Windfallen by Jojo Moyes Read Free Book Online Page A

party; that much was clear immediately. There was no marquee (Mrs. Holden always insisted on a marquee, in case of rain) and no trestle tables. Where is the food going to go? thought Lottie absently, and then she cursed herself for sounding like Joe.
    Instead they walked out across the patio area, and Marnie gestured toward the steps leading down to the small stretch of private beach that ended at the water. It was on this, scattered around on a variety of blankets, that the garden party guests sat, some sprawled barefoot, some seated, deep in conversation.
    Adeline Armand was seated on a mint green wrap made from some fabric with a satin sheen. She was dressed in a shell pink summer frock of crepe de chine and wore a large, floppy white hat with a broad brim, the most conventional outfit Lottie had seen her wear so far. She was surrounded by three men, including George, who was peeling leaves from some peculiar plant (an artichoke, Adeline explained later) and handing them to her, one by one, from under the half shelter of a large parasol. Frances was wearing a swimsuit, revealing a surprisingly lean and toned body. She stood more comfortably in her skin than in her clothes, her shoulders thrown back as she laughed heartily at something a neighbor had just said. There were at least four bottles of red wine open. There was no one else Lottie recognized.
    She stood still, feeling suddenly foolish and overdressed in her white gloves. Celia, beside her, was trying to remove hers behind her back.
    George, suddenly looking up, spotted them. “Welcome to our little déjeuner sur l’herbe , girls,” he called. “Come and sit down.”
    Celia had already kicked off her shoes. She was picking her way through the sand to where George was seated, her hips swinging in a manner Lottie had seen her practicing at home when she thought no one was looking.
    “Are you hungry?” said Frances, who looked unusually cheerful. “We’ve got some trout and some delicious herb salad. Or there’s some cold duck. I think there’s some left.”
    “We’ve eaten, thanks,” said Celia, sitting down. Lottie sat slightly behind her, wishing that more people were standing up so that she didn’t feel so conspicuous.
    “What about some fruit? We’ve got some gorgeous strawberries. Has Marnie taken them in already?”
    “They don’t want food. They want a drink,” said George, who had already busied himself pouring two large goblets of red wine. “Here,” he said, holding one up to the light. “One for Little Red Riding Hood here.”
    Celia glanced down at her skirt and then up again, pleased by the attention.
    “Here’s to the fragile bloom of youth.”
    “Oh, George.” A blond woman in huge sunglasses leaned over and tapped his arm in a way that made Celia bristle.
    “Well, they might as well enjoy it while they’ve got it.” George had the well-lubricated look and loosened vowels of someone who had been drinking all day. “God knows they won’t look like that for long.”
    Lottie stared at him.
    “Frances knows. Give it five years and they’ll be thickhipped matrons, a couple of young brats hanging on their skirts. Fine upholders of the moral majority of Merham.”
    “I know nothing of the sort.” Frances, smiling, folded her long limbs onto a picnic blanket.
    Something about George’s tone made Lottie uneasy. Celia, however, took a glass from him and gulped down half its contents as if accepting a challenge. “Not me,” she said, grinning. “You won’t find me here in five years’ time.”
    “Non? And where will you be?” It was impossible to see Adeline’s face under her hat. Only her neat little mouth was visible, curved up in its polite, inquisitive smile.
    “Oh, I don’t know. London perhaps. Cambridge. Maybe even Paris.”
    “Not if your mother has her way.” Something about Celia’s determined ease in this company irritated Lottie. “She wants you to stay here.”
    “Oh, she’ll come around in the