The Tennis Party by Sophie Kinsella, Madeleine Wickham Read Free Book Online Page A

clad in beige trousers; smooth, bobbed, pale-blond hair; a calm, unlined face. She greeted Caroline with a blank smile and kissed her dispassionately on each cheek.
    Patrick couldn’t help comparing the two women as they stood together talking. Both blue-eyed blondes, both in good shape, both wearing expensive clothes. But Caroline was just a bit browner than Cressida; her hair was a bit brighter, her make-up a bit stronger, her voice quite a lot louder. Next to Cressida’s understated elegance, her blue eyeliner and gold bracelets seemed a bit much. She suddenly burst into loud laughter, and Patrick saw Cressida smile politely at her, a look of slight incomprehension on her face. Charles was looking up at her in amusement. What on earth had Caroline been saying? Suddenly Patrick felt a wave of fierce affection for his wife. They were made of the same stuff as each other – something stronger, coarser, more highly flavoured than the Cressidas of this world.
    He looked down at the papers on his desk. His year’s performance figures stared back up at him. He had done well by any standards. For Christ’ssake, he had sold those bloody investment plans to practically anything that moved. His total was twenty per cent higher than last year. But, of course, that wasn’t good enough for the bastards. He’d hit all his targets last year – so this year they’d moved the targets up. He pulled out the firm’s bonus chart. The highest bonus figure – one hundred thousand pounds – glowed enticingly at the top of the sheet. But to get that he still had to do a lot of business. His year ended in a week’s time and he was still eighty thousand pounds short. It was almost worth putting the eighty thousand into a plan himself, to make sure he reached his hundred thousand bonus. Except that he didn’t have that kind of capital. And he would never buy any of the investment plans he sold.
    What he needed was for somebody to make a quick lump-sum investment of eighty thousand within the next week. He glanced out of the window again. Charles was carrying one of the twins over to be kissed by Caroline. He was laughing and looked relaxed – as well he might be, thought Patrick. It was all a far cry now from the days in Seymour Road, when Charles and Ella had cooked spaghetti every night and gone backpacking round Europe when they could afford it. Then, it had been Patrick who had helped Charles out, with a loan – admittedly relatively small – when Charles’ print gallery had seemed about to fold. It hadbeen Charles who had teased Patrick about money; had told him to relax, chill out, come round and smoke some grass with him and Ella.
    And now he was driving a Bentley and wearing a navy-blue blazer. He didn’t need anyone’s help any more, least of all Patrick’s. Cressida had paid the loan back in full as soon as she married Charles. Or perhaps it had even been before. She had clearly hated the idea of Charles being in debt to anyone. But as favours went, Patrick reckoned Charles still owed him one.
    As Caroline led the way to the main guest room, Charles looked around, impressed by what he saw. Patrick had, of course, told them about his new house – but somehow Charles hadn’t imagined anything so sumptuous. The whole place reminded him of early-Seventies James Bond films. Not at all in his or Cressida’s style, of course – he could see her recoiling as they passed a fitted cocktail bar – but certainly luxurious and, he was sure, very expensive.
    Although, of course, property out here was bound to be cheap compared to central Silchester, where they lived. And for a location like that of the house in which he and Cressida lived – right in the Cathedral Close, with a garden – well, anyone would have to pay a lot. Nevertheless, Charles began to feel a strangesensation of resentment as he passed along the cool corridors, glimpsing out of the window what looked suspiciously like a stable block in the distance. Since