More Than Just One Night (The Selwood Sisters Novellas) by Claire Baxter Page B

“Will you order for
me, darling?”
    Russell gave Fern an indulgent smile. “Of
course, sweetness.”
    He was handsome, she’d give him that, but at
Fern’s age she shouldn’t find greying temples attractive, should she? This was
so much worse than her last boyfriend, the one with the safety pin through his
eyebrow. Cora had been tempted to ask whether it was holding his eyebrow in
place and if it was prone to falling off. She’d restrained herself, though, aware
that her humour wouldn’t be appreciated. That boy was monosyllabic, but at
least he was in Fern’s age-bracket.
    She waited till Fern was out of earshot then
pinned Russell with her best glare. “So, Russell, what are you doing with
someone as young as my daughter?”
    He looked up. Surprise melted from his face
as he met her glare with a stony expression. “Really, Cora, you don’t want me
to answer that literally, do you?”
    “Yes. No! ”
    One eyebrow lifted.
    She clenched her jaw, but consciously relaxed
it when she spotted Fern heading back towards them. What? She’d never been so
quick in the bathroom at home. “She’s coming back already. We’ll continue this
conversation later.”
    “I’ll look forward to it.”
    The short exchange had left Cora even more
determined that the relationship had to end, but she had enough parenting
experience to understand that the very worst thing she could do was tell Fern
what she really thought.
    Fern slipped back into her seat. “Have you
ordered?”
    “Not yet,” Cora said. As she took her glasses
from her handbag so that she could read the menu, she saw Russell reach into
his jacket and take out a pair of his own.
    “Awful when you get to our age, isn’t it?”
she said with a fake smile and a nod at the glasses in his hand. “One of the
first signs of getting old.”
    And as she bent her head over the menu she
caught a glimpse of Fern’s grimace, and mentally chalked up a point. Game on, Russell.

Chapter 2  
     
    Three weeks later, while she waited for her
wholemeal toast to cook Cora leaned against the kitchen bench and glanced over
the spreadsheet she’d printed in preparation for her Monday morning meeting.
She wanted to believe that her case was solid, because she needed a win out of
this mediation. The client was happy with the work that Selwoods had done on
his project, just not with the hike in costs they were claiming.
    The toaster flung her slices into the air,
and jerked her brain away from the figures she was studying.
    “Morning, Mum.” Fern picked up one of the
toast slices from the counter-top, and nibbled on the corner. “Do we have any
bacon? I feel like bacon for breakfast.”
    Cora frowned. “No. You know I don’t buy bacon
because of the—”
    “Cholesterol, I know. But I like it. What
about eggs? You could scramble some eggs for me.”
    “ You could scramble some eggs for yourself.
I have to go to work. And that’s my toast you’re eating.”
    She spread her single remaining slice of
toast with cholesterol-lowering margarine. “Did I hear Russell come in with you
last night?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    This was horrible. She’d hoped that by now
Fern would have tired of a man old enough to be her father. Was that what was
going on here? Was Fern looking for a father figure because Paul had passed
away when she was a vulnerable teenager? Her toast tasted like cardboard when
she bit into it. Fern might be in her twenties now — just — but she was still as
vulnerable as that teenager had been. The trouble was, she was too old for Cora
to lay down the law about who she should and shouldn’t see.
    Being so busy she rarely had time to manage a
proper conversation with Fern. Tonight, she would have to do it. The only
problem was how to word her concerns without causing Fern to take umbrage and
leave. The last thing she wanted to do was lose her daughter over this.
    Fern was beating eggs in a bowl. Her
spreadsheet, she noticed, was already spattered.
    “Keep it in the