Read Online The Beach Hut Next Door by Veronica Henry - Free Book Online
Authors: Veronica Henry
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knew this was a source of frustration to Lillie, who was rigid about being properly dressed for every occasion, but you could take the woman out of Paris, thought Elodie, but you couldn’t take Paris out of the woman.
Having a beautiful mother when you yourself weren’t could have been a heavy cross to bear, but Elodie had spirit and a spark about her that was ultimately more pleasing to the casual observer than her mother’s Gallic perfection. She’d never been intimidated by her mother’s looks, and didn’t care that people probably compared them unfavourably. Her mind wasn’t exactly on higher things, but Elodie was cheerful and optimistic and interested – interested in everything and everyone – which gave her a more grounded view to life. Lillie, by comparison, was fragile and an air of simmering neurosis clung to her as surely as her scent.
There was nothing fragile about Elodie. She was solid. Besides, although she wasn’t delicate and ravishing like Lillie, her rather hooded sludge-grey eyes smiled, as did her full mouth which delivered wit and encouragement and things that people wanted to hear, because more than anything Elodie was nice.
Suddenly, however, she saw herself through the eyes of Jolyon Jukes and imagined him being slightly less than impressed by what he had seen: a gangly nineteen year old, unkempt and unsophisticated. And something primal in her told her it was very important that his second impression should be a better one. By the time he got to The Grey House, she determined to be gliding down the staircase, soigné and serene, in time to lead him through to the drawing room and offer him a cocktail.
Thereby playing the role her mother had been grooming her for since the dawn of time. Lillie had known, of course she had known, that this moment would come. Elodie, in her headstrong way, had resisted. Not that there was any animosity between them. Elodie wasn’t the type to invite animosity: Lillie was only ever exasperated with her daughter, and possibly slightly mystified by her lack of vanity. She never gave up presenting her with the very latest in skin creams and cosmetics. She brought her with her to the hairdresser and made him work his magic on Elodie’s thick, dark curls. She had dresses and coats made up for her and shoes delivered, but they rarely saw the light of day. Desmond just laughed, and told his wife she was wasting her time and his money. Lillie pouted and stamped her foot with the frustration of it all. ‘One day she will understand,’ she declared.
And, suddenly, Elodie did. It was sudden and startling and urgent, the feeling. No one had ever made her feel that way before.
She’d always been perfectly comfortable in the company of men. She held her own at the dinner table with her parents’ friends. She had male friends of her own with whom she played tennis and went to dances. She’d had several fumbling skirmishes after too much fruit punch, which she’d found more amusing than enjoyable, and certainly not upsetting – she wasn’t squeamish – but she couldn’t say she was longing for the next encounter; to embroil herself in the next kiss. They were all much of a muchness to her, men, and certainly not a source of fascination.
Jolyon Jukes, however, was different. Golden hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, but best of all a ready smile, he was confident without being cocky. The hairs on her arms had rippled as his gaze swept over her. His voice was light and dry and teasing; and there was a challenge in his eyes that Elodie couldn’t resist. She wasn’t entirely sure what that challenge was yet, but it had sparked something in her. Adrenaline fuelled her onwards, up the steps of the terrace, through the French windows, in through the drawing room, into the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom. Her heart carried on pounding even when she had regained her breath. She flew into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face to tone down the redness,
Having a beautiful mother when you yourself weren’t could have been a heavy cross to bear, but Elodie had spirit and a spark about her that was ultimately more pleasing to the casual observer than her mother’s Gallic perfection. She’d never been intimidated by her mother’s looks, and didn’t care that people probably compared them unfavourably. Her mind wasn’t exactly on higher things, but Elodie was cheerful and optimistic and interested – interested in everything and everyone – which gave her a more grounded view to life. Lillie, by comparison, was fragile and an air of simmering neurosis clung to her as surely as her scent.
There was nothing fragile about Elodie. She was solid. Besides, although she wasn’t delicate and ravishing like Lillie, her rather hooded sludge-grey eyes smiled, as did her full mouth which delivered wit and encouragement and things that people wanted to hear, because more than anything Elodie was nice.
Suddenly, however, she saw herself through the eyes of Jolyon Jukes and imagined him being slightly less than impressed by what he had seen: a gangly nineteen year old, unkempt and unsophisticated. And something primal in her told her it was very important that his second impression should be a better one. By the time he got to The Grey House, she determined to be gliding down the staircase, soigné and serene, in time to lead him through to the drawing room and offer him a cocktail.
Thereby playing the role her mother had been grooming her for since the dawn of time. Lillie had known, of course she had known, that this moment would come. Elodie, in her headstrong way, had resisted. Not that there was any animosity between them. Elodie wasn’t the type to invite animosity: Lillie was only ever exasperated with her daughter, and possibly slightly mystified by her lack of vanity. She never gave up presenting her with the very latest in skin creams and cosmetics. She brought her with her to the hairdresser and made him work his magic on Elodie’s thick, dark curls. She had dresses and coats made up for her and shoes delivered, but they rarely saw the light of day. Desmond just laughed, and told his wife she was wasting her time and his money. Lillie pouted and stamped her foot with the frustration of it all. ‘One day she will understand,’ she declared.
And, suddenly, Elodie did. It was sudden and startling and urgent, the feeling. No one had ever made her feel that way before.
She’d always been perfectly comfortable in the company of men. She held her own at the dinner table with her parents’ friends. She had male friends of her own with whom she played tennis and went to dances. She’d had several fumbling skirmishes after too much fruit punch, which she’d found more amusing than enjoyable, and certainly not upsetting – she wasn’t squeamish – but she couldn’t say she was longing for the next encounter; to embroil herself in the next kiss. They were all much of a muchness to her, men, and certainly not a source of fascination.
Jolyon Jukes, however, was different. Golden hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, but best of all a ready smile, he was confident without being cocky. The hairs on her arms had rippled as his gaze swept over her. His voice was light and dry and teasing; and there was a challenge in his eyes that Elodie couldn’t resist. She wasn’t entirely sure what that challenge was yet, but it had sparked something in her. Adrenaline fuelled her onwards, up the steps of the terrace, through the French windows, in through the drawing room, into the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom. Her heart carried on pounding even when she had regained her breath. She flew into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face to tone down the redness,
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