Read Online A Winter Bride by Isla Dewar - Free Book Online Page A

We’ve been dying to meet you.’ She’d held her by the shoulders, looked her up and down and smiled. ‘You’re just lovely.’ She’d turned to Alistair. ‘You’ve got yourself a good one this time. Alistair says you like Italian, so it’s lasagne for supper with baked Alaska for afters. We’re going all international tonight.’ May was in the habit of announcing her menu to guests as soon as they arrived.
    Nell had been swept up the hall and into the living room and introduced to Alistair’s father, Harry. He’d stood up, strode to her, and had pumped her hand. He prided himself on his handshake: a firm grip and crisp up up-and-down movement. ‘Good to meet you at last, Nell.’ He’d waved Nell into a seat by the fire and had said to Alistair, ‘She’s a corker.’ He’d turned back to Nell. ‘What’ll you have?’
    Nell had floundered. She hadn’t known what to ask for. At home, her parents kept a bottle of whisky and a bottle of sherry, which were opened once a year, at five to twelve on New Year’s Eve. If you were female you got sherry, whisky if you were male. Anyone deviating from this rule caused consternation.
    Alistair had said, ‘She likes a rum and coke, Dad.’
    Harry said, ‘Excellent,’ and went to the huge drinks cabinet that took up most of the far wall, ‘May?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh.’ She’d flapped her hand. ‘I’ll have a wee G and T.’
    This room was vast, high ceiling, bay window. It was chintzy. May Rutherford was fond of a frill or two. A huge fire had blazed in the hearth. The central heating had been on full blast.
    May was taller than Nell had imagined. And she was forceful. She expected nothing more than to get her own way at all times. Her hair had been pulled off her forehead, fixed at the back of her head in an untidy bun; wisps escaped and had hung either side of her face. Her lips had been painted alarmingly red. She would have been daunting, but for her smile and for the concerned way she’d sat on the sofa, hands folded neatly in her lap, leaning towards Nell and asking how her day had been. She’d seemed genuinely interested.
    ‘Good,’ Nell had said. ‘We were very busy. I like that; you don’t notice the time passing.’
    May had clapped her hands. ‘Good girl. You enjoy a bit of hard work. Nothing else for it in this life. The only thing that’ll get you anywhere is good old fashioned down-and-dirty hard graft.’
    There was something about this family, Nell had thought. They were down-to-earth, energetic, enthusiastic, easy to get along with and utterly, fabulously rich. May, though, was clearly the boss: a throaty-voiced, over-active despot in this chintzy, overheated world.
    As they had taken their seats at the dining-room table, Alistair had nudged Nell. ‘Ma must like you; she’s put out the posh glasses.’
    They were May’s pride and joy, fine gold-rimmed crystal glasses that only the privileged drank from and the very trustworthy were permitted to wash.
    Before they’d started eating, May had filled everybody’s glass and had sat back nodding to Harry. He’d risen, lifted his glass, looked round at the gathering and shouted, ‘To the back lot.’ Everyone repeated the toast, Nell included, though she hadn’t a clue what they were talking about.
    The meal had gone well. May had fussed. She’d bustled to and from the kitchen carrying overflowing dishes, heaping food onto plates, insisting that everyone eat. ‘C’mon, Nell, have some more lasagne. Put some meat on your bones. You’re too thin.’
    She’d kept glasses topped up, and all the while, had quizzed Nell about her family.
    ‘We’re not well off,’ Nell had said. ‘Compared to you, we’re poor.’
    Alistair had sighed, slapped his forehead and said, ‘Don’t mention poor to my mum. She’s a world expert on being poor.’
    May had taken a swig of her wine, and then had pointed at Nell with her fork. ‘Do you have electricity? Is your bathroom indoors? Do you eat