Read Online The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous by Jilly Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Jilly Cooper
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'EastEnders is on in a minute.' He got up to turn on the television. 'Then let's go clubbing later, Ferd. My overdraft's so big I might as well make it bigger. I must just check my horoscope,' he added, switching over to Ceefax and Patric Walker.
'It'll tell you the debtors' prison is looming,' said Ferdie.Turning off the television, he sat Lysander down and made him open the brown envelopes. The bills were horrific.
'Barclaycard, Ladbroke's, Foxtrot Oscar, Tramps, British Telecom,' intoned Ferdie. 'Christ, your telephone bill's longer than your telephone number.'
'It's not all me.'
'The long-distance calls are itemized and all to Dolly. And how in hell did you spend seven hundred pounds at Janet Reger?'
That was Dolly's Christmas present.'
'Not to mention bills for bootmakers, saddlers, vets, feed bills, livery fees, blacksmith, Interflora; and here's a letter from the off-licence complaining your cheque bounced. How did you manage to run up a bill for five hundred pounds at an off-licence?'
The girl with the big boobs lets me have it on tick. It's useful when we have parties.' Having filled up his glass, Lysander filled up Jack's water-bowl. 'I watched satellite in Palm Beach. You can watch racing twenty-four hours a day. Turn on the telly. It'll be The Bill in a minute.'
'You are not going to watch anything,' snapped Ferdie, stacking the bills tidily and chucking the brown envelopes in the waste-paper basket. 'You owe me four months' rent and you can at least sign on tomorrow.'
Lysander shuddered. 'They might find me a job. Basically, I need a holiday.'
'Matt Gibson saved his dole money for six months and went skiing,' said Ferdie sternly.
'I've never saved anything in my life. OK, I'll go and tap Dad tomorrow.'
Knowing how Lysander loathed going to see his father, Ferdie relented. Ringing a head-hunting friend called Roger Westwood, he arranged for Lysander to see him the following day.
There's a PR job going,' said Ferdie switching off the telephone. The firm's got two bloodstock agencies and a polo club. At least you know something about horses.'But turning round, he found Lysander had fallen asleep with Jack clutched in his arms like a teddy bear. He looked about twelve. He could sleep anywhere, curling up in patches of sunlight like a cat. Sighing, Ferdie removed his shoes and covered him with his own duvet.
Ferdie had a rotten morning taking some Arabs (who had no idea what they were looking for and who hardly spoke any English) round a big block of luxury flats in Chelsea Harbour. The weather was even meaner than yesterday There were no meters and Ferdie had to put his BMW convertible in a car-park, forcing the Arabs to walk two hundred yards with a bitter east wind whipping up their robes. They were then so picky that Ferdie's good nature ran out. Shoving them into a taxi instead of driving them back to Claridge's, he returned to bung the porter, who often tipped him off if people were moving out, about new flats coming on to the market.
Ringing the office from his car, he learnt that a Greek couple had ratted on a deal on a half a million pounds Radnor Walk house.
Twelve thousand pounds the poorer, Ferdie abandoned his perennial diet and mindlessly devoured two bacon rolls. Ringing Lysander to check he was on course for the interview with Roger Westwood he got no answer. Ferdie cursed. Roger was a vital contact because people he placed in jobs were often moving and needed to sell houses and buy new ones. Ferdie was putting his own reputation on the line, sending Lysander to see him. He'd better go back to Fountain Street to see what was going on.
Lysander appeared compliant but ended up doing! exactly what he chose. Ferdie was reminded of an English] Setter his family had once owned, who was beautiful, sweet natured, thick but also cunning, with a
'EastEnders is on in a minute.' He got up to turn on the television. 'Then let's go clubbing later, Ferd. My overdraft's so big I might as well make it bigger. I must just check my horoscope,' he added, switching over to Ceefax and Patric Walker.
'It'll tell you the debtors' prison is looming,' said Ferdie.Turning off the television, he sat Lysander down and made him open the brown envelopes. The bills were horrific.
'Barclaycard, Ladbroke's, Foxtrot Oscar, Tramps, British Telecom,' intoned Ferdie. 'Christ, your telephone bill's longer than your telephone number.'
'It's not all me.'
'The long-distance calls are itemized and all to Dolly. And how in hell did you spend seven hundred pounds at Janet Reger?'
That was Dolly's Christmas present.'
'Not to mention bills for bootmakers, saddlers, vets, feed bills, livery fees, blacksmith, Interflora; and here's a letter from the off-licence complaining your cheque bounced. How did you manage to run up a bill for five hundred pounds at an off-licence?'
The girl with the big boobs lets me have it on tick. It's useful when we have parties.' Having filled up his glass, Lysander filled up Jack's water-bowl. 'I watched satellite in Palm Beach. You can watch racing twenty-four hours a day. Turn on the telly. It'll be The Bill in a minute.'
'You are not going to watch anything,' snapped Ferdie, stacking the bills tidily and chucking the brown envelopes in the waste-paper basket. 'You owe me four months' rent and you can at least sign on tomorrow.'
Lysander shuddered. 'They might find me a job. Basically, I need a holiday.'
'Matt Gibson saved his dole money for six months and went skiing,' said Ferdie sternly.
'I've never saved anything in my life. OK, I'll go and tap Dad tomorrow.'
Knowing how Lysander loathed going to see his father, Ferdie relented. Ringing a head-hunting friend called Roger Westwood, he arranged for Lysander to see him the following day.
There's a PR job going,' said Ferdie switching off the telephone. The firm's got two bloodstock agencies and a polo club. At least you know something about horses.'But turning round, he found Lysander had fallen asleep with Jack clutched in his arms like a teddy bear. He looked about twelve. He could sleep anywhere, curling up in patches of sunlight like a cat. Sighing, Ferdie removed his shoes and covered him with his own duvet.
Ferdie had a rotten morning taking some Arabs (who had no idea what they were looking for and who hardly spoke any English) round a big block of luxury flats in Chelsea Harbour. The weather was even meaner than yesterday There were no meters and Ferdie had to put his BMW convertible in a car-park, forcing the Arabs to walk two hundred yards with a bitter east wind whipping up their robes. They were then so picky that Ferdie's good nature ran out. Shoving them into a taxi instead of driving them back to Claridge's, he returned to bung the porter, who often tipped him off if people were moving out, about new flats coming on to the market.
Ringing the office from his car, he learnt that a Greek couple had ratted on a deal on a half a million pounds Radnor Walk house.
Twelve thousand pounds the poorer, Ferdie abandoned his perennial diet and mindlessly devoured two bacon rolls. Ringing Lysander to check he was on course for the interview with Roger Westwood he got no answer. Ferdie cursed. Roger was a vital contact because people he placed in jobs were often moving and needed to sell houses and buy new ones. Ferdie was putting his own reputation on the line, sending Lysander to see him. He'd better go back to Fountain Street to see what was going on.
Lysander appeared compliant but ended up doing! exactly what he chose. Ferdie was reminded of an English] Setter his family had once owned, who was beautiful, sweet natured, thick but also cunning, with a
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