time, the ultimate in cool, along with Smile palmtops, laptops and Smile internet.
The man behind renegade publishing, trendy nightclubs and multimedia communications might maintain that he was an ‘inspirer’, and he certainly had plenty of hippy attributes that made him appear laidback and easy-going, but Legs knew enough to appreciate that the retired entrepreneur, reformed gambler and passionate music lover could be a tyrant, albeit one with a positive spin. He’d certainly pushed his only son incredibly hard over the years, expecting nothing less than perfection. At times, the pressure on Francis had been almost unbearable, and Legs had often stood up to his father on her lover’s behalf, but that was where the famous Protheroe charm came in. Hector’s seductive charisma made him a difficult man to challenge. He could turn any conversation in his favour, twisting the argument to serve his purpose so that ultimately one was left not only feeling rather silly, but also hopelessly in his awe and debt. It was why he was so lethal in business, inspired such loyalty amongst friends, and was so totally irresistible to all who met him.
Yet he was supremely selfish in his personal relationships, particularly with women. His third wife Poppy could be awkward and eccentric, but for two decades she had coped admirably with his rages, infidelity and self-absorption, and was his match intellectually. Hector self-confessedly relied upon his wife’s steely stoicism to keep him in check, crediting her with bringing his long-term gambling addiction under control, stemming his drinking and redirecting his energies into supporting the many altruistic causes that had earned him such an exemplary public reputation today.She’d also turned a blind eye to his many flirtations, which some in their inner circle put down to her incredibly short sight. Cast adrift from the marriage, he could cause havoc, and sideswipe poor, kind-hearted Lucy in his slipstream. Legs felt highly protective.
‘So where are you living?’
‘Here.’
‘You have plenty of houses. Isn’t it a bit selfish to squeeze in here?’
He barked with laughter.
Legs wanted to snap at him that he’d have to move out now that she was here (as she rather hoped her mother would, too, to clear the way for long chats with Francis), but her bladder was fit to burst now and so she was forced to retreat to the bathroom and regroup.
There were definite signs of male occupation here – an extra toothbrush, aftershave, a beard trimmer and some enormous slippers which appeared to have been stepped out of as a bath was stepped into and then abandoned beneath the antique towel rail.
For the first time, Legs began to wonder what her father made of all this.
Just then she heard a car engine coming along on the wood track. With relief, she washed her hands, splashing cool water on her face and then unbolting the door, determined to sort out this nonsense.
The bassoon was back in its stand by the chaise longue, and the front door was wide open, meaning Hector was braving the elements in his kimono in welcome. Legs dashed in his wake.
Hector had made it almost as far as the car, from which Lucy was only just emerging. His frantic hand gestures and facial expressions were not enough to alert her to danger.
‘Hector, my lionheart!’ She threw out her arms in embrace, imagining that he was rushing to greet her with amorous impatience. ‘I have bought oysters for passion, and ice cream that we can eat from one another’s most intimate love cups.’
At that moment, Lucy North caught sight of her younger daughter gaping at her over the swinging gate.
‘Ah.’ Lucy’s smile turned from joyous to mortified, but all teeth remained on show in a brave attempt at a bluff.
Legs barely recognised her own mother. That wild peppery hair had been bobbed and bleached a flattering ash blonde, the jolly, freckled face disguised with lots of smoky eyeliner and red lipstick, and she was
The man behind renegade publishing, trendy nightclubs and multimedia communications might maintain that he was an ‘inspirer’, and he certainly had plenty of hippy attributes that made him appear laidback and easy-going, but Legs knew enough to appreciate that the retired entrepreneur, reformed gambler and passionate music lover could be a tyrant, albeit one with a positive spin. He’d certainly pushed his only son incredibly hard over the years, expecting nothing less than perfection. At times, the pressure on Francis had been almost unbearable, and Legs had often stood up to his father on her lover’s behalf, but that was where the famous Protheroe charm came in. Hector’s seductive charisma made him a difficult man to challenge. He could turn any conversation in his favour, twisting the argument to serve his purpose so that ultimately one was left not only feeling rather silly, but also hopelessly in his awe and debt. It was why he was so lethal in business, inspired such loyalty amongst friends, and was so totally irresistible to all who met him.
Yet he was supremely selfish in his personal relationships, particularly with women. His third wife Poppy could be awkward and eccentric, but for two decades she had coped admirably with his rages, infidelity and self-absorption, and was his match intellectually. Hector self-confessedly relied upon his wife’s steely stoicism to keep him in check, crediting her with bringing his long-term gambling addiction under control, stemming his drinking and redirecting his energies into supporting the many altruistic causes that had earned him such an exemplary public reputation today.She’d also turned a blind eye to his many flirtations, which some in their inner circle put down to her incredibly short sight. Cast adrift from the marriage, he could cause havoc, and sideswipe poor, kind-hearted Lucy in his slipstream. Legs felt highly protective.
‘So where are you living?’
‘Here.’
‘You have plenty of houses. Isn’t it a bit selfish to squeeze in here?’
He barked with laughter.
Legs wanted to snap at him that he’d have to move out now that she was here (as she rather hoped her mother would, too, to clear the way for long chats with Francis), but her bladder was fit to burst now and so she was forced to retreat to the bathroom and regroup.
There were definite signs of male occupation here – an extra toothbrush, aftershave, a beard trimmer and some enormous slippers which appeared to have been stepped out of as a bath was stepped into and then abandoned beneath the antique towel rail.
For the first time, Legs began to wonder what her father made of all this.
Just then she heard a car engine coming along on the wood track. With relief, she washed her hands, splashing cool water on her face and then unbolting the door, determined to sort out this nonsense.
The bassoon was back in its stand by the chaise longue, and the front door was wide open, meaning Hector was braving the elements in his kimono in welcome. Legs dashed in his wake.
Hector had made it almost as far as the car, from which Lucy was only just emerging. His frantic hand gestures and facial expressions were not enough to alert her to danger.
‘Hector, my lionheart!’ She threw out her arms in embrace, imagining that he was rushing to greet her with amorous impatience. ‘I have bought oysters for passion, and ice cream that we can eat from one another’s most intimate love cups.’
At that moment, Lucy North caught sight of her younger daughter gaping at her over the swinging gate.
‘Ah.’ Lucy’s smile turned from joyous to mortified, but all teeth remained on show in a brave attempt at a bluff.
Legs barely recognised her own mother. That wild peppery hair had been bobbed and bleached a flattering ash blonde, the jolly, freckled face disguised with lots of smoky eyeliner and red lipstick, and she was
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