A Face To Die For by Jan Warburton Read Free Book Online

feelings, I flickered a smile.
    Mrs Bundy eyed me, obviously conscious of my anxiety and misgivings.
    'I know it's a huge step up for you, my dear. However, we have great confidence in you, and of course Edward will give you all the support you need. You'll be fine. I'm certain you will make Miss Courtney a label that we'll all be immensely proud of.'
    'I ... I'll do my best.' My thoughts were still spinning.
    'I'm sure you will.' Charlotte Bundy rose, followed by Henry Clyde.
    Moving towards me they both held out their hands. 'Good luck,' they each said firmly.
    I shook their hands and left; still feeling nervous at the confidence they had in me. It was scary. Not usually prone to prayer I found myself praying as the lift took me downstairs. In spite of their faith in me - Edward's, too - how could I be sure I could measure up to the House of Courtney's exacting requirements?
    *
    Apart from briefly phoning Mum and Philip in Wales to tell them my amazing news, there wasn't much chance to discuss it in any detail, as I should liked to have done. They were delighted for me, of course.
    I rarely saw them nowadays. Our house in Ealing had been sold six months ago to continue financing the hotel renovations in North Wales, where they now stayed for longer periods. Our London home was currently a large two-bedroom flat above Philip's Jaspers restaurant overlooking Haven Green, just off Ealing Broadway. So, anxious to talk it over more fully with some family at least, I accepted an invitation for Sunday lunch from Mum's sister, Auntie Joan.
    Auntie Joan and Uncle Sid lived at Richmond near the river. Joan and Mum had always been close and looked very much alike; having the same heart shaped faces and wavy, darkish blonde hair. As children, Belinda and I loved to visit them, especially during those years after the war when our father had taken to drinking so heavily and become so bad tempered and difficult to live with. The war had always been given the reason for this, and yet if other men had returned from the fighting without having the same behavioural problems, why couldn’t our father? It was a pretty poor excuse as far as I could make out for the appalling way he treated my mother and us. Trips to Auntie Joan's on the number 65 bus from the top of our road were always a welcome relief from the miserable atmosphere that prevailed most of the time at home when Dad was around.
    Auntie Joan and Uncle Sid, who seemed to understand, had always made a great fuss of Belinda and me. They had no children of their own; all down to Uncle having been invalided out of the army during the war. He had a shattered leg. I can remember often wondering how on earth a leg injury could possibly effect them having children? Then later on I learned that not only had his upper leg been partially shot way, but most of his testicles too. Nonetheless, he was a remarkably genial man and I always felt because of this he shamed my father all the more.
    I hadn't seen Joan and Sid for some considerable time and it was always a delight to have the chance to enjoy another of Auntie's memorable Sunday lunches.
    In no time after I'd arrived I started telling them all about my new job at Courtney’s.
    'Oh how lovely, Annabel! What a wonderful opportunity for you, dear!' Aunty Joan passed me a plate of the roast beef Uncle Sid had just carved. ‘Help yourself to a Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots … and gravy’s in that jug over there.’
    I was ravenous. The past weeks managing on my own, I'd made do with mostly snack meals. In fact I was probably becoming egg bound; poached or scrambled, it was just so easy. This is a feast indeed, I thought, and as I piled my plate high, I chatted on, telling them about my wonderful job. I also had to make sure I’d allowed room for a piece of Joan’s famous blackberry and apple crumble with custard afterwards.
    Uncle Sid put down the carving knife and slowly sat down in his chair. It seemed he was