Promoted: to Wife and Mother

her glass crossly between her fingers. Ed and Grace seemed to have a mutual admiration society going. Good for them.

She scowled down into her wine, aware that she might not mind if Ed hadn’t more or less admitted that he was looking for a new wife-or if she hadn’t liked Grace so much. She was quite a bit younger than Ed, of course, but she was lovely and, as a widow, she would presumably have a lot in common with him. They were perfect for each other, in fact.

And why was that thought so depressing?

CHAPTER SIX

SOMETHING in the silence suddenly made Perdita lift her head to see that Ed had turned from the cooker and was patently waiting for her to answer a question that she had been too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear.

‘Sorry?’ she said awkwardly, a slight flush staining her cheeks.

‘I was just wondering if you knew of anyone who might like a part-time job.’

‘I might,’ said Perdita, thinking of Millie, who had been struggling to make ends meet since her divorce. ‘Would the hours be flexible?’

‘I don’t see why not, but it would be up to Grace. Get them to contact her if they’re interested.’

Ed wiped his hands on the tea towel still draped over his shoulder and pulled open a drawer in search of cutlery. ‘Supper’s nearly ready. I’ll just lay the table.’

‘Let me do that.’ Perdita pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I’ve just been sitting here doing nothing,’ she said guiltily.

‘You’re a guest. That’s your job,’ said Ed, but he let her come round to take the spoons and forks from him.

Perdita’s hands brushed his as she reached for the cutlery and a small, sharp thrill jolted through her at the touch so that she drew a breath that was dangerously close to a gasp. His skin was warm and she was acutely aware of how close he was. Afraid that he would read her response in her eyes, she didn’t look at his face but found herself fixing on the rough cotton weave of his shirt, the way one of his buttons was chipped and how his neck rose in a strong column from his casual open collar. She could see the pulse beating in his throat and had a sudden, shocking impulse to press her lips to it.

Aghast at herself, Perdita turned sharply away, fumbling with the cutlery in her hands. Her heart was thumping so hard that she was finding it hard to breathe.

Ed evidently hadn’t even registered that brief graze of their hands, or if he had it certainly hadn’t bothered him. He had found some mats and was slinging them carelessly around the table.

‘I usually insist that one of the kids lays the table,’ he said as Perdita concentrated fiercely on setting a spoon and fork on either side of each mat, ‘but as it tends to lead to a fight about whose turn it is and why I treat them as slaves I thought I’d spare you the aggro tonight. Sometimes it’s easier just to do it yourself.’

Although her head was bent, Perdita could see his hands as he set everything else on the table. They were strong and square and capable, and every time they caught at the corner of her vision she felt hollow. God, she must pull herself together!

‘This music is lovely,’ she croaked, hating the breathless crack in her voice. ‘What is it? Bach?’

‘That’s right.’ She felt him glance at her. ‘Do you like classical music?’

‘I like it when I hear it, but I don’t know anything about it at all. My father used to say I was a complete philistine.’

‘That’s what I say about Cassie, so perhaps there’s hope for her yet.’

‘There are masses of classical concerts in Ellsborough and I always say I’ll go, but of course I never get round to it.’

Perdita could feel herself babbling and wished she had something else to do with her hands. There were only so many times one could straighten a fork. She sat back down instead and picked up her wine. ‘I do enjoy it when I listen to it like now, though.’

‘Well, make the most of it as it will probably end up being turned off when the kids come down,’ said Ed wryly. He went to the door and bellowed, ‘Supper’s ready!’ up the stairs.

‘I’m surprised,’ said Perdita, who had recovered a little. ‘I’d have had you down as a man who listened to what he wanted in his own house.’

‘I was before I came up against the immovable will of a teenager,’ Ed said with grim humour. ‘I could insist, I suppose, but there are so many fights with adolescents in the house that you end up choosing the ones you think are really important and letting all the others go.’

Sure enough, when Cassie clattered down the stairs the first thing she did as she swirled into the kitchen was to head for the CD player. ‘Oh, Dad, not this boring old stuff again,’ she said, ejecting the CD. ‘You are so sad!’

‘Perdita was enjoying that,’ Ed pointed out mildly, but Cassie only tossed her head.

‘She was probably just saying that to be polite. Can I put on some real music?’

‘No,’ said Ed as he drained the spaghetti. ‘It’s Bach or nothing.’

Rolling her eyes, Cassie plonked herself down next to Perdita as Tom drifted into the room, followed by Lauren, who was a slighter, quieter version of her big sister.

‘I can’t do my stupid French homework,’ she complained, slumping into a chair when she had been introduced to Perdita. ‘I hate my teacher here. Everybody does.’

‘Be nice to Perdita and maybe she’ll help you afterwards,’ said Ed. ‘She speaks French.’

The three of them turned to look at her as if she had sprouted three heads. ‘I spent a year working in Paris,’ Perdita excused herself.

She expected Cassie to sneer at this but instead she seemed to be impressed and talked animatedly about a school trip to Paris the previous year. ‘I wanted Dad to take us to France this summer but he wouldn’t,’ she told Perdita.

‘I took you to France a couple of years ago and you complained the whole time,’ said Ed mildly as he handed out plates of spaghetti.

‘That’s because you hired a stupid house out in the middle of the country and made us walk everywhere and Lauren kept throwing up in our bedroom.’

‘Only once,’ protested Lauren.

‘It was at least three times!’

‘It wasn’t!’

In no time at all the minor squabble had degenerated into a bitter argument about who had been sick when, where and with what degree of inconvenience to the rest of the family.

‘Do we have to have this discussion when we’re eating?’ Ed demanded at last and forcibly changed the conversation by asking Perdita about her time in France.

‘Well, I did have food poisoning once,’ she said, and the girls laughed when Ed pretended to glower.

‘I’ve heard enough about throwing up this evening, thank you!’

It was just the evening Perdita needed, and she was amazed at how quickly she felt at home with Ed’s children. Tom was quieter than the girls, but more than capable of holding his own. Cassie was clearly the dominant personality, but when she forgot her pose of tortured teenager she could be very funny. She and Lauren chattered engagingly about their friends and school, which they claimed to loathe in spite of the fact that they appeared to have settled in with remarkable ease. They were already vilifying their poor teachers as if they had known them for years.

Perdita countered with some of the more scurrilous stories from her own school days in Ellsborough, and they were soon comparing their experiences of being young, particularly the trials of having a strict parent always wanting to know where you were going, what you were doing and, more importantly, who you were doing it with.

‘It was like living with the FBI,’ Perdita remembered and, sensing an ally, Cassie shot her father a look.