The Wedding Cake Tree by Melanie Hudson Read Free Book Online Page B

he would have arranged camels, a Bedouin tent, rations and a little man with a fan.
    I grabbed my bag to find my phone (despite my argument to the contrary, I had completely forgotten to turn it on), ignored the plethora of texts and missed calls, and sent a text message to Paul.
     
    Everything fine. In Yorkshire Dales of all places! The marine came after all ;-)
     
    The phone rang within seconds.
    ‘ I knew it! You’re useless, Grace. He’d better not be good-looking.’
    Err…
    ‘Actually, he’s good fun, you’d like him. I suppose he’s not bad looking, in a rugged kind of a way. I’m having a good time, surprisingly.’
    Paul sighed.              
    ‘ Just hold on there a minute, tiger! Good fun you say? Need I remind you that, just a few hours ago, you were moaning like a stuck pig about the whole damn shooting match, and now you say you’re having a good timeafter al l – you’re so bloody fickle! Just answer me this, though. Soldier Boy’s rugged. Does that mean he’s got more muscles than me?’
    I laughed.
    ‘ Everyone’s got more muscles than you, even me. But okay, yes, he’s got a fit body. I’m trying not to look though.’
    ‘ God, I hate him. Is he married?’
    ‘ No idea.’
    ‘Ask him.’
    ‘No way!’
    ‘He probably wouldn’t tell you anyway,’ he quipped. ‘A man like that’ll have a woman in every port. And if he starts telling you about the time he caught a bullet between his teeth when he liberated a small nation, and then pulled shrapnel out of his arm and then sewed up the wound with barbed wire, just tell him to sod off.’
    ‘ Why don’t you sod off!’
    He laughed down the phone.
    ‘Bye, sweet cheeks. And don’t forget, tortoise and the hare! I’ll get you in the end.’
    I laughed again. ‘ As sweet as your relentless advances towards me are, it will never happen. I’ve known you for what – four years? Go find yourself a nice pole dancer.’
    ‘Would that be a Pole who can dance, or a woman who dances round a pole?’
    ‘Either. London has both. Bye for now, loser.’
    I turned the phone off (of course I could live without it for a few days for goodness’ sake) and drummed my fingers on the bedside table. My eyes fell on the suitcase Mum had prepared. Although she usually dressed in a fairly bohemian style, Mum had impeccable taste and would try to encourage me to ‘do more with my hair’ as she tried to scoop it up into a fancy up-do, or she might say, ‘Why don’t we go shopping for something lovely?’ – actually meaning, why are you dressed 24/7 like a boy?
    A note sat on the top of the clothes:
     
    Enjoy! You are a stunningly beautiful woman. Perhaps you could just make more of an effort with your clothes?
     
    Typical.
    I rose fr om the bed and took her letter from my bag. Oh Mum, I wondered, what was this really all about?
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    I woke with a start from a knock at the door and it took some moments to remember where I was. I shouted out but no one answered, then reached across to turn on the bedside lamp. It was eight o’clock – eight o’clock in the morning! A piece of paper had been pushed under the door – it was a note from Alasdair:
     
    See you downstairs. Breakfast is until ten – no rush. You will need your walking clothes on today. Bring your boots down and I’ll wax them up for you, it’s probably quite wet on the hill. A lovely day though (just as promised). Al
     
    Surprised by my own excitement, I flung back the curtains and raised the blinds to observe the day – deep blue sky. I smiled at the thought of how pleased Alasdair would be that the weather had improved.
    With my cracked leather walking boots hanging from my hand by the laces, I padded down the stairs and hoped to bump into Alasdair, but was ush ered into one of the snugs by June and fed a full, artery clogging Yorkshire breakfast in front of the fire. Once finished, a slab of black pudding was all that remained on my plate (not my