Marrying Up by Wendy Holden Read Free Book Online

forgiven,’ Max said gently, jolting Polly out of her trance. She blushed.
    ‘Forgiven for what?’ Kyle was demanding.
    Napoleon gave Polly another grateful lick. She poked him. ‘You’re forgiven, you old ham.’
    ‘Isn’t he just.’ Max was shaking his head, smiling. ‘I’ve brought your bike back, by the way.’
    ‘The porter at the garden gate’s got it. I didn’t want to leave it in the bike racks in case someone stole it.’
    Polly glanced at him; was he teasing her? Who in their right mind, after all, would steal Mrs Pankhurst? ‘Thank you,’ she
     muttered, as crowds of butterflies wheeled round her stomach.
    ‘I mended the puncture,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘And I cleaned it.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘So you have to come out for a drink with me now, don’t you?’
    Polly sensed the children listening. Self-consciousness rushed in on her like a tidal wave.
    ‘You don’t have to,’ she said, more grumpily than she’d intended.
    ‘Oh
miss
!’ she heard Poppy say under her breath. Kyle, meanwhile, clutched his hands to his head as if his favourite team had missed
     a goal.
    ‘I know,’ Max said easily, skating over her mood as if it was ice. ‘But I’d like to. I’ll come and pick you up, shall I? I
     know where you live, as they say.’
    Alexa had spent the morning in her bedroom reading
Socialite
magazine. The idea of working there, which had suggested itself so unexpectedly in the pub, had gathered momentum overnight.
    It had, Alexa was sure, come straight from the desperate depths of her unconscious. But as a solution to her problems, it
     could scarcely be bettered. An upmarket glossy magazine, the sort that covered the grandest weddings and parties and employed
     scions of the nobility in exchange for access to their address books wasexactly where she needed to be in order to gatecrash her way back into society. Why had she not thought of it before?
    And yet two considerable obstacles stood between Alexa and the realisation of this ambition. Getting the job in the first
     place would be difficult. Positions on glossy magazines were highly sought after. Applying in the normal way would be pointless.
     She would be in competition with the best-connected people in the country.
    The second problem was accommodation in London. Many of her university friends had homes in the capital. But thanks to the
     disaster that had been Reinhardt, Alexa was no longer in touch with any of them. She had burnt all her bridges, and with them
     all possibilities of free accommodation.
    ‘Dinner!’ yelled Mum from the bottom of the stairs.
Lunch
, Alexa corrected silently as she reluctantly sloped downstairs.
    Dad, already tucking into pork pie and beans at the kitchen table, eyed her as she drifted through the door. No one at home
     ever waited for everyone to sit down, Alexa thought disdainfully. Still less stand behind their chairs until all diners were
     present.
    ‘Got some news for you,’ Dad announced, tipping more ketchup on his pie. Alexa’s stomach twisted in disgust. She
hated
ketchup.
    ‘What news?’ she asked haughtily, sitting down and deploring the absence of a napkin. Unless he was about to announce the
     acquisition of a penthouse in Mayfair, or the takeover of the publishers that owned
Socialite
, nothing he could say could possibly interest her.
    ‘Need a job, don’t you?’ Dad demanded. ‘Well, they’ve got vacancies at Tesco.’
    Alexa felt as if she had been shot. She doubted a more shocking thing had ever been said to her in the course of her entire
     life; Atticus’s death and Reinhardt’s father included. She choked, even though she had not eaten anything. ‘
Tesco!
’ she managed after a glass of water.
    ‘Yes,’ Dad said, fixing her with an oddly piercing stare. ‘Tesco. They treat their staff well. Perfectly good career.’
    It was crucial not to panic. Playing for time, Alexa slid her shaking knife into the enormous lump of greasy pork pie that
     lay on her