Read Online Wickham Hall, Part 2 by Cathy Bramley - Free Book Online Page A

to steal the little girl’s nose. ‘Let’s hope not, Phoebe, because I think it would be very uncomfortable for the poor chicken.’
    And then he began dancing on the spot and smacking the back of his shorts as though he was being attacked by invisible ants. The children loved him. Just as I knew they would. Ever since he’d shown me the moorhen and her chicks I’d been trying to give him the chance to be a granddad, even if only for a few hours. He was in his element and I was pleased as punch for him. I ticked ‘check up on nature trail’ off my list and headed towards the café.
    I bought a pot of tea and a strawberry tart and chose a table outside, tucked into a shady corner. In theory my out-of-office jobs were done and I could go back inside, but as Ben had taken over the room with his easel this morning, I decided to work on the festival show guide in the courtyard instead.
    I poured a cup of tea, spread out the paperwork and then sliced the strawberry tart into quarters. I blinked at it: I’d bought Esme’s favourite cake without realizing, a sure sign that I was missing her already.
    It was well over a week since Esme and I had had our falling-out. Technically I supposed we hadn’t rowed, I’d been the one to blame, overreacting about the whole ‘who’s the daddy’ thing.
    We rarely rowed and it had left both of us shaken but we had smoothed things out by the following weekend.
    I’d apologized and she’d admitted that she’d got carried away with her Lord Fortescue theory, forgetting for a moment what the implications were for Mum and me. In the end we’d agreed that it was far more likely that Mum had simply had a fling with someone she’d rather not keep in touch with. I was glad we’d made up when we did because she and Bryony had made a snap decision to close Joop for a couple of weeks, regardless of the profit implications, and had flown off to Dubai to join Esme’s dad. I was super pleased for them. Not least because the shop was normally open seven days a week and they were in dire need of a break. But also they could discuss as a family what to do with Joop in the light of Bryony’s arthritis.
    I was completely used to my friend jetting off to spend time with her little family unit of three, but this year I was particularly aware of the dad-shaped hole in my own life.
    I sipped at my tea and mentally brushed away that particular niggle.
No time for daydreaming, Holly Swift
, I told myself firmly: the copy for the festival guide was due at the printers that afternoon and I still had a few pages to check.
    I immersed myself in the artwork, sorting any typesetting issues and spelling mistakes with a stroke of my red pen. I’d reached the itinerary page for the last day when a shadow fell across me and a slight breeze made my paperwork lift from the table.
    It was Nikki wafting herself with her sun hat. ‘What are you doing out here, fallen out with Benedict?’ she asked with a grin.
    â€˜No, not at all,’ I said smoothly, ‘the office just gets a bit heated at this time of day with the two of us in it.’
    Nikki laughed and pulled out a chair to sit on. ‘I bet it does.’
    I felt a flush rise to my face. ‘The way the sun comes round, I mean, at noon.’
    â€˜Sure.’ She winked.
    I busied myself pouring out a second cup of tea while the colour on my cheeks subsided.
    The truth was that I was finding it increasingly difficult to spend time alone with Ben in our office. It wasn’t just that he insisted on having a radio on all the time, or that occasionally paint flicked from his brush onto my desk, or even that he was still, even now, with two weeks left until the festival, randomly bursting out with ‘hey, what about . . .?’ and then embarking on an enthusiastic explanation as to why we should incorporate his latest idea into the schedule.
    No, I could just about