A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1) by H.Y. Hanna Read Free Book Online Page B

horrible, common word. No, no, you see… I was chatting with Helen Green the other day and she mentioned that Lincoln is back in Oxford now. He’s got a consultant position at the John Radcliffe, in their ICU Department. And I thought: what a wonderful coincidence! You’re both back again after a long time away—perhaps it would be a good idea for you to get together and swap notes—”
    “Mother!” I said, forgetting the rule about restrained, ladylike volume. “I do not need you to set up a date for me with Lincoln Green!”
    “Oh, but it’s not a date , really. It’s just sort of… socialising. He’s ever so nice—and Helen tells me that he’s one of the top Intensive Care specialists in the U.K., you know. He’s bought a townhouse here in North Oxford—a beautiful Victorian maisonette.” She looked around distractedly. “Helen gave me his number and if I can just get into my iPad, I could find it for you… I don’t know why, darling, but my password isn’t working…”
    “Did you capitalise the first letter? You know that the first letter is always a capital in your Apple ID password.”
    “Oh… is it, dear? Well, you’ll have to show me after dinner.”
    That would be the sixth time I’d showed her this week. I sighed. I don’t know what had possessed me to suggest that my mother should get an iPad.
    My mother was continuing, “Helen sent me a recent photo of Lincoln and my, he’s grown up into such a handsome young man! It seems like only yesterday that he was that adorable little boy going off to Eton and now he’s a dashing young doctor.” She sighed dreamily.
    I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. I was sure Lincoln Green was a lovely chap. In fact, I’d sort of known him since childhood. Helen Green was my mother’s closest friend and Lincoln and his younger sister, Vanessa, had been frequent visitors to our house when we were growing up. I remembered a tall, serious-looking boy with impeccable manners. I was sure he had grown up into a very nice young man but I had no particular desire to renew the acquaintance. Nevertheless, from the look my mother was giving me, I could see that I was not going to avoid this acquaintance easily. I wondered if it might be easier just to have the date with him and get it over with.
    My mother was saying something which brought me back to the present. Something about a book club and her turn to host the meeting this coming Sunday.
    “I’m sure you’d like to join the club, now that you’re back,” she said.
    I groaned. “Mother, I’m not really into book clubs. I like to read what I fancy, when I fancy—the minute I get told I must read something, it totally puts me off the book.”
    “Well, I think you should get involved with some local community activities,” said my mother severely. “It is the best way to make connections and meet the right sort of people. We’re very exclusive in our book club and only admit a certain class of member.”
    I shuddered. The last thing I wanted to do was sit around for a couple of hours making small talk with my mother’s snooty middle-class friends.
    “Well, I don’t want to sit around with a bunch of strangers, arguing over whether the author meant the blue curtains to signify depression or hope—when it probably didn’t have any special meaning at all and he just liked the colour.”
    “Oh, but they’re not all strangers. You do know some of them—like Dorothy Clarke and Eliza Whitfield… oh, and Mabel Cooke has just joined too.”
    There was no way I was going to join this book club now!
    “Sunday mornings I’m busy,” I said quickly. “I’ve got the tearoom, remember? Saturdays and Sundays are our busiest days.”
    My mother frowned. “Really, Gemma… This ludicrous business with the tearoom…”
    I sighed and tuned her out as I focused on finishing the rest of my dinner. For dessert, we had a spotted dick—that wonderful British classic made with delicious