Читать книгу Her Perfect Life: A gripping debut psychological thriller with a killer twist - Sam Hepburn, Sam Hepburn - Страница 27

Gracie always longed for a proper garden. Not a paved courtyard like the one they’d had in Greenwich or the cluttered roof terrace of the flat she’d lived in before she married Tom. What she yearned for was a wide lawn, leafy borders, mature trees and a place to grow her own herbs and vegetables. At Falcon Square she has all those things, plus a mossy cherub spouting water into a shell-shaped trough, a summerhouse and a gardener employed to keep the whole thing looking fashionably unkempt.

A horde of athletic young men in day-glo shirts, baggy trousers, shades and trilbies have spent the morning erecting a striped gazebo next to the summerhouse, laying the dance floor, trailing bunting and fairy lights through the trees and blowing up huge bunches of pink and gold balloons that quiver in the breeze like globs of dividing cells. By two o’clock the band is tuning up and the first wave of guests is pouring through the French windows, gasping at the delights on offer.

‘Have you seen Daphne’s new bloke?’ Tom catches Gracie’s arm as she sweeps past him with a bowl of marinated ribs. She pivots round. This one must be at least ten years Daphne’s junior, surfer blond, tanned biceps straining the rolled-up sleeves of his faded denim shirt. Daphne sees them looking and drags him over, unable to hide a smug smile. ‘Tom, Gracie, this is Dieter.’

‘Great to meet you,’ Dieter says.

‘You too.’

‘He’s over from Munich for a conservation conference,’ Daphne says.

Gracie’s brows lift, signalling – Sexy and green. Where do you find them?

Daphne grins and whisks Dieter away to dance.

On her way back to the kitchen Gracie bumps into Tom’s friend Geoff from ACP. It’s the first time she’s seen him since the business with Alicia.

‘Hi, Gracie, you’re looking great.’

She searches his face for hints of pity or embarrassment and blinks nervously, unsure of what she sees. ‘Thanks, Geoff.’

She’s moving quickly through the crowd when Kelvin, her producer, wobbles past on a unicycle. Gracie jumps back laughing, almost treading on the fingers of a woman sitting in the grass.

‘Oops, sorry.’

It’s Juliet from the dance class. She’s made an effort and she’s looking pretty good – her hair is up, the red linen dress shows off her figure and the toenails peeking through the front of her strappy high heels are freshly varnished. Her daughter sits beside her, gazing entranced at a fairy princess juggling glitter balls.

‘Hey, you haven’t got a drink!’ Gracie says.

Juliet looks up. ‘It’s OK. I’ll grab one in a minute.’

‘I’ll get it, what do you want – wine, beer, Pimm’s or punch?’

‘Pimm’s please.’

Gracie smiles at Juliet’s daughter. ‘What would you like …’ a pause for a fraction of a second then a quick relieved smile as she says her name, ‘Freya – do you want to come and choose an ice cream soda?’

Freya looks warily at Gracie’s outstretched hand, only taking it when Juliet gives her a little push. ‘Go on, sweetheart, don’t be shy.’

Gracie shoulders her way to the bar, helps Freya to choose a raspberry chocolate float and chats to Heather’s boyfriend Lyall, who is manning the soda fountain, while she collects a couple of glasses of Pimm’s. On the way back to Juliet she makes a detour to deliver Freya to the face-painters under the gazebo.

‘Thanks, she loves having her face painted,’ Juliet says, taking the glass Gracie hands her. ‘We haven’t seen you at ballet for a while.’

‘Work’s been crazy.’ Her eyes flit across the nearby faces. ‘Hey, Kelvin, come and work your charm! Juliet, this is Kelvin the creative genius from Mange Tout TV who produces all my shows. He’s also the one to blame for the band.’ She pushes the second glass of Pimm’s into his hand and dashes away to greet Laura and a tall older man in a neatly pressed check shirt who must be Amber’s dad.