The House with Blue Shutters by Lisa Hilton Read Free Book Online

defensively. ‘I really am sure, you know. Claudia’s a wonderful girl.’ He paused, coy with sincerity. ‘I love
     her very much.’
    ‘Of course you do,’ said Jonathan quickly, ‘she seems very nice, attractive, bright.’
    They sipped their drinks.
    ‘Do you know her family?’
    ‘The father’s dead. Claudia’s an only child and her motherlives in Spain. They don’t seem very close. I had lunch with her, the mother, when she was over for a weekend. She’s fine.’
    ‘Selling the flat?’
    ‘Claudia wants us both to. I’d rather hang on, to be honest, see what the market’s going to do.’
    ‘You think you’ll make more if you wait?’
    Alex told Jonathan about a friend of his who had made a fortune with two ex-council properties on a buy-to-let mortgage in
     Hackney. Jonathan asked which areas he thought were up-and-coming, Alex talked about nought per cent finance deals on prospective
     rental properties, and the advantages of living a bit further out. They finished their beer and had another. It was a very
     satisfactory conversation.
    The Glovers came to supper on Saturday evening. They lived in a little stone barn at Saintonge, part of what had once been
     a pig farm. Charlotte, who used to teach ceramics at a College of Further Education, had cleverly turned one of the sties
     into a kiln. Malcolm had worked in a bank.
    ‘Oh God!’ laughed Claudia charmingly, ‘I came here to escape from bankers!’
    Malcolm Glover looked a little offended.
    ‘Who were you with?’ asked Alex, certain that they would know someone in common. Malcolm explained that he had been a branch
     manager at the HSBC in Tunbridge Wells. Claudia stopped herself from saying how funny, I didn’t think anyone truly came from
     Tunbridge Wells.
    Malcolm smiled and said, ‘Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells?’
    ‘You must show Claudia my jug, Aisling,’ said Charlotte, later.
    Aisling went indoors and returned with a green jug. ‘How pretty,’ Claudia exclaimed. ‘What kind of a glaze did you use to
     get that effect of depth?’
    ‘Well,’ answered Charlotte, ‘the colours here are so inspiring. I made a series called seasons, you see, each inspired by
     the different colours of the seasons, and this jug is “June” for the colours of the leaves when they are so full on the trees.’
    Malcolm said, ‘Contented of Tunbridge Wells, I should think. I don’t know how you do it, Aisling. I wish Charlotte could cook
     like you!’ Everyone laughed, this was a familiar topic.
    Aisling arranged her face. ‘But Charlotte’s cassoulet is divine. I can never get that depth of flavour. Do you use a special
     pot?’
    Aisling had cooked individual goat cheese soufflés, a Portuguese-inspired fish stew with pancetta and chickpeas, and the pistachio
     custard. The Froggetts had not seemed distressed by the baked peaches, though the elder daughter was a vegan, which was a
     bore. She had decided that she really disliked Claudia, and listening to her make poor Charlotte look small was in some way
     satisfactory. Claudia drank a lot, she thought, finishing her aperitif before anyone else, and knocking back Armagnac like
     a man. This was also satisfactory. Aisling did not particularly like her friend Charlotte, when it came to it, she found her
     woolly, though she was certainly more interesting than Malcolm, but then living abroad did mean that one had to find one’s
     friends where one could, and poor Charlotte had a kind heart.
    Malcolm and Charlotte made love vigorously on the sofa in their converted barn. They liked it there, because Malcolmcould enter Charlotte from behind while her head was propped comfortably over the back. Afterwards, Malcolm lit a lavender
     candle and poured them out a glass of whisky to share. The Glovers had very little money. Charlotte lay naked on the ethnic
     cushions, stroking Malcolm’s shoulder and occasionally raising her head to give it a soft, clinging kiss. Malcolm stroked
     her plump tanned