Read Online Just a Family Affair by Veronica Henry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Veronica Henry
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easier to take than the paltry sum she had to start a new life with. Penniless somehow rang truer than merely poor.
She’d got away as quickly as she could. There was nothing keeping her in Portugal, after all. And it was pretty humiliating, being ignored in the supermarket, walked past in the street. Kay resisted the urge to march up to her old acquaintances and accost them with a cheery greeting. As soon as all the paperwork was tied up, she’d taken the first plane out and landed on her parents’ doorstep in Slough. Just as she had a few years before, when she’d found out she was pregnant with Flora, and Lawrence had kicked her out. Unsurprisingly. For what he’d failed to tell her throughout their marriage was that he was infertile. She could hardly pass the baby off as his, when he’d been firing blanks all along.
It had been all right, in the end. Lawrence had come to find her, just after she had Flora. He wanted her back. He admitted he’d been wrong to withhold the information from her. That didn’t excuse her infidelity, of course. But in a funny way two wrongs had made a right. The incident had brought them closer than they’d ever been. And he had become a wonderful father to Flora.
As she turned off the main road and drove into the village of Honeycote, a lump rose in Kay’s throat. Perhaps they should never have left. They had never openly discussed it, but they had both felt that bringing up Flora in such close proximity to her biological father was not a good idea, and so they’d left for Portugal. As far as she knew, no one in Honeycote was even aware of their reconciliation, or the truth about Flora’s parentage.
Kay’s sharp eyes raked the landscape around her for signs of change. It was getting dark, but she noted a development of rather splendid new houses behind a set of gates. Honeycote Grange, read the slate sign. The best part of a million each at the very least, she estimated. She’d once been an estate agent, and her instincts had never died.
As she passed the driveway to her old house, her throat constricted. Barton Court Spa, it announced. For a moment she was tempted to check in. Whereas once she had tired of her weekly massage and exfoliation, now she longed for soothing hands to ease her aching bones. She had never felt so exhausted. It was the emotion, of course. And the uncertainty. The horrible, horrible fear. She’d lost over a stone since Lawrence died, and the one thing Kay didn’t need was to lose weight. But there had been a knot of worry in her stomach - the knot that had materialized the second she’d seen the shadowy figures of the policemen through the door, and hadn’t gone away since. And it seemed there wasn’t room for a knot and food.
If it had been just her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Kay was a survivor. She’d always kept her wits about her. But with a five-year-old child to look after, she was incredibly restricted. She needed somewhere for them to live.
It was a catch twenty-two. A vicious circle.
Of course, what it boiled down to at the end of the day was money. Which was why she was back in Honeycote. Kay hadn’t asked herself too many questions about what she was about to do next, because she didn’t have any choice. It was the easiest way she could think of to get her hands on a decent lump sum, and she wasn’t proud.
She pulled into the car-park of the Honeycote Arms. The crunching of the tyres on the gravel woke Flora up.
‘Where are we?’
Kay was almost tempted to say ‘home’. For Honeycote felt like home. She’d never been one for sentimental attachments in the past. But somehow here she felt safe. There were no swarthy-skinned bandits likely to run her off the road here.
The Honeycote Arms had undergone a total transformation since she’d left. Then, it had been a typical English village pub, complete with horse-brasses and hunting prints, inoffensive but uninspiring, smelling of stale fags and the faintest whiff of wee.
She’d got away as quickly as she could. There was nothing keeping her in Portugal, after all. And it was pretty humiliating, being ignored in the supermarket, walked past in the street. Kay resisted the urge to march up to her old acquaintances and accost them with a cheery greeting. As soon as all the paperwork was tied up, she’d taken the first plane out and landed on her parents’ doorstep in Slough. Just as she had a few years before, when she’d found out she was pregnant with Flora, and Lawrence had kicked her out. Unsurprisingly. For what he’d failed to tell her throughout their marriage was that he was infertile. She could hardly pass the baby off as his, when he’d been firing blanks all along.
It had been all right, in the end. Lawrence had come to find her, just after she had Flora. He wanted her back. He admitted he’d been wrong to withhold the information from her. That didn’t excuse her infidelity, of course. But in a funny way two wrongs had made a right. The incident had brought them closer than they’d ever been. And he had become a wonderful father to Flora.
As she turned off the main road and drove into the village of Honeycote, a lump rose in Kay’s throat. Perhaps they should never have left. They had never openly discussed it, but they had both felt that bringing up Flora in such close proximity to her biological father was not a good idea, and so they’d left for Portugal. As far as she knew, no one in Honeycote was even aware of their reconciliation, or the truth about Flora’s parentage.
Kay’s sharp eyes raked the landscape around her for signs of change. It was getting dark, but she noted a development of rather splendid new houses behind a set of gates. Honeycote Grange, read the slate sign. The best part of a million each at the very least, she estimated. She’d once been an estate agent, and her instincts had never died.
As she passed the driveway to her old house, her throat constricted. Barton Court Spa, it announced. For a moment she was tempted to check in. Whereas once she had tired of her weekly massage and exfoliation, now she longed for soothing hands to ease her aching bones. She had never felt so exhausted. It was the emotion, of course. And the uncertainty. The horrible, horrible fear. She’d lost over a stone since Lawrence died, and the one thing Kay didn’t need was to lose weight. But there had been a knot of worry in her stomach - the knot that had materialized the second she’d seen the shadowy figures of the policemen through the door, and hadn’t gone away since. And it seemed there wasn’t room for a knot and food.
If it had been just her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Kay was a survivor. She’d always kept her wits about her. But with a five-year-old child to look after, she was incredibly restricted. She needed somewhere for them to live.
It was a catch twenty-two. A vicious circle.
Of course, what it boiled down to at the end of the day was money. Which was why she was back in Honeycote. Kay hadn’t asked herself too many questions about what she was about to do next, because she didn’t have any choice. It was the easiest way she could think of to get her hands on a decent lump sum, and she wasn’t proud.
She pulled into the car-park of the Honeycote Arms. The crunching of the tyres on the gravel woke Flora up.
‘Where are we?’
Kay was almost tempted to say ‘home’. For Honeycote felt like home. She’d never been one for sentimental attachments in the past. But somehow here she felt safe. There were no swarthy-skinned bandits likely to run her off the road here.
The Honeycote Arms had undergone a total transformation since she’d left. Then, it had been a typical English village pub, complete with horse-brasses and hunting prints, inoffensive but uninspiring, smelling of stale fags and the faintest whiff of wee.
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