Read Online Perfect Timing by Jill Mansell - Free Book Online Page A

Slade-Welch was unperturbed. ‘He’ll be paying for it anyway.’ She smiled. ‘One thing I will say for Hugo, he’s a perfect gentleman when it comes to alimony.’
    Poor Hugo, thought Caspar. With four ex-wives to support, no wonder he kept having to fly over to Hollywood to star in the kind of mega-budget movies he despised so much. Small wonder too that none of the ex-wives had ever bothered to remarry. When the payoffs were that generous, where was the incentive?
    Caspar, who didn’t have anything as efficient as a diary, led Angie Slade-Welch upstairs to his studio. The back of the door was covered with pinned-up business cards and scraps of paper with names and phone numbers scrawled across them. Some had dates and times added in brackets. This was Caspar’s filing system. It was a miracle he ever got anything done.
    â€˜Mondays are good for me.’ Angie was flipping through pages with beige, French-manicured nails. ‘Wednesdays… no, that’s aromatherapy. Um, Thursday afternoons could be arranged. Or maybe Friday mornings…’
    They haggled amicably for a few minutes. Caspar never felt like doing much at all on Mondays. Finally, they settled on three preliminary sittings to be going on with.
    â€˜This Friday then.’ Caspar prepared to show her out. ‘No need to worry about getting your hair done, not at this stage. But bring a couple of outfits so we can decide what’ll look best. Nothing too fussy—’
    â€˜Nothing fussy at all,’ Angie promised, her mouth registering amusement. ‘Did I not mention it earlier? I want this to be a nude portrait.’ She paused, waiting for his reaction. ‘That’s not a problem for you, is it?’
    â€˜Not exactly a problem for me …’ Caspar was looking doubtful.
    â€˜Well then, that’s fine. If you’re worried about my daughter,’ said Angie with a careless shrug, ‘don’t tell her. This is a private business transaction between consenting adults. Claudia doesn’t need to know.’
    After a rotten day at work and a rain-drenched dash from the tube, Claudia wasn’t thrilled to come home and find Caspar and Poppy gossiping together in the sitting room, cozily sharing a packet of Jaffa Cakes and showing no sign whatsoever of doing anything about the mountain of washing-up in the sink.
    She was even less enchanted when she spotted the empty bottle of Pouilly Fumée up on the mantelpiece. Two glasses stood side by side on the low coffee table next to the carton that had earlier contained her favorite cappuccino mousse.
    Next moment her attention was distracted by something more awful still—
    â€˜Ugh—UGH!’ screamed Claudia, shuddering with fear and revulsion. She pointed at the carpet beneath the table. ‘SPIDERS!’
    Caspar craned his neck to see. He grinned, leaned over the edge of the sofa, scooped them up and lobbed them at Claudia.
    â€˜Don’t get in a flap, they’re only tomato stalks.’
    â€˜ Oh .’ Claudia was still trembling. ‘You really are the living end…’
    â€˜Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have thrown them at you if they’d been spiders.’
    â€˜Not that,’ Claudia wailed, glaring at him. ‘They were my tomatoes. This,’ she jabbed a finger at the empty carton, ‘was my cappuccino mousse. And I was saving that wine for a special occasion!’
    â€˜This afternoon was a special occasion.’ Caspar thought of the six thousand pounds. ‘That’s why I opened it.’ Then, since Claudia was looking very cross indeed, he added, ‘I’ll buy you another one.’
    â€˜That’s not the point.’ Claudia hadn’t inherited her mother’s gift for looking good when wet. Her hair was a mess and her navy mascara had run dramatically down her face. Turning to include Poppy in the diatribe she went on, ‘You didn’t even leave