Читать книгу The Newcomer - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 8

‘Well?’ The suspense was killing Robert. ‘Are we going to Cornwall?’

Angela’s heart was racing, the pulse in her throat throbbing. She lifted her eyes from the letter in her hand and said, in a quivering voice, ‘Yes.’

Robert ran to where she stood in the hall. ‘Woo hoo.’ He lifted her off her feet. ‘Congratulations.’ He squeezed her hard and without letting her go called up the stairs, ‘Faith! Mum got the job! We are going to live by the sea for a whole year!’

‘Great,’ came the muffled reply.

‘Well, come on. Come down and I’ll make a celebratory breakfast. Bacon sandwiches all round!’

‘Dad, it’s Saturday. I want to sleep.’

‘Let her be,’ said Angela fondly.

‘But it’s already eleven. She should be down here with us, celebrating.’

‘Darling.’ She kissed the top of his handsome head. ‘Put me down and we’ll have breakfast together. Just the two of us.’

‘I’m so proud of you.’ He gave her another tight hug, then set her back on her feet.

A short while later, Robert placed the bacon sandwich in front of her. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea, please.’ Angela bit into the soft white bread and butter, and found the bacon crispy and warm. ‘The food of the gods,’ she said.

Robert put a mug of tea in front of her, then sat down with his own sandwich and coffee. ‘The vicarage is going to feel huge after this little house.’

‘It will.’ Angela looked out of the kitchen window onto their tiny but neat courtyard garden. ‘I shall miss this, though.’

‘Oh, I won’t,’ Robert said through a mouthful of bread. ‘Farewell west London, hello west coast.’

‘You’ll miss work.’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you will. It’s your meat and drink.’

He wiped his mouth with a piece of kitchen towel. ‘We have talked all this through. Finish your sandwich.’

‘When will you let work know?’

‘I’ll talk to Gordon on Monday. It won’t come as a surprise. He told me you’d get the job.’

‘He’s been so good to you. To us.’

‘Yeah. He’s a good bloke.’

Angela stirred her tea. ‘And you are sure? About having a year off?’

He put the last of his sandwich in his mouth. ‘Absolutely. All those dark rainy nights standing on College Green or outside the door of Number Ten, shouting questions that won’t or can’t be answered to politicians who are as clueless as the rest of us.’

‘I’m not sure Cornwall will offer any of the excitement you’re used to.’

‘But I shall have a new job. Househusband extraordinaire …’

‘Not quite as exciting.’

He shook his head. ‘Look, you have always been there for me, never minding when the office ring at ungodly hours to send me out on a story, never refusing a camera crew a bed for the night, always taking the burden of domestic responsibility. It’s my turn to look after you.’

Angela put her hand on his knee and her head on his shoulder. ‘I am so lucky.’

‘The good people of Penwhatsit are luckier.’

‘Pendruggan.’

He raised his coffee mug. ‘To my wife. The vicar of Pendruggan.’

She laughed. ‘Vicar for a year, anyway. I hope I can do it.’

Robert grew serious. ‘Darling, Ange.’ He took the hand she had on his knee and lifted it to his lips. ‘What you will be doing is a million times more worthwhile than any television news report. You are doing yourself and me and Faith proud.’

‘I hope Mum would be proud of me too.’

‘She’s smiling down on you as we speak.’