Read Online Love on the Rocks by Veronica Henry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Veronica Henry
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hell.’ Justin loped across the room and gave Lisa a kiss on both cheeks. Lisa could never decide if Justin was attractive or not. He looked like Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s Little Prince – thin, slightly startled, with a cap of wispy silver-blond hair and wide blue eyes that seemed to look right into you and lift every bit of information he needed from the depths of your soul. He was usually incredibly pale, but his spell in the Alps had turned his complexion golden brown. ‘Are you about to eat? Fantastic. I’m starving.’ He sat down at the island. ‘I haven’t had a square meal for weeks. Man cannot live on fondue alone.’
‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ said George, tongue in cheek, sawing up the bread and serving out soup for everyone.
‘It was exhausting,’ Justin protested. To sustain his skiing habit, he’d taken on the management of a young cover band, who performed nightly at various different hotels in the French Alps. And a nice profit he’d made from it too. ‘I was networking like fury all day. Lining up gigs for the band for next season. Then I had to make sure they turned up every night. And get them back on the bus afterwards when they were totally bladdered. I had to play nursemaid seven nights a week. I need a holiday!’
‘Well, you’re in luck. We might have the perfect destination for you.’
George tossed the details of The Rocks over to him, holding his breath for his reaction, for Justin’s was the only opinion he really cared about. George was fairly certain that he was Justin’s only real friend, and he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t feel interesting enough to be granted the privilege. They’d met at university, where Justin had been the star of the English faculty, supplementing his grant by writing brilliant essays for wealthy students who couldn’t be arsed to work. One day, somebody grassed him up. Someone who had no doubt caught the rough end of his acerbic tongue, or someone who was envious of the fact that every female was madly in love with him, even though he wore the same pair of jeans and the same dark green V-necked lambswool jumper every day, a Paisley scarf wrapped round his neck on cold days, a red spotted bandana when it was warmer, accessorized with an ancient wind-up Timex and white lace-up plimsolls. Justin hadn’t been fazed by his subsequent sending down. Now, his lifestyle was legendary. He blew whichever way the wind took him, usually some international hot spot, and he always seemed to find a way of subsidizing his trip. Essentially, Justin was everything that George wasn’t. Capricious, devil-may-care, a risk-taker. A maverick. Impossible to categorize or pigeon-hole. And infuriatingly successful. So Justin’s opinion was of paramount importance to George.
‘We’ve been to the seaside,’ explained Lisa. ‘Daydreaming about buying a hotel.’
Justin perused the contents thoughtfully.
‘It’s a complete nightmare at the moment,’ said George. ‘Formica and melamine hell. Swirly carpets, Artex, coving.’
‘Perfect,’ said Justin. ‘So what would be the plan?’
‘A sort of boutique hotel by the sea. Swallows and Amazons with a bit of Soho House thrown in. Think Famous Five go to Nantucket.’
Justin nodded.
‘I think I’m getting the picture.’
Lisa decided it was time to put her oar in.
‘George is making it sound complicated. It’s pretty simple, really. You don’t need to do much because the setting does it all for you. Light and airy bedrooms. Yummy breakfasts with proper fresh coffee—’
George shuddered.
‘Not that awful muck she tried to serve us.’
Justin tossed the details back on to the work surface and picked up his wine.
‘So what’s stopping you?’
George gave a wry smile.
‘Simple question of money. No matter which way we do it, we can’t raise enough to do it properly.’
Lisa topped up everyone’s glass.
‘My bank manager’s pretty friendly,’ she said.
‘Quarter of a
‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ said George, tongue in cheek, sawing up the bread and serving out soup for everyone.
‘It was exhausting,’ Justin protested. To sustain his skiing habit, he’d taken on the management of a young cover band, who performed nightly at various different hotels in the French Alps. And a nice profit he’d made from it too. ‘I was networking like fury all day. Lining up gigs for the band for next season. Then I had to make sure they turned up every night. And get them back on the bus afterwards when they were totally bladdered. I had to play nursemaid seven nights a week. I need a holiday!’
‘Well, you’re in luck. We might have the perfect destination for you.’
George tossed the details of The Rocks over to him, holding his breath for his reaction, for Justin’s was the only opinion he really cared about. George was fairly certain that he was Justin’s only real friend, and he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t feel interesting enough to be granted the privilege. They’d met at university, where Justin had been the star of the English faculty, supplementing his grant by writing brilliant essays for wealthy students who couldn’t be arsed to work. One day, somebody grassed him up. Someone who had no doubt caught the rough end of his acerbic tongue, or someone who was envious of the fact that every female was madly in love with him, even though he wore the same pair of jeans and the same dark green V-necked lambswool jumper every day, a Paisley scarf wrapped round his neck on cold days, a red spotted bandana when it was warmer, accessorized with an ancient wind-up Timex and white lace-up plimsolls. Justin hadn’t been fazed by his subsequent sending down. Now, his lifestyle was legendary. He blew whichever way the wind took him, usually some international hot spot, and he always seemed to find a way of subsidizing his trip. Essentially, Justin was everything that George wasn’t. Capricious, devil-may-care, a risk-taker. A maverick. Impossible to categorize or pigeon-hole. And infuriatingly successful. So Justin’s opinion was of paramount importance to George.
‘We’ve been to the seaside,’ explained Lisa. ‘Daydreaming about buying a hotel.’
Justin perused the contents thoughtfully.
‘It’s a complete nightmare at the moment,’ said George. ‘Formica and melamine hell. Swirly carpets, Artex, coving.’
‘Perfect,’ said Justin. ‘So what would be the plan?’
‘A sort of boutique hotel by the sea. Swallows and Amazons with a bit of Soho House thrown in. Think Famous Five go to Nantucket.’
Justin nodded.
‘I think I’m getting the picture.’
Lisa decided it was time to put her oar in.
‘George is making it sound complicated. It’s pretty simple, really. You don’t need to do much because the setting does it all for you. Light and airy bedrooms. Yummy breakfasts with proper fresh coffee—’
George shuddered.
‘Not that awful muck she tried to serve us.’
Justin tossed the details back on to the work surface and picked up his wine.
‘So what’s stopping you?’
George gave a wry smile.
‘Simple question of money. No matter which way we do it, we can’t raise enough to do it properly.’
Lisa topped up everyone’s glass.
‘My bank manager’s pretty friendly,’ she said.
‘Quarter of a
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