Still Me (Me Before You #3) - Jojo Moyes Page 0,19
is good for perspective and all that.’
He straightened up a little. ‘Then what?’
‘You make yourself one of those really great bolognese sauces. The ones that take for ever, with the wine and bacon and stuff. Because it’s almost impossible to feel crap after eating a really great spaghetti bolognese.’
‘Hens. Sauce. Okay.’
‘And then you switch on the television and find a really good film. Something you can get lost in. No reality TV. Nothing with ads.’
‘And then …’ I thought for a moment. ‘… you think about the fact that it’s only a little over three weeks until we see each other. And that means this! Ta-daa!’ I pulled my top up to my neck.
With hindsight, it was a pity that Ilaria chose that exact moment to open my door and walk in with the laundry. She stood there, a pile of towels under one arm, and froze as she took in my exposed bosom, the man’s face on the screen. Then she closed the door quickly, muttering something under her breath. I scrambled to cover myself up.
‘What?’ Sam was grinning, trying to peer to the right of the screen. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The housekeeper,’ I said, straightening my top. ‘Oh, God.’
Sam had fallen back in his chair. He was properly laughing now, one hand clutching his stomach, where he still got a little protective about his scar.
‘You don’t understand. She hates me.’
‘And now you’re Madam Webcam.’ He was still laughing.
‘My name will be mud in the housekeeping community from here to Palm Springs.’ I wailed a bit longer, then started to giggle. Seeing Sam laugh so much it was hard not to.
He grinned at me. ‘Well, Lou, you did it. You cheered me up.’
‘The downside for you is that’s the first and last time I show you my lady-bits over WiFi.’
Sam leant forward and blew me a kiss. ‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘I guess we should just be grateful it wasn’t the other way around.’
Ilaria didn’t talk to me for two whole days after the webcam incident. She would turn away when I walked into a room, immediately finding something with which to busy herself, as if by merely catching her eye I might somehow contaminate her with my penchant for salacious boob exposure.
Nathan asked what had gone down between us, after she pushed my coffee towards me with an actual spatula, but I couldn’t explain it without it sounding somehow worse than it was, so I muttered something about laundry and why we should have locks on our doors, and hoped that he would let it go.
4
To: KatClark!yahoo
From: BusyBeegmail
Hey, Stinky Arsebandit Yourself,
(Is that how a respected accountant is really meant to talk to her globetrotting sister?)
I’m good, thanks. My employer – Agnes – is my age and really nice. So that’s been a bonus. You wouldn’t believe the places I’m going – last night I went to a ball in a dress that cost more than I earn in a month. I felt like Cinderella. Except with a really gorgeous sister (yup, so that’s a new one for me. Ha-ha-ha-ha!).
Glad Thom is enjoying his new school. Don’t worry about the felt-tip thing – we can always paint that wall. Mum says it’s a sign of his creative expression. Did you know she’s trying to get Dad to go to night school to learn to express himself better? He’s got it into his head this means she’s going to get him to go tantric. God knows where he’s read about that. I pretended like she’d told me that was definitely it when he called me, and now I’m feeling a bit guilty because he’s panicking that he’ll have to get his old fella out in front of a room full of strangers.
Write me more news. Especially about the date!!!
Miss you,
Lou xxx
PS If Dad does get his old fella out in front of a room full of strangers I don’t want to know ANYTHING.
According to Agnes’s social diary, numerous events were highlights of the New York social calendar, but the Neil and Florence Strager Charitable Foundation Dinner teetered somewhere near the pinnacle. Guests wore yellow – the men in necktie form, unless particularly exhibitionist – and the resulting photographs were distributed in publications from the New York Post to Harper’s Bazaar. Dress was formal, the yellow outfits were dazzling, and tickets cost a pocketful of small change under thirty thousand dollars a table. For the outer reaches of the room. I knew this because I had