Read Online That'll Be the Day (2007) by Freda Lightfoot - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Freda Lightfoot
Tags: Saga
Ads: Link
background, was being tipped as the man to watch for the future.
Helen dreamed of Leo joining this noble rank, though on the conservative benches, naturally.
So why did Leo constantly harp on about his desire to become a father as if that were the only thing that mattered in life?
A man pushed by her, jostling her elbow. ‘Sorry love, are you going in?’
‘No . . . at least . . . yes, I suppose I am.’
Helen pushed open the swing door, carefully avoiding the man who had spoken to her in that over-familiar way, and yet another ruffian who swayed past her out into the street, no doubt to be sick in the gutter. She neatly side-stepped both and strode purposefully into the lounge bar, expecting heads to turn as she did so. Helen did so love to make an entrance, priding herself on her innate sense of style, which generally succeeded in getting her noticed. She was not disappointed.
Today she was wearing a neat, pale blue costume with a pencil slim skirt, teamed with a cashmere sweater of the same shade, and a divine hat with the widest brim imaginable.
She heard a snigger, a muffled comment about Ascot and something far more ribald. Really, these people! Simply no manners at all. Why did Leo have to be quite so egalitarian and insist on mixing with these peasants? The Midland Hotel would have been far more appropriate for their lunch, and the food so much better. She was hardly likely to be offered smoked salmon in this establishment, more likely one of Poulson’s pies. Nor would they meet anyone here remotely useful for her husband’s future in politics, yet more evidence of his stubbornness.
Helen spotted him the moment she entered. How could she not since Leo was the most handsome man in the room? So tall, so proud, energy emanating from him in almost tangible waves. He was leaning against the bar, one foot resting on the brass rail, a pint glass in his hand as he talked animatedly to a tight-knit group around him. Much to her annoyance he hadn’t noticed her yet.
She only had to glance at him to feel that familiar curl of excitement, that gripping ache of need. It had been this way ever since they’d met during the war when he’d been a young flight lieutenant and she an innocent young girl determined to make her mark on the world, and striving to distance herself from a very ordinary family.
Her father, Jack Irwin, had been a cheese-maker, quite a successful one in his way since he owned his own business but then work, when he wasn’t cavorting with other women, was all he ever thought about. All men every thought about. Helen could never understand how her mother could have been content with so little. She’d died far too young, with hardly anything to show for her loyalty. Helen had hated cheese ever since.
The one thing in her father’s favour was that he made sure his two daughters had a good start in life, paying for a private education for them both. Helen’s older sister Harriet had failed to take full advantage of his generosity but Helen had decided quite early on that she deserved something far better than living behind a shop.
She’d known instantly that Leo Catlow was the man to further those ambitions, because he was so clearly going places. She’d recognised this fact instantly, and of course he possessed the added benefit of a secure family business.
There were some rough edges to him admittedly, but nothing that Helen couldn’t smooth to suit her own needs. However, there were one or two problems, not least the fact that Leo attracted girls to him like moths to a flame.
Getting him to the altar had been like stepping through a minefield, with any number of other eager candidates lining up for the chance. But she’d won him in the end, by dint of clever manipulation, and by not being quite so prissy about sex as other girls. What man could resist attempting to crack her ice-cool exterior to savour the enticing heat within?
And what woman could resist Leo?
He hadn’t noticed
Helen dreamed of Leo joining this noble rank, though on the conservative benches, naturally.
So why did Leo constantly harp on about his desire to become a father as if that were the only thing that mattered in life?
A man pushed by her, jostling her elbow. ‘Sorry love, are you going in?’
‘No . . . at least . . . yes, I suppose I am.’
Helen pushed open the swing door, carefully avoiding the man who had spoken to her in that over-familiar way, and yet another ruffian who swayed past her out into the street, no doubt to be sick in the gutter. She neatly side-stepped both and strode purposefully into the lounge bar, expecting heads to turn as she did so. Helen did so love to make an entrance, priding herself on her innate sense of style, which generally succeeded in getting her noticed. She was not disappointed.
Today she was wearing a neat, pale blue costume with a pencil slim skirt, teamed with a cashmere sweater of the same shade, and a divine hat with the widest brim imaginable.
She heard a snigger, a muffled comment about Ascot and something far more ribald. Really, these people! Simply no manners at all. Why did Leo have to be quite so egalitarian and insist on mixing with these peasants? The Midland Hotel would have been far more appropriate for their lunch, and the food so much better. She was hardly likely to be offered smoked salmon in this establishment, more likely one of Poulson’s pies. Nor would they meet anyone here remotely useful for her husband’s future in politics, yet more evidence of his stubbornness.
Helen spotted him the moment she entered. How could she not since Leo was the most handsome man in the room? So tall, so proud, energy emanating from him in almost tangible waves. He was leaning against the bar, one foot resting on the brass rail, a pint glass in his hand as he talked animatedly to a tight-knit group around him. Much to her annoyance he hadn’t noticed her yet.
She only had to glance at him to feel that familiar curl of excitement, that gripping ache of need. It had been this way ever since they’d met during the war when he’d been a young flight lieutenant and she an innocent young girl determined to make her mark on the world, and striving to distance herself from a very ordinary family.
Her father, Jack Irwin, had been a cheese-maker, quite a successful one in his way since he owned his own business but then work, when he wasn’t cavorting with other women, was all he ever thought about. All men every thought about. Helen could never understand how her mother could have been content with so little. She’d died far too young, with hardly anything to show for her loyalty. Helen had hated cheese ever since.
The one thing in her father’s favour was that he made sure his two daughters had a good start in life, paying for a private education for them both. Helen’s older sister Harriet had failed to take full advantage of his generosity but Helen had decided quite early on that she deserved something far better than living behind a shop.
She’d known instantly that Leo Catlow was the man to further those ambitions, because he was so clearly going places. She’d recognised this fact instantly, and of course he possessed the added benefit of a secure family business.
There were some rough edges to him admittedly, but nothing that Helen couldn’t smooth to suit her own needs. However, there were one or two problems, not least the fact that Leo attracted girls to him like moths to a flame.
Getting him to the altar had been like stepping through a minefield, with any number of other eager candidates lining up for the chance. But she’d won him in the end, by dint of clever manipulation, and by not being quite so prissy about sex as other girls. What man could resist attempting to crack her ice-cool exterior to savour the enticing heat within?
And what woman could resist Leo?
He hadn’t noticed
Similar Books
