Read Online Breaking and Entering by Wendy Perriam - Free Book Online Page B

pretence of irritation. ‘Here come the drinks – at last!’
    Daniel subsided, astonished at himself. He was talking to a child and actually enjoying it; teaching her, diverting her, had even made her laugh. And all without a drink. He sipped his Pernod, which tasted almost tolerable, consulted the wine list again. They’d be limited to P-wines: Pouilly Fuissé, Pomerol … No, wait a minute, he’d promised something fizzy – well, not exactly promised, but it would still be rather fun. He ran his finger down the list of sparkling wines, dismayed to see there wasn’t a single one of them beginning with a P – only champagne, and that would break the bank. Perhaps the whole idea was over the top, and they should stick to fizzy water. After all, these girls had nothing to celebrate. Even apart from the crisis in her marriage, Penny’s life seemed sad and rather constrained: the cloistered childhood, the talent unfulfilled. He presumed her widowed mother had insisted that she earn her living the minute she left school, rather than ‘waste her time’ on art. How different their two backgrounds were: five females in her household, and a dearth of education, whereas he’d been pitchforked into prep school with no women but the butch and brutish matron, and had still been knee-deep in his studies at the age of twenty-four.
    Almost absent-mindedly he took a large swig of his drink, instantly recoiling at its kick. He had forgotten quite how powerful Pernod was. It might be wiser to lay off the wine, with a busy afternoon ahead, or he’d be floundering through the rest of the day in an alcoholic haze.
    He cursed himself for remembering work, aware now of the fact that they’d been sitting here a good twenty minutes and hadn’t even got as far as ordering their food. He was normally back in the office by two – if he left at all. On busy days, lunch was just a coffee at his desk. Thank God he’d told his colleagues he was calling on his mother, having already filled them in on last night’s little crisis. If he was still shovelling in peach Melba at half past three or four, they’d assume poor Madame Hughson had taken a turn for the worse.
    Pippa looked up from her Pepsi which she was gulping through two straws. ‘Where’s Daddy?’ she asked suddenly.
    Despite the surrounding hubbub, the silence was disquieting. Penny hadn’t answered, but her face had changed again – defensive now and bleak.
    â€˜You said we were going to see him,’ the child insisted, crumpling one of her straws.
    â€˜Yes, we … are. Quite soon.’
    â€˜Where is he, then?’
    â€˜I told you, darling, he’s having a little holiday.’
    â€˜But why didn’t we go with him?’
    â€˜He … he had to leave earlier than us. But we’ve come to Paris to find him.’
    Daniel watched the child’s expression – confusion and anxiety. The green eyes met his own again, appeared to be trying to make sense of him.
    â€˜Does he know where my Daddy is?’ she whispered to her mother.
    Penny chewed her lemon-slice, then sat studying her glass.
    This second silence was longer. Images from the earthquake in Armenia started seeping slowly into it from some corner of his mind. He and Georges and André had been discussing the disaster before they left for lunch, but only now did its full impact really hit him – the demolished homes and devastated families. One of the child-victims had been photographed in close-up; a kid of roughly Pippa’s age, sobbing for its parents.
    He straightened the straw, replaced it in her glass. ‘Have you ever had champagne, Pippa?’
    She shook her head, subdued still.
    â€˜It’s a fizzy wine which goes pop when you open it. P–P–POP! And it comes in a big bottle with gold stuff on the top. It’s really a special drink for grown-ups, but I wondered if you’d