Read Online Viridian Tears by Rachel Green - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rachel Green
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another night? I right fancy cod and chips.”
“Pizza? You like pizza.”
“Yes. Can we have pizza? “
“You can have pizza at Corleone’s. They open at six so we’ll have time to eat before we go to Shirley Burbridge’s. I’ll book us a table, shall I?”
“All right.” Graham began to unpack the groceries he’d bought, putting the bag of fresh cod straight into the freezer with a heavy sigh.
Michelle stood over him and lightly kissed the top of his head. “We’ll have your cod tomorrow, eh? Maybe with new potatoes and peas and a butter sauce. You like butter, don’t you?” She shook his shoulder lightly and he grinned. “You do, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I like butter. ‘No buts, it’s got to be butter.’” An advertising slogan tripped off his lips.
“There you go. Italian tonight and I’ll cook tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He stacked the rest of the food in the cupboards, somewhat cheered and Michelle phoned to book a table relieved she’d averted an emotional disaster. When she replaced the phone on the cradle she picked up her honey and lemon again. It was long cold but the whisky still burned her throat as it went down. She popped a couple of paracetamol to be on the safe side.
“Have you thought of anything for the séance tonight?”
Graham turned and pressed the palm of his right hand to his cheek. He’d been raised by his aunt and Michelle could remember the woman having the same gesture. “It depends if they give us any time alone in the room.” He dug into his pockets. “I’ve got fishing line to move curtains and stuff. Puffers for cold draughts. Epsom salts if there’s a fire.”
“Nothing obvious. We can’t afford for them to twig it’s all fake.”
“’Course not, Shell.”
“See that they don’t.” She looked at her watch. “It’s quarter to five now so that gives us an hour. You get in the shower while I get dressed. We have to look our best for Mrs. High-and-Mighty, don’t we?”
“What should I wear?”
“Put on a shirt and tie. And trousers, not jeans, and shoes instead of those ratty old trainers.” She smiled at him. He was a genial man and a lot of women would be pleased to have him looking after them. He just wasn’t exciting. She needed a man who would make her heart beat faster every time she looked at him. Someone who would woo her with romance and make every night a wild ride of lust and passion. She nodded at Graham as he trooped up the stairs. Graham’s idea of passion was having chocolate sauce on his ice cream.
The boom of the shower going on upstairs shook her out of her momentary reverie and she sat at the computer again. She typed Federico Poverelli into the search engine and was rewarded with links to his Facespace page, a blog account and a newspaper article.
She scanned the latter. It was an account of a trial in Laverstone court where Federico had been accused of poisoning a woman called Emily Robbins. He’d been acquitted on the testimony of Edward Burbridge, who gave Federico an alibi for the day of the poisoning.
Michelle added the page to her bookmarks folder and turned to the blog. Federico was an ad-hoc blogger, interspersing pictures he’d taken of Laverstone with others of dishes he’d prepared and observances of English life from the point of view of an Italian man. She added that site and turned to the Facespace page. There he was, twinkling eyes and pencil moustache smiling out of the page. She hovered the mouse over the Add Friend button for a moment. On the one hand, she didn’t want to reveal her interest but on the other, she couldn’t see his complete profile without him friending her.
She clicked the button just as she heard the shower stop.
Chapter 8
Meinwen sat on one of the questioning trees at the edge of the crooked forest and opened a new page of her sketchbook. It was a curious area of Hobb’s Wood, where a series of pine trees had been bent to a ninety degree angle at their base.
“Pizza? You like pizza.”
“Yes. Can we have pizza? “
“You can have pizza at Corleone’s. They open at six so we’ll have time to eat before we go to Shirley Burbridge’s. I’ll book us a table, shall I?”
“All right.” Graham began to unpack the groceries he’d bought, putting the bag of fresh cod straight into the freezer with a heavy sigh.
Michelle stood over him and lightly kissed the top of his head. “We’ll have your cod tomorrow, eh? Maybe with new potatoes and peas and a butter sauce. You like butter, don’t you?” She shook his shoulder lightly and he grinned. “You do, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I like butter. ‘No buts, it’s got to be butter.’” An advertising slogan tripped off his lips.
“There you go. Italian tonight and I’ll cook tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He stacked the rest of the food in the cupboards, somewhat cheered and Michelle phoned to book a table relieved she’d averted an emotional disaster. When she replaced the phone on the cradle she picked up her honey and lemon again. It was long cold but the whisky still burned her throat as it went down. She popped a couple of paracetamol to be on the safe side.
“Have you thought of anything for the séance tonight?”
Graham turned and pressed the palm of his right hand to his cheek. He’d been raised by his aunt and Michelle could remember the woman having the same gesture. “It depends if they give us any time alone in the room.” He dug into his pockets. “I’ve got fishing line to move curtains and stuff. Puffers for cold draughts. Epsom salts if there’s a fire.”
“Nothing obvious. We can’t afford for them to twig it’s all fake.”
“’Course not, Shell.”
“See that they don’t.” She looked at her watch. “It’s quarter to five now so that gives us an hour. You get in the shower while I get dressed. We have to look our best for Mrs. High-and-Mighty, don’t we?”
“What should I wear?”
“Put on a shirt and tie. And trousers, not jeans, and shoes instead of those ratty old trainers.” She smiled at him. He was a genial man and a lot of women would be pleased to have him looking after them. He just wasn’t exciting. She needed a man who would make her heart beat faster every time she looked at him. Someone who would woo her with romance and make every night a wild ride of lust and passion. She nodded at Graham as he trooped up the stairs. Graham’s idea of passion was having chocolate sauce on his ice cream.
The boom of the shower going on upstairs shook her out of her momentary reverie and she sat at the computer again. She typed Federico Poverelli into the search engine and was rewarded with links to his Facespace page, a blog account and a newspaper article.
She scanned the latter. It was an account of a trial in Laverstone court where Federico had been accused of poisoning a woman called Emily Robbins. He’d been acquitted on the testimony of Edward Burbridge, who gave Federico an alibi for the day of the poisoning.
Michelle added the page to her bookmarks folder and turned to the blog. Federico was an ad-hoc blogger, interspersing pictures he’d taken of Laverstone with others of dishes he’d prepared and observances of English life from the point of view of an Italian man. She added that site and turned to the Facespace page. There he was, twinkling eyes and pencil moustache smiling out of the page. She hovered the mouse over the Add Friend button for a moment. On the one hand, she didn’t want to reveal her interest but on the other, she couldn’t see his complete profile without him friending her.
She clicked the button just as she heard the shower stop.
Chapter 8
Meinwen sat on one of the questioning trees at the edge of the crooked forest and opened a new page of her sketchbook. It was a curious area of Hobb’s Wood, where a series of pine trees had been bent to a ninety degree angle at their base.
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