to impress. So we gulped down the coffee and croissants that were delivered to our suite by yet another impeccably trained waiter, packed our bags and headed downstairs to arrange a taxi to the station.
    Imogen was hovering in the hallway.
    “Good morning!” she said. “I do hope you enjoyed your stay with us. Did you have a pleasant dinner last night?”
    “Pippa’s the one to ask,” Nick said. “She’s a chef and very hard to please.”
    I said it had all been absolutely wonderful. Imogen was charmingly interested about my job, and by the time I’d finished telling her where I worked and Nick had finished telling her how much he’d loved the room and admired the art, our cab had arrived.
    “Anyway, thanks so much,” Nick said, picking up my bag. “It was all brilliant. I’ll send you an email this afternoon to confirm the booking and transfer over the deposit.”
    I stood for a second, gawping at him. We hadn’t definitely agreed anything. Had we? “Thanks, Imogen,” I said. “We’ve had a great time. Nick will be in touch and I’ll. . . er. . . see you soon.”
    Trying desperately to find the words that would tell Nick that I wasn’t sure, that despite its perfection, I wasn’t convinced that a wedding there was what I wanted, I climbed into the taxi. But before I could say anything, Nick’s mobile rang and it was a client needing to be talked through how to upgrade his content management system, and that took up most of the journey.
    By the time we approached Waterloo, I’d made up my mind. I wasn’t going to be a