Read Online The Accidental Mistress by Portia Da Costa - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Portia Da Costa
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have to be rich.
If that were the case, there was a perfect answer, though. A simple, elegant, if rather expensive answer.
I should really do it. Especially now. It’s better than going on a chocolate and chips binge and ending up looking like a whale.
It made perfect sense, although if Brent found out, he’d probably go nuts.
Lizzie had trouble sleeping. There was an empty space beside her, even though John had only ever lain there once, and not for very long. He
had
slept here, though, if only for a few minutes.
You’re a strange man, John Smith. Probably stranger than I’ll ever know …
Though she’d sworn off those kinds of thoughts, they resurfaced. It was stupid to question what she had now, but she wasn’t a woman for nothing, and women couldn’t help speculating. The earliest cavewomen had probably worried about what would happen if their strong, providing mates got stomped on by a woolly mammoth. Or decided to go off with another cavewoman who had wider hips and bigger boobs.
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Sitting up in the dark, she shook her head. As if that might dislodge the stupid thoughts. Peering down towards the bottom of the bed, she looked to see if Mulder jumped on, but there was no sign of the little feline. Probably with Shelley, whose cat she really was.
Just about to lie down again, even if hopes of sleep were very thin, Lizzie jerked in surprise at a familiar sound, ringing at an unfamiliar time. Her mobile. She snatched for it, stabbed the icon and a text opened.
No need to reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. J.
Just that? She smiled. It was enough. Gloomy speculations dispersed like mist, and settling down again, and hugging the quilt around her ears, she let the tiredness that had been chasing her since she’d got home catch up with her.
I’m thinking of you too.
She didn’t text it, but she drifted off, knowing that he probably knew that anyway.
The next day was hectic, and she was glad of it. New Again was bustling, with lots of ladies shopping for ‘gently worn’ designer items, and a lot of them falling in love with frocks that just didn’t fit them. All of which required a lot of tact and finesse on owner Marie’s part, or the plying of Lizzie’s dressmaking skills in order to bring dress and woman together in a flattering marriage.
The agency mostly stocked fairly recent items, but the odd vintage ‘special’ sometimes came along. Today’s had been a beautifully constructed Jean Muir dress and coat that Lizzie had fallen in love with, even though it was far from her own usual style. Sadly, a rather overweight solicitor’s wife from Kissley Magna, the ‘posh’ suburb of the Borough, had fallenin love with it too. Unlike some of their other, more status-conscious clients, this lady was a sweetheart, and Lizzie had felt desperately disappointed for her.
‘Couldn’t you perhaps just make me one a bit like it? I’d be happy to pay.’
This had led to a discussion, and a promise that Lizzie’d try to find a pattern.
‘We should do that. Properly,’ Marie had said, her clever eyes bright. ‘Recreate classics, but with a twist. You could do it, Lizzie, I know you could. Let me do some costings … we’d need to do some new advertising. Invest a bit … I wonder if I could get a loan from the bank?’
A thought had popped into Lizzie’s head, but she’d pushed it away again, not sure. There was no doubt in her mind that she only had to ask … but could she? She’d mull it over, while he was away.
While she was on the bus, going home from New Again, with a dress bag containing a couple of items to work on in the evening, Lizzie thought about John travelling too. Was he in New York yet? She didn’t even know the time of his flight. It would have been first class all the way, no doubt, unless he had a jet of his own. He certainly didn’t have a helicopter, because he’d once had to borrow one for that anxious night flight, racing home to
If that were the case, there was a perfect answer, though. A simple, elegant, if rather expensive answer.
I should really do it. Especially now. It’s better than going on a chocolate and chips binge and ending up looking like a whale.
It made perfect sense, although if Brent found out, he’d probably go nuts.
Lizzie had trouble sleeping. There was an empty space beside her, even though John had only ever lain there once, and not for very long. He
had
slept here, though, if only for a few minutes.
You’re a strange man, John Smith. Probably stranger than I’ll ever know …
Though she’d sworn off those kinds of thoughts, they resurfaced. It was stupid to question what she had now, but she wasn’t a woman for nothing, and women couldn’t help speculating. The earliest cavewomen had probably worried about what would happen if their strong, providing mates got stomped on by a woolly mammoth. Or decided to go off with another cavewoman who had wider hips and bigger boobs.
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Sitting up in the dark, she shook her head. As if that might dislodge the stupid thoughts. Peering down towards the bottom of the bed, she looked to see if Mulder jumped on, but there was no sign of the little feline. Probably with Shelley, whose cat she really was.
Just about to lie down again, even if hopes of sleep were very thin, Lizzie jerked in surprise at a familiar sound, ringing at an unfamiliar time. Her mobile. She snatched for it, stabbed the icon and a text opened.
No need to reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. J.
Just that? She smiled. It was enough. Gloomy speculations dispersed like mist, and settling down again, and hugging the quilt around her ears, she let the tiredness that had been chasing her since she’d got home catch up with her.
I’m thinking of you too.
She didn’t text it, but she drifted off, knowing that he probably knew that anyway.
The next day was hectic, and she was glad of it. New Again was bustling, with lots of ladies shopping for ‘gently worn’ designer items, and a lot of them falling in love with frocks that just didn’t fit them. All of which required a lot of tact and finesse on owner Marie’s part, or the plying of Lizzie’s dressmaking skills in order to bring dress and woman together in a flattering marriage.
The agency mostly stocked fairly recent items, but the odd vintage ‘special’ sometimes came along. Today’s had been a beautifully constructed Jean Muir dress and coat that Lizzie had fallen in love with, even though it was far from her own usual style. Sadly, a rather overweight solicitor’s wife from Kissley Magna, the ‘posh’ suburb of the Borough, had fallenin love with it too. Unlike some of their other, more status-conscious clients, this lady was a sweetheart, and Lizzie had felt desperately disappointed for her.
‘Couldn’t you perhaps just make me one a bit like it? I’d be happy to pay.’
This had led to a discussion, and a promise that Lizzie’d try to find a pattern.
‘We should do that. Properly,’ Marie had said, her clever eyes bright. ‘Recreate classics, but with a twist. You could do it, Lizzie, I know you could. Let me do some costings … we’d need to do some new advertising. Invest a bit … I wonder if I could get a loan from the bank?’
A thought had popped into Lizzie’s head, but she’d pushed it away again, not sure. There was no doubt in her mind that she only had to ask … but could she? She’d mull it over, while he was away.
While she was on the bus, going home from New Again, with a dress bag containing a couple of items to work on in the evening, Lizzie thought about John travelling too. Was he in New York yet? She didn’t even know the time of his flight. It would have been first class all the way, no doubt, unless he had a jet of his own. He certainly didn’t have a helicopter, because he’d once had to borrow one for that anxious night flight, racing home to
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