Read Online My Husband's Wife by Amanda Prowse - Free Book Online Page B

slowed their cars, lowered their windows and beamed, happy to see each other. Rosie reached out through the window and took Mo’s proffered hand.
    ‘Rosie! Have I just missed you?’ Mo asked regretfully.
    ‘Yes, sorry, Mo, I just dropped Phil’s lunch off and I was going to have a cup of tea, but—’
    ‘But you didn’t want to hang around. I get it, lovely.’ She pulled a face, indicating that she wasn’t looking forward to being trapped in the kitchen with a certain someone either.
    ‘She’s in a suspiciously good mood!’ Rosie picked up the thread.
    ‘Yes, she is. It’s quite unnerved Keith, I can tell you. He’s hiding in the storeroom!’ Mo clamped her top teeth over her bottom lip, as if to stop her speaking. It wasn’t her style to gossip in this way, but she and Rosie shared a special friendship.
    ‘So I saw. He was saying they’re moving to the flats on the front next. I told him I’ll bring the girls by every day to say hello.’
    ‘Oh, he’ll love that! I can write them little notes for him to pass on, and send sweeties and things.’
    ‘You spoil them, Mo!’
    ‘Can’t help it. I love them so much.’ She raised her shoulders as if mentally hugging them.
    Rosie smiled. ‘I know you do. Lucky girls.’ A car approached and beeped, slowing as it came up behind her. The driver was clearly unhappy at the hold-up in the middle of the lane, raising his arms as if something catastrophic had occurred. ‘Ooh, better get going.’ She let go of her mother-in-law’s hand and waved her apology in the rearview mirror, then made her way back to town.
    *
    Rosie wandered round the local shop with the basket on her arm. She had popped two tins of baked beans in it and a bottle of sugar-free squash when her eye was drawn to the papers and magazines, sitting on the bottom shelf next to the drinks fridge.
    There, on the front page of The Times , was a thumb-sized photograph of Clark, the American! Rifling through the unwieldy pages, filling the aisle with her outstretched arms, she turned to the right section, held the paper close to her face and read the first paragraph.
    North Devon may not be the obvious choice when it comes to worldwide holiday destinations. But here’s why I think Woolacombe and the surrounding area has as much to offer as the Seychelles, Bali or even Norway...
    ‘Anything interesting?’ The woman’s voice caught her off guard.
    Rosie lowered the paper and came face to face with Geraldine Farmer. It had to be her: she looked shiny, immaculate and out of place in the local shop. She was a diminutive woman, a vision in skinny black jeans, loose black V-neck sweater that slipped off her tanned shoulder, and high-heeled boots. Her arms and neck rattled with sparkly silver jewellery.
    ‘Oh, not really! A friend of mine wrote this article – well, not a friend exactly...’ She blushed. ‘Someone I met on a bench... well, actually, I met him before that... in a caravan.’ Her blush intensified. She felt instantly inadequate in the presence of this petite, gleaming, shiny-haired millionaire.
    ‘How funny.’ The woman beamed, showing her perfect teeth. ‘I’m Geraldine by the way.’
    ‘Yes.’ Rosie nodded. ‘I guessed as much. I’m Phil’s wife. Phil Tipcott? He’s working up at your place?’
    ‘Phil! Yes, of course! Oh God, you must hate me, keeping him and the whole crew working till all hours. I’m sure my name is mud.’ She gave a loud laugh and let her eyes roam over Rosie’s stretch denim M&S jeans.
    ‘Not at all. I think they’ve quite enjoyed the project,’ Rosie lied.
    ‘It’s so nice to meet you in person at last. I’ve heard a lot about you from Phil and you’re exactly as I imagined.’
    Rosie felt a warm glow at the thought of Phil telling this sophisticated woman all about his family. ‘Do you know, it’s nice to chat to someone. I only get to speak to grubby workmen, don’t know a soul.’
    Rosie nodded. Geraldine grabbed her arm. ‘Oh God!