Read Online The Trouble With Emma by Katie Oliver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katie Oliver
Ads: Link
closet, and began to attack the Hoovering.
“Well done, daddy,” Emma scolded. “Here I am trying to build up Martine’s shaky self-confidence, and you refer to her as a ‘dairy maid’. You might as well have called her fat.” She let out an exasperated breath and turned away.
“I meant it as a compliment,” Mr Bennet called out after her in consternation. “Truly!”
He looked down at the pug as Emma stalked off. “There’s no pleasing women sometimes, is there, Elton?”
***
On Thursday morning Emma arrived at the bakery bright and early. She shook out her umbrella and put it aside – thankfully, the forecast said the rain would end later today – and wrinkled her nose as she stared down at her wellies.
She’d stepped in a pile of Elton’s poo on her way out the door.
With no time to change, she’d grabbed a pair of espadrilles from inside the front door, thrown them in her handbag, and left. She took the boots off now and replaced them with the rope-soled shoes and left them in the corner.
She’d rinse them off around the back before the shop opened.
Right now she had more pressing matters to deal with. “Boz, look what I’ve got,” she announced as she strode into the kitchen and brandished the twenty-pound note from Mr Churchill triumphantly over her head. “The missing money from Tuesday’s till.”
“I told you, Emma – there’s no need to pay it back,” Boz reminded her as he lifted out a batch of crullers from the frying oil.
“I know you did. But it isn’t
my
money, Boz; it’s my customer’s. He gave me a hundred-pound note, remember? I overpaid him when I made change and two of the notes stuck together. He realised my mistake later and he’s returned the money.”
“Oh! Well.” He eyed her in surprise. “Good job. How’d that come about? You didn’t work yesterday. You were off.”
“I ran into him yesterday morning. Literally,” she added, and smiled. She told him and Viv how Elton had escaped his lead and wriggled through the gates of Crossley Hall. “Mr Churchill introduced himself – he’s the new owner – and said he remembered me from the shop, and –” she beamed. “And he gave me back the twenty pounds. Wasn’t that incredibly decent of him?”
“Decent?” Viv sniffed. “It was only because you ran into him again and ’e had no choice, more like. Bet you’d never of seen that money otherwise.”
Emma bristled. “You’re wrong. Mr Churchill – James – is a lovely man,” she said in his defence.
Boz lifted his brow as he dipped a cooled doughnut into the vanilla glaze. “‘James’, is it?” he said thoughtfully. “‘Lovely’, is he?”
A flush warmed her cheeks. “He
is
lovely! He’s also wealthy. Why would he keep that extra twenty-pound note? He has no need of it.”
“Why?” Viv asked. “Because rich blokes are the worst. Tight with a penny, they are, and never leave a tip. Act like they’re skint all the time when they’re up to their arses in it. How else do you suppose they got all that dosh in the first place?”
“I’ll put the money away in the till,” Emma said, and turned away. “But you’re wrong, both of you. Mr Churchill is a good and honest man.”
As she returned to the front of the shop, Viv let out a snort. “That’s what they said about my cheating louse of an ex-husband. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, duck.”
Chapter 13
Just after nine, the bell jingled over the door.
Emma looked up from her perusal of a bakery supply catalogue with an expectant smile, hoping her first customer of the day would be Mr Churchill.
But the man who stood before the display case was tall, with dark hair. He wore the casually expensive clothes – cashmere sweater pushed up at the elbows, dark-washed jeans, a diver’s watch on his wrist – and the harried expression of a Londoner.
“May I help you?” she asked as she put the catalogue aside.
“I hope so. I’m looking for Litchfield Manor.” He reached
“Well done, daddy,” Emma scolded. “Here I am trying to build up Martine’s shaky self-confidence, and you refer to her as a ‘dairy maid’. You might as well have called her fat.” She let out an exasperated breath and turned away.
“I meant it as a compliment,” Mr Bennet called out after her in consternation. “Truly!”
He looked down at the pug as Emma stalked off. “There’s no pleasing women sometimes, is there, Elton?”
***
On Thursday morning Emma arrived at the bakery bright and early. She shook out her umbrella and put it aside – thankfully, the forecast said the rain would end later today – and wrinkled her nose as she stared down at her wellies.
She’d stepped in a pile of Elton’s poo on her way out the door.
With no time to change, she’d grabbed a pair of espadrilles from inside the front door, thrown them in her handbag, and left. She took the boots off now and replaced them with the rope-soled shoes and left them in the corner.
She’d rinse them off around the back before the shop opened.
Right now she had more pressing matters to deal with. “Boz, look what I’ve got,” she announced as she strode into the kitchen and brandished the twenty-pound note from Mr Churchill triumphantly over her head. “The missing money from Tuesday’s till.”
“I told you, Emma – there’s no need to pay it back,” Boz reminded her as he lifted out a batch of crullers from the frying oil.
“I know you did. But it isn’t
my
money, Boz; it’s my customer’s. He gave me a hundred-pound note, remember? I overpaid him when I made change and two of the notes stuck together. He realised my mistake later and he’s returned the money.”
“Oh! Well.” He eyed her in surprise. “Good job. How’d that come about? You didn’t work yesterday. You were off.”
“I ran into him yesterday morning. Literally,” she added, and smiled. She told him and Viv how Elton had escaped his lead and wriggled through the gates of Crossley Hall. “Mr Churchill introduced himself – he’s the new owner – and said he remembered me from the shop, and –” she beamed. “And he gave me back the twenty pounds. Wasn’t that incredibly decent of him?”
“Decent?” Viv sniffed. “It was only because you ran into him again and ’e had no choice, more like. Bet you’d never of seen that money otherwise.”
Emma bristled. “You’re wrong. Mr Churchill – James – is a lovely man,” she said in his defence.
Boz lifted his brow as he dipped a cooled doughnut into the vanilla glaze. “‘James’, is it?” he said thoughtfully. “‘Lovely’, is he?”
A flush warmed her cheeks. “He
is
lovely! He’s also wealthy. Why would he keep that extra twenty-pound note? He has no need of it.”
“Why?” Viv asked. “Because rich blokes are the worst. Tight with a penny, they are, and never leave a tip. Act like they’re skint all the time when they’re up to their arses in it. How else do you suppose they got all that dosh in the first place?”
“I’ll put the money away in the till,” Emma said, and turned away. “But you’re wrong, both of you. Mr Churchill is a good and honest man.”
As she returned to the front of the shop, Viv let out a snort. “That’s what they said about my cheating louse of an ex-husband. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, duck.”
Chapter 13
Just after nine, the bell jingled over the door.
Emma looked up from her perusal of a bakery supply catalogue with an expectant smile, hoping her first customer of the day would be Mr Churchill.
But the man who stood before the display case was tall, with dark hair. He wore the casually expensive clothes – cashmere sweater pushed up at the elbows, dark-washed jeans, a diver’s watch on his wrist – and the harried expression of a Londoner.
“May I help you?” she asked as she put the catalogue aside.
“I hope so. I’m looking for Litchfield Manor.” He reached
Similar Books
