Read Online Walking Back to Happiness by Lucy Dillon - Free Book Online Page A

got in; there was only really one office skirt that fitted, and she didn’t dare risk any accidents.
    ‘I’ll get changed,’ she said. It was silly, but she didn’t feel relaxed, him in his suit, her with VPL, probably. A bit of her died inside. She hadn’t given VPL a moment’s thought until today. That’s what being back in a pencil skirt did. ‘Give me a moment, I’ll nip upstairs and get—’
    ‘No, just sit down!’ Peter’s frustrated tone was too forceful, but he heard it and smiled, quickly, softening his voice. ‘No, there’s no need. You look great as you are. Just sit down and relax. Tell me how today went.’
    ‘Um, it went pretty well,’ she said, editing out her skipped lunch and sneaky ‘what phone call?’ dash to pick up Toby. ‘I’ve been in court most of the day, waiting for witnesses. Some of them really milk it, turning up in shades and everything. You’d think they were on X Factor , the way they keep us waiting. Douglas has given me a really boring set of cases to start off with, probably checking my brain’s still where I left it.’
    ‘’Course it is.’ He poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.
    Louise eyed him. Was Peter actually listening? Didn’t he realise how genuinely worried she was, that she might not be able to pick it up again, especially with budget cuts?
    ‘How was your day?’ she asked politely, and Peter launched into a story about some approach from an ad agency in America who wanted them to write some viral game software for ‘a top secret client’, but who his co-director Jason reckoned might be some other company she hadn’t heard of either.
    Louise tried to listen and keep her face alert and engaged, but it was tough. She was tired. And Peter never focused on the interesting bits, like what the viral game might be. Or how long after Techmate’s first big-league deal ex-stoner Jason had stopped wearing trainers to work and started buying handmade Italian shoes.
    It had been exactly the same when Louise was at home: Peter would ask a few questions about Toby – the last thing she wanted to talk about after a whole day of nappies – then ramble on about work. He didn’t even sympathise with how knackered she was. He, on the other hand, was positively chirpy, as befitted someone who’d slept through Toby’s nocturnal operatics.
    Louise let him talk. It was easier. While he explained about the new engine Jason was developing, he served up a Waitrose Dine at Home chicken supreme with some salad, which Louise ate instead of the potatoes, mindful of her skirt. Peter was still rhapsodising about the commercial possibilities when he brought out a pair of crème brûlées.
    Louise let herself eat half, then pushed hers over to Peter. He tucked into it happily. He had the metabolism of a racehorse. It had been one of the things she’d fancied about him when they first met: his lanky arms sticking out of the hooded college sweatshirt. The archetypal cute geek.
    ‘Is there any reason for this?’ she asked, unable to stop herself as he topped up her wine glass. ‘I mean, the lovely meal and candlelight treatment?’
    Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘I know you spend a lot of time with devious people, but does there have to be a reason to make my wife supper?’
    ‘No,’ said Louise. ‘It’s just . . . you’ve gone to so much trouble.’
    ‘Well, I know we can’t go out without a big military operation, so I thought I’d bring the date home.’ He topped up his own glass and raised it in a toast. ‘Saves on the taxi. And babysitter.’
    ‘So this is a date?’ Louise’s mouth twitched.
    ‘Of course. Table for two at Chez Peter, couple of glasses of Chardonnay, Classic FM – limited menu, I’ll grant you, but the service is better than at La Galette.’ He smiled across the table, and the candlelight caught the romantic look in his eye. ‘And no one’s going to hurry us out after dessert.’ Peter stretched out his hand and slid his fingers