Read Online Pumping Up Napoleon by Maria Donovan - Free Book Online Page B

did so absentmindedly, then looked at him and smiled. He smiled back to reassure her; of course he knew what to do!
    While Vanessa asked her mother about the arrangements for the harvest supper in the village, Michael and the Commander eyed each other. Michael thought he saw a hint of loathing swim in and out of the other man’s eyes. A salty fire spat and crackled; piles of driftwood steamed upon the hearth, giving off a faint odour of sewage.
    The Commander shifted irritably in his seat and said, ‘Where’s Mrs Brightwell with the fish?’ and moved as if to get up.
    â€˜Don’t fuss, darling. She’ll bring it when she’s ready.’
    â€˜Are we expecting someone else?’ asked Michael, nodding at the unoccupied chair.
    â€˜Well, there’s Mrs Brightwell of course!’ said Vanessa’s mother.
    Michael went red and was opening his mouth to apologise, when the door was thrust open and in came Mrs Brightwell with the fish.
    â€˜There you are, Mrs Brightwell,’ said Vanessa’s father. ‘We were beginning to think you’d been eaten by sharks.’
    â€˜Stove’s playing up, Commander. And I see the fire in here’s not chucking out too much warmth either.’ She looked balefully at the hearth, before uncovering the platter to reveal a large whole sea bass on a bed of tough-looking greens.
    â€˜Champagne, Mrs Brightwell?’ said Vanessa, casting Michael a look.
    Michael hastened to fill the housekeeper’s glass.
    Mrs Brightwell received the glass and raised it. ‘Here’s to the birthday girl,’ she said, and took a swig.
    They all raised their glasses and drank.
    â€˜How kind you all are,’ said Mrs Clifford. ‘Shall we admire the fish?’
    â€˜It’s a fine fish,’ said Mrs Brightwell.
    â€˜A magnificent fish,’ Michael put in quickly.
    â€˜A fish fit for a queen,’ said Vanessa.
    â€˜What sort of fish is it?’ asked Michael.
    â€˜A big one,’ said the Commander, picking up his knife and fork. ‘Now, will you be doing the dishing, Mrs Brightwell?’
    While Mrs Brightwell was leaning forward to work on the fish, her rump obscured Michael’s view of the Commander. So he turned to Vanessa and her mother.
    â€˜Was it caught round here?’ said Michael.
    Mrs Clifford smiled, but it was busy Mrs Brightwell who answered. ‘The Commander caught it yesterday. Bit of luck eh, Commander?’
    The Commander said, ‘Mrs Brightwell likes to tease; don’t you, Mrs Brightwell? Fish like this don’t swim past every day.’
    â€˜A bit like our Vanessa,’ said Mrs Brightwell, lifting some fish-meat clear of the bone. When she handed a plate to Michael, he thanked her and put it down in front of him. She handed him another and said in a low voice, ‘Pass this along, would you, Michael? There’s a dear.’
    When they were all served, Vanessa said, ‘Michael’s all set to lend a hand with the harvest, Daddy. He’s bought himself a nice new Barbour and a shiny pair of wellies.’
    They laughed and Michael joined in.
    â€˜The fish is superb,’ he said.
    â€˜And how do you like your sea kale?’ asked Vanessa.
    â€˜Interesting texture,’ said Michael. ‘I’ve never had it before.’
    â€˜Grows on the shore,’ said the Commander. ‘I’ll show you when we go fishing.’
    After dinner they sat for a spell in the drawing room, which was chintzy and stoic. The walls were lined with bookshelves and a stack of hardbacks held up one end of a chaise longue. Michael sat next to Vanessa (not holding her hand) and asked things about the area, and about the house, all the time braced and ready for a return volley of questions; questions which did not come.
    At last the Commander stood up.
    â€˜Early start tomorrow then, Michael,’ said the Commander. ‘Wake you at six?’
    Michael laughed