Read Online Viridian Tears by Rachel Green - Free Book Online Page A

honey to her trolley. She wondered if he was on the electoral roll or if she could snag his address from the restaurant. She pushed the trolley to the drinks section.
    When she got home she squeezed half a lemon into a cup, added a spoonful of honey and a generous measure of whisky and topped it up with hot water. She sipped it if front of the computer while she performed internet searches on Shirley Burbridge and Federico. There was nothing new about Shirley or Edward but the time served a useful purpose in refreshing her memory.
    Federico was more of a problem She didn’t know his last name and was stuck searching for ‘Federico,’ ‘Laverstone’ and ‘Corleone’s’. It gave her the address of the restaurant, which would have been helpful had she not been there a dozen times and the telephone number but there was no associated website. It would show her a map, print her directions to the restaurant from Timbuktu if she wanted them but wouldn’t tell her who worked there.
    She glanced at her watch. It was only just after four and the restaurant didn’t open until six. She picked up the phone and rang them, expecting to speak to Mr. Corleone and was surprised by the flat, English accent of the man who took the call.
    “Corleone’s.”
    “Hello. May I speak to the staff manager, please? This is the Inland Revenue PAYE office in Peterborough.”
    “Hold on, love, I’ll fetch him.”
    There were some clunks and hissing and an Italian voice came on the line. “This is-a Corleone’s. Luigi speaking.”
    Michelle frowned. “You’re the same person I was just speaking to, only putting on a terrible accent.”
    “No no. This is-a Luigi. How can I be helping you?”
    “I’m reviewing your tax returns and there’s a stain of what looks to be tomato sauce on the sheet. With regard to your list of employees, I can see the first name but not the surname or the address.”
    “Oh. Okay.”
    “So my question is this. What is the family name of your waiter Frederico?”
    “Frederico? You mean Federico?”
    “Er…I suppose so. The ink’s run so I can’t tell.”
    “Poverelli. Federico Poverelli. Fourteen Bank Street, Laverstone.”
    “Marvelous, thank you.” Michelle put the phone down, a smile on her face. A lot could be done with a word or two in the right ear, spoken by, say, the long-dead uncle of a council official’s wife. Mrs. Poverelli could find herself suddenly deported leaving Federico alone and in need of consolation.
    The back door opened and Graham walked in. “Shell?”
    Michelle closed the tab on her browser with the restaurant search and went into the kitchen. “What are you doing here? I don’t need you until eight o’clock.”
    “I got the afternoon off. I wondered if we could have dinner or something.” He put a cardboard box on the counter top. “I bought some fresh fish. Thought we could have fish and chips, maybe.”
    “Dinner?” Michelle looked pointedly at the kitchen clock. “It’s only twenty past four. Wouldn’t it be a bit early?”
    “Not by the time I cook it.” Graham fished in the box. “Look. I got a bottle of Lambrusco to go with it. A touch of elegance, yeah?”
    “Elegance?” Michelle was about to launch into the definition of elegance when she saw the look on Graham’s face. If she crushed him now he might never recover and, more to the point, he might realize she would never be in love with him and leave her high and dry. That would be the end of her burgeoning business as a spiritualist because she’d be forced to go back to office drudgery just to cover the rent.
    “Tell you what.” She stepped closer and straightened his lapel. “I don’t really fancy battered cod. How about you take me to that Italian restaurant I like, eh? I really fancy a plate of fettuccini.” She tapped his cheek playfully. “Who knows? There might even be fellatio for you afterward.”
    Graham turned his nose up. “I don’t really like Italian food. Couldn’t we do that