A Perfect Home by Kate Glanville Page B

suggested. ‘I could give you lunch. A Marmite sandwich if you like?’
    â€˜Thanks but I’ll be all right,’ said Stefan. ‘I’ve got to get back. I promised I wouldn’t be late.’ Who had he promised?
    At the bottom of the stairs he turned to Claire and smiled.
    â€˜It’s been a lovely couple of days. Thank you.’ He said it with a formality that made her want to shake him. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
    In her head Bad Claire screamed, Don’t leave me here; take me with you. Good Claire was horrified that she was capable of thinking any such thing.
    â€˜It’s been lovely meeting you too. I’ll look forward to seeing the pictures in the magazine.’
    He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, a light brush with his lips, and then he opened the front door and went out into the rain. Claire stood in the doorway unable to move. She wanted to run out, run out to him and say … say what?
    He was getting into his car, waving through the rain. He had turned on the lights and windscreen wipers. Claire stood and watched, waiting for the crunch of the wheels on the gravel, but suddenly he was out of the car again, lights and wipers still left on, but he was running back.
    â€˜I just thought,’ he said, standing dripping in the rain in front of her. ‘It’s my sister’s birthday next month. I think she’d love one of your aprons – like the one with the bird and buttons you had on today. She’s been very good to me since I came back to London. I’d like to thank her for all the Sunday lunches and dinners she’s made me. I always call her the domestic goddess so an apron would be very appropriate.’
    â€˜OK. But I don’t know your address or even your phone number.’
    â€˜I’ll email you,’ he said. ‘I’ll email you through your website.’
    He leant forward and kissed her cheek again and ran back to the car. The sky lit up with a flash of lightening closely followed by thunder, then she heard the gravel crunch of wheels on stones, and the air filled with the smell of wet lavender as his car brushed by the bushes on the edge of the drive.
    Claire stood in the doorway, staring at the empty drive, unable to move, the sensation of his kiss still on her cheek. At last she took a deep breath and looked at the watch on her wrist. Ben! She was late for Ben! She rushed into the house and ran around collecting keys, her purse, a raincoat from under the stairs, a raincoat for Ben.
    In the car, she couldn’t remember which pedal the clutch was. Her brain refused to work. It was as if she was trying so hard not to think of him that she couldn’t think at all.
    Somehow she managed to drive through the heavy rain to the nursery and to look interested while the nursery assistant read out a list of his morning activities.
    â€˜Making sand pictures, song and dance, toast and fruit at snack time; he only ate the toast again, I’m afraid. Two number ones in the toilet and one in his pants.’
    â€˜How lovely,’ said Claire.

Chapter Nine
    â€˜Wooden toys and games mix happily with antique furniture and junk-shop finds. The children’s brightly coloured artwork lines the walls alongside Victorian paintings and contemporary prints.’
    After picking up Ben, Claire went into town and bought sliced ham and cheese at the delicatessen, fruit from the greengrocers, and two loaves of olive bread from the bakery. She didn’t feel capable of cooking that day.
    She noticed that the Women’s Institute market was on in the town hall and wondered if they had the strawberry jam the children liked for sale.
    â€˜Coo-ee, Claire,’ Claire heard her name being called out. Sally’s grandma, sitting beside a table that was covered in patchwork quilts and knitted baby clothes. It was obviously her week to man the W.I. handicraft stall. Sally’s grandma’s name was Mrs Needles