A Most Desirable Marriage by Hilary Boyd Read Free Book Online Page A

green, heading for Waitrose in Westfield. It was an indulgence, Tesco was much closer and cheaper, but Donna was bored with it and wanted something different. Max trotted along on his lead between them.
    ‘No, seriously, darling. He’s Swedish and in publishing . . . totally unattached. You’ll love him.’
    ‘And when exactly did you meet a Swedish publisher?’
    Donna chuckled. ‘Oh, you know. Out and about.’
    Jo had lost track of her friend’s social life since Walter had been given his marching orders. But Donna was eclectic; she seemed to know everybody from ambassadors to sculptors to property developers to film directors and journalists, having a particular penchant for older, successful males. She was discreet about her dalliances with these (frequently married) men, even with Jo, who had voted early on not to be too involved in the detail, knowing the liaisons were always fleeting and that at the first whiff of commitment, Donna would be running hard in the opposite direction.
    ‘Just a drink, perhaps dinner. He’s such a sweetie. It’d do you good to hang out with a man again. He’s not after sex.’
    ‘You asked him, did you?’
    ‘Well . . . not exactly. And of course, never say never. But I meant he’s a gentleman. He wouldn’t leap on you if you didn’t want it.’
    Joanna sighed. ‘I can’t.’ She hadn’t been out since getting back from Cassie’s. She cried a lot – seemed like the more she practised the more proficient she became – but it felt soothing, not despairing and she didn’t hold back. And the outside world seemed to be a threatening place. She had no idea how she fitted in now she was on her own.
    Lawrence had been to the house while she was away, and taken more of his things. His wardrobe was almost bare now, only a very old pair of trainers on the floor, a jacket he never liked and a couple of summer shirts swinging on the empty rail. One, a baggy, viciously bright aquamarine cotton, they had bought when Lawrence’s case failed to materialize on what was supposed to be a romantic weekend in Barcelona. Jo remembered how excited she’d been to get away alone with Lawrence, the children left with his parents in Suffolk. But losing the case had cast a bit of a pall over their time together, Lawrence – cheapskate that he was – loath to spend money on a decent shirt he didn’t need, but also hating people thinking he wore cheap ones from Carrefour. In the end, though, the shirt had made her laugh so much that his good mood had been restored.
    Not knowing that he’d been back, the sight of the empty wardrobe had made Jo gasp. It felt like burglary, as if she’d been robbed. Which I have, she’d thought, gazing at the space where her husband’s clothes had hung for more than thirty years – the scent of him, so comforting and familiar, gone too. She had wanted to ring him right then, the phone poised in her hand. Wanted to scream at him until her throat closed up. But she hadn’t.
    Donna stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face her.
    ‘Look, darling, I’m not asking you to fall in love or even bonk the man. I’ll be there too, so it won’t seem like a date. I just think it’d be fun for you both, get you out of that house for a change. Go on, give it a try. He’s only over here till Monday, so if it’s a total disaster you never have to see him again.’ She was peering up into Jo’s face, her light eyes full of amused entreaty.
    ‘Why is he on his own?’ Jo asked, giving herself time to think about her friend’s request.
    ‘Divorced. Everyone in Sweden is divorced . . . well, slight exaggeration, but over fifty per cent according to Brian.’
    ‘Brian? Who’s Brian?’
    ‘This Swedish guy I’m telling you about? Do keep up.’
    ‘He can’t be called
Brian
.’
    ‘It’s a perfectly normal Swedish name. They’re not all called Lars or Sven you know.’ Donna’s tone was huffy in the face of Jo’s mockery, and to appease her friend