Read Online Connections by Hilary Bailey - Free Book Online Page B

mind, she told herself, as were fear and sex, food and sex, chocolate and sex. It seemed the only things not connected with sex were Radio Four, matching sets of saucepans, income tax and National Insurance. So that was what it was, she told herself: Dominic’s desire for comfort because of Vanessa’s being in hospital, and both their horror at someone young being so close to death. That was it, Fleur said to herself. Definitely. She ran across the road to the wine bar.
    It was a bad day. A smell of old food, stale drink and tobacco hit her the moment she opened the door. The floor was tacky underfoot, the bar was littered with bottles and unwashed glasses and there was a heap of dirty dishes in the kitchen, too. Even Al hadn’t loaded the dishwasher the previous night, as he normally did.
    She started clearing up and half an hour later the engineer arrived and declared the gas stove out of action. He put a long warning sticker across it, declaring it unfit for use.
    She called Geoff to tell him but he didn’t answer so she left a message on his machine. She phoned Mr Housman and left another message, then found Al’s number under the bar and called that, too. The extremely posh and very brisk man whoanswered the phone told her he was Al’s brother and that Al was already on his way to the wine bar.
    Al came in not long after. Fleur told him about the oven and they treated themselves to a decent coffee, made from a bag Al had brought in. “I thought it’d be nice,” he told her, “for when we had a moment.”
    â€œWe’ve certainly got a moment now,” Fleur said.
    â€œThat’s for sure,” he agreed.
    â€œYou look rough,” Fleur said.
    â€œI had a hard night,” he said. “You look a bit – different.”
    She told him about Vanessa’s overdose. He said, “Oh, God, she’ll have to pick herself up and start again.”
    Fleur looked at him. He sounded as if he knew something about it.
    He caught her glance, read her mind and said, “Yeah – well – that’s all over now.” Then he added, looking round, “Let’s face it, this place is looking about as good as we feel. And Geoff’s taking something off the top. There’s always more money going out of the till than there ought to be. I haven’t seen Housman for weeks, unless he’s coming in in the early hours of the morning, like a vampire. If Geoff doesn’t turn up by half-past, I’m going to call it a day. I’m used to having nothing to cook but now there’s nothing to cook on. It’s getting ridiculous.”
    At this point Mr Housman came in wearing his long black coat and carrying his briefcase. His square face was sagging. He looked pointedly at Al and Fleur sitting down and at the dustpan and brush Fleur had left on another table.
    â€œWhat’s all this about?” he asked.
    â€œThe kitchen stove’s broken down. The gas man’s condemned it till it’s repaired.”
    â€œWhere’s Geoff?” Housman asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Al told him. “Fleur’s left a message on his answering machine.”
    â€œYou could use the microwave for the cooking,” Housman said, and, looking at Fleur, added, “and you could get the place looking tidy.”
    â€œWhen you took me on there was a cleaner here,” Fleur pointed out.
    Housman stood in the middle of the floor, still holding his briefcase. He looked angrily at Al and Fleur. “I don’t pay you to sit down drinking coffee.”
    Fleur spoke up. “Mr Housman,” she said, “this place does make money. But we’re always operating on a shoestring. It wastes time and it’s more expensive.”
    Housman responded predictably. “Leave the management to me and get a broom and do your job.” Fleur didn’t move.
    Housman glared at her, opened his briefcase, took out a mobile phone and