their strength for the next onslaught.
By taking off-cuts of chicken and steak instead of her waitressing tips, April had so far managed to feed Cair Paravel without verging further on bankruptcy. Antonio had offered to give her the meat for free but she’d declined, because it simply wasn’t in the game plan. She would never accept handouts of any sort. Everything that funded the roses-round-the-door dream had to be earned by honest toil. Well, almost honest. April could never quite square the debt-collecting with gainful employment.
However, the lack of Pasta Place tips in the chocolate tin now meant that Cair Paravel would soon have to start earning his keep in one way or another. If becoming a champion racer was going to be out of the question, April decided she might have to try and get him a paper round.
They’d just reached number 51, and Jix was reaching for his keys, when the traffic rumble was splintered by a piercing blast of car horn. Cair Paravel leaped into the air and on landing, immediately wound himself wimpishly round April’s legs. Glaring into the string of vehicles for the offender, April groaned.
Everything had ground to a halt again by the pelican crossing. Lounging behind the wheel of his navy-blue Mercedes sports car, smiling quizzically, and with Brittany Frobisher beside him, was Sebastian Gillespie.
To be honest, April thought, rapidly trying to thrust the still-quivering Cair Paravel out of sight behind the mountain bike and failing, if Sebastian hadn’t been the spawn of Oliver and Martina, and hadn’t been her killer landlord, she would have allowed herself to find him very attractive. Tall, blue-eyed, with brown hair the colour of a peat stream, and a lopsided smile, he was certainly a high-scorer on the lustometer. However, as Daff was so fond of saying, handsome is as handsome does, and if he found out that she was breaking her tenancy rules, Sebastian could – and definitely would – see her homeless and jobless.
Still trying to disguise Cair Paravel as a bicycle spoke, April raised her hand in acknowledgement, forcing what she hoped was a cheerful employee smile. Jix, she noticed from the corner of her eye, was jabbing the key into the lock and not even trying.
‘Nice-looking dog!’ Sebastian called. ‘Not yours, I hope?’
‘What?’ April glanced down at Cair Paravel in theatrical amazement as if he’d just metamorphosed on the end of the lead. ‘God, no! Just – er – exercising him for a friend!’
‘Right . . .’ Sebastian nodded. ‘One of our owners?’
April shook her head, tugging the reluctant greyhound away from galloping through the now-open door of number 51. ‘Um – no – well, not exactly. He’s – er – not a racer . . . more a family pet . . . That is, of course, his owner’s family pet. Not mine – ha-ha!’
Brittany, who was wearing sunglasses and very little else, lifted them, glanced at April, and looked bored. The little green man had stopped flashing. The traffic was starting to move. Sebastian nodded again in a sort of detached way and released the handbrake. April allowed herself to exhale.
‘Mummeee! Caireee!!!’
Bee, wearing only knickers and the battered sunhat, dashed through the open door, darted through Jix’s legs and hurled herself at April. Cair Paravel did a neat circular turn, and with his ears at full prick, leaped on Beatrice-Eugenie and licked her exultantly.
Ignoring both dog and daughter, April fixed a rictus smile in Sebastian’s direction and was wildly disturbed to notice that he was still watching the scenario in his rearview mirror as the Mercedes purred away.
‘Do you think he twigged?’ Jix lugged the bike into the hall as April disentangled Bee and the greyhound on the dusty pavement.
Twigged? Full branch, trunk, and bloody rooted!’ April snorted. ‘Gorgeous and spoiled rotten he maybe, but sadly Sebby is nobody’s himbo. Oh, bugger . . .’
By ten o’clock, the Copacabana was in the middle
By taking off-cuts of chicken and steak instead of her waitressing tips, April had so far managed to feed Cair Paravel without verging further on bankruptcy. Antonio had offered to give her the meat for free but she’d declined, because it simply wasn’t in the game plan. She would never accept handouts of any sort. Everything that funded the roses-round-the-door dream had to be earned by honest toil. Well, almost honest. April could never quite square the debt-collecting with gainful employment.
However, the lack of Pasta Place tips in the chocolate tin now meant that Cair Paravel would soon have to start earning his keep in one way or another. If becoming a champion racer was going to be out of the question, April decided she might have to try and get him a paper round.
They’d just reached number 51, and Jix was reaching for his keys, when the traffic rumble was splintered by a piercing blast of car horn. Cair Paravel leaped into the air and on landing, immediately wound himself wimpishly round April’s legs. Glaring into the string of vehicles for the offender, April groaned.
Everything had ground to a halt again by the pelican crossing. Lounging behind the wheel of his navy-blue Mercedes sports car, smiling quizzically, and with Brittany Frobisher beside him, was Sebastian Gillespie.
To be honest, April thought, rapidly trying to thrust the still-quivering Cair Paravel out of sight behind the mountain bike and failing, if Sebastian hadn’t been the spawn of Oliver and Martina, and hadn’t been her killer landlord, she would have allowed herself to find him very attractive. Tall, blue-eyed, with brown hair the colour of a peat stream, and a lopsided smile, he was certainly a high-scorer on the lustometer. However, as Daff was so fond of saying, handsome is as handsome does, and if he found out that she was breaking her tenancy rules, Sebastian could – and definitely would – see her homeless and jobless.
Still trying to disguise Cair Paravel as a bicycle spoke, April raised her hand in acknowledgement, forcing what she hoped was a cheerful employee smile. Jix, she noticed from the corner of her eye, was jabbing the key into the lock and not even trying.
‘Nice-looking dog!’ Sebastian called. ‘Not yours, I hope?’
‘What?’ April glanced down at Cair Paravel in theatrical amazement as if he’d just metamorphosed on the end of the lead. ‘God, no! Just – er – exercising him for a friend!’
‘Right . . .’ Sebastian nodded. ‘One of our owners?’
April shook her head, tugging the reluctant greyhound away from galloping through the now-open door of number 51. ‘Um – no – well, not exactly. He’s – er – not a racer . . . more a family pet . . . That is, of course, his owner’s family pet. Not mine – ha-ha!’
Brittany, who was wearing sunglasses and very little else, lifted them, glanced at April, and looked bored. The little green man had stopped flashing. The traffic was starting to move. Sebastian nodded again in a sort of detached way and released the handbrake. April allowed herself to exhale.
‘Mummeee! Caireee!!!’
Bee, wearing only knickers and the battered sunhat, dashed through the open door, darted through Jix’s legs and hurled herself at April. Cair Paravel did a neat circular turn, and with his ears at full prick, leaped on Beatrice-Eugenie and licked her exultantly.
Ignoring both dog and daughter, April fixed a rictus smile in Sebastian’s direction and was wildly disturbed to notice that he was still watching the scenario in his rearview mirror as the Mercedes purred away.
‘Do you think he twigged?’ Jix lugged the bike into the hall as April disentangled Bee and the greyhound on the dusty pavement.
Twigged? Full branch, trunk, and bloody rooted!’ April snorted. ‘Gorgeous and spoiled rotten he maybe, but sadly Sebby is nobody’s himbo. Oh, bugger . . .’
By ten o’clock, the Copacabana was in the middle
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