A Time for Friends Read Online Free PDF Page A

was even more
impressed when he had suggested they go for a drink afterwards, and had driven her in his top-of-the-range, sporty Merc to a pub on the banks of the Thames where they had quaffed champagne in long
elegant flutes, raspberries floating on top of the sparkling bubbles. When Des brought her home to her aunt’s ground-floor-over-basement Holland Park flat, he had given a low whistle as he
pulled up outside. ‘Nice pad.’
    ‘It needs a complete revamp. Since my uncle died ten years ago it’s gone downhill. My aunt has no enthusiasm for anything now. She’s a bit of a recluse. I’d love to get
my hands on it and get the builders and decorators in to update it. My big fear is that she will leave it to a dog charity or something,’ Colette confessed.
    ‘Are you serious? How horrendous would that be?’ Des frowned. ‘Is there a mortgage on it?’
    ‘No. It was her husband’s family home, bought yonks ago, and it was signed over to him before his mother died.’
    ‘Very valuable now. Worth a mill or two. In a prime location, so close to Kensington. You should work hard on your aunt to make sure it goes to the right person. You know what I’m
saying?’
    ‘I do,’ Colette agreed, liking his frankness and the fact that his thoughts mirrored hers.
    ‘Maybe I could take you and your aunt down to the river for Pimm’s and a picnic some day? Might she enjoy that?’ Des suggested casually.
    ‘She might,’ Colette shrugged. ‘And then again she might not. Thanks for a lovely evening.’ She blew him a kiss and was out of the car before he realized her
intention.
    ‘I’ll call you, what’s your number?’ he asked, looking somewhat startled at her abrupt departure. He took out a business card and loosened the top of his fountain pen.
She looked at him, with the evening breeze ruffling his hair as he leaned back in the leather seat of his sports car, pen poised.
    ‘Ring me at Dickon and Austen’s. Byeee!’ And then she was clattering up the marble steps, keys jangling in her hand. ‘I’m not that easy, Desmond Williams,’
she murmured as she closed the heavy red door behind her.
    She had kept him at arm’s length, meeting him when it suited her, dating other men in between, letting him know that he wasn’t the only one. No one was going to break her heart ever
again. She was
always
going to be in charge of any relationship she was in and that was that.
    Later that year, at the end of the summer, Colette had gone home for a long weekend to celebrate her mother’s birthday, starting with a lavish barbecue at their house on the beach in
Sutton. The O’Mahonys had invited the Kinsella family, and Colette was looking forward to catching up with Hilary and telling her all the news about her exciting new life in London.
    Poor Hilary, she lived such a boring life in comparison with her own, Colette had reflected as the plane made its descent over the Irish Sea, with the Sugar Loaf etched against a clear blue sky
and Dun Laoghaire and Dublin Port to her left, and the ferries gliding across a silver-sparkled sea beneath. Hilary and her humdrum existence in her father’s business, running that lighting
shop, and still living at home, while she was swanning around cosmopolitan London, meeting all kinds of interesting people in the course of her work in Dickon and Austen’s, and having a
terrific social life to boot. Far better than trad sessions, and evening classes, for sure. But Hilary wasn’t like her. Hilary was easy-going, content to let life take her where it would.
Colette on the other hand had always wanted to make something of herself. To be a mover and shaker. To show her parents that she too could be a force to be reckoned with in her field.
    Colette knew that her parents had wanted her to study law and follow them into the legal profession. It had been their plan for her all along but she had rebelled. She had no intention of
studying dry as snuff law tomes and arguing the toss