Beautiful People Read Online Free PDF Page A

nannies.
        It was now that he noticed the delicious smell. James ventured into the kitchen, which, unusually, was pin-neat. On the shining draining board, whose metal surface he did not recall ever seeing before, so choked was it normally with clutter, were two small plates, two sets of spoons and forks, two cups, and a baking dish, all washed. On the otherwise empty and spotless kitchen table, a delicious-looking macaroni and cheese, browned on top and evidently homemade, sat cooling in the twin of the empty baking dish.
        He noticed with approval and surprise the two cloth napkins rolled up in their rings and placed tidily to the side. Most nannies instantly gave up trying to impress proper table manners on Hero and Cosmo; not this one, it seemed. His gaze now took in a small bowl in which a few pieces of broccoli, evidently leftovers, had been placed. James did a double take. This nanny could not only cook but had managed to get the children to eat vegetables. And not only vegetables. Broccoli.
        The house wasn't silent, James realised now. He could hear something upstairs. A voice, but not one he recognised.
        He slowly ascended the threadbare sisal staircase. The sound seemed to be coming from the direction of the large, rather shabby bedroom that Hero and Cosmo shared and the adjoining and even shabbier upstairs bathroom.
        James paused outside the children's bedroom door. Someone was speaking loudly and dramatically in a strange accent. It didn't sound northern though. It sounded French.
        James was puzzled. Although Vanessa occasionally decided that the children needed lessons in conversational French, he hadn't realised she had done anything about it. He glanced at his watch and felt even more puzzled. If French wasn't off the agenda and a teacher had been appointed, what was he or she doing here at half-past-seven at night? Without Vanessa being around? What was she thinking? He knew she took her charity committees seriously, but this was ridiculous.
        James grabbed the round, wooden handle of the white-painted door and pushed it open.
        The French accent stopped immediately. James peered into the room.
        The next minute, he was bowled over by small bodies running at him full tilt. "Daddy!"
        James pulled them to him and hugged them hard. They had both grown, he saw from an initial glance; their faces seemed to have lengthened, especially Cosmo's. They had obviously had their baths, being dressed in their pyjamas with their hair neatly brushed.
        He had almost forgotten about the strange French voice, but now he saw that, sitting on Cosmo's bed, was a girl of about twenty with a very pretty face and shoulder-length brown hair. She looked perfectly normal in build, not at all fat, and wore black trousers and a white polo shirt. Her skin was creamy, with reddish cheeks like apples and a pair of large brown eyes that were looking at him enquiringly.
        "I'm so sorry," James apologised. "Emma, isn't it? We haven't met. I'm James, Cosmo and Hero's father." He ruffled their neatly brushed heads. "Actually, I hadn't realised you were French." Had he heard Vanessa wrong? Had she said "France" instead of "northern"? But surely the telephone line, even from Equitorial Guinea, couldn't be that bad.
        From her comfortable perch on the bed, Emma regarded Vanessa's husband with interest. He was not what she had expected. Not the sleek alpha male she had pictured at all, but tall, thin, bespectacled, and apologetic, his collar awry and his glasses wonky.
        "I'm not French," she smiled. "I was just giving one of the characters in Chicken Licken a French accent."
        In the dim recesses of James' mind, something stirred. "Oh yes," he said, uncertainly. "That chicken. It goes and tells everyone. It tells Cocky Locky. Is that right? Chicken, um, Licken meets, um, Cocky Locky?"
        "And Turkey Lurkey," Cosmo interrupted eagerly,