Candleland Read Online Free PDF

bookended by conspiratorial smiles.
    â€œOh, we go way back. Don’t we, Andy?”
    â€œWe do.”
    â€œYou see,” said Faye, leaning forward, the candlelight from the table defining her cleavage in a most flattering and, to Larkin, highly desirable way, “I’m Andy’s mother.”
    Larkin almost dropped his fork. Even Moir phased into the present long enough to allow his jaw to slacken. Faye and Andy smiled, enjoying the confusion.
    â€œWell, Andy mate,” said Larkin, mentally retracting his earlier thoughts about Faye’s breasts, “I didn’t think you were capable of surprising me any more, but I’ve been proved wrong.”
    Andy raised his glass in salute, a broad grin on his face. Ice well and truly broken, the meal, and the conversation, began to pick up.
    â€œSo what’s the story, if you don’t mind me asking?” said Larkin.
    â€œDoesn’t Andy tell you anything?” asked Faye.
    â€œNot as much as I thought he did.”
    Faye smiled again. “Well, if he doesn’t mind –” Andy shrugged “– and you two don’t mind listening –” Larkin nodded, Moir raised his eyebrows. “OK then.” Draining her glass then refilling it, she began to fill in the missing bits of Andy’s life story.
    She fell pregnant with Andy when she was very young. “Too young, really. Andy’s father and I were just a couple of sheltered kids out in the back of beyond. We didn’t have much of a clue what we were doing. Still, Andy’s father was very sweet about it. It was a small village and he wanted to protect me, so he thought the gentlemanly thing to do was marry me. So he did. And it was hell. There we were, playing at being grown-ups, trying to bring up a kid when we’d only just left school.” She took a drink of wine. “Anyway, to cut a tedious story short, Andy’s father’s family weren’t short of a bob or two so they paid me off and brought Andy up themselves.” She smiled. “I think they were relieved, really. Gentry, you see. Gentleman farmers. They despise commoners like me,” she said with a laugh.
    â€œRight bunch of humourless tossers,” chimed in Andy.
    â€œDon’t be bitter, Andy, they can’t help it.” Andy gave a deferential shrug. Faye continued. She told how it had hurt to leave her baby, but she knew he’d be well looked after. “And I went travelling. Europe, India, that’s what we did at the time. Anyway, potted history. I eventually ended up in London, enrolled in art school, fell in love with one of my tutors, married him, moved in here.”
    Faye’s eyes fell on a painting on the wall. Larkin followed her gaze. An abstract in rich crimson and blue hues, the muted light of the candles gave it intensity and depth. Larkin glanced around. It wasn’t the only painting there. The walls were full of them and, Larkin noticed for the first time, they were all original.
    â€œHe was an artist and a sculptor,” Faye continued, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the memories she could see painted into the canvas. “The paintings were all his. The sculpture and ceramics are both of ours. His are the good ones,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
    Larkin smiled and looked around the table. He had to admit he was having a good time. He was starting to relax in his temporary new home. They all were, by the looks of things. Andy was enjoying himself, but he very rarely didn’t. Then Faye. For all her good looks and stimulating nature, she carried an air of loneliness about her. She seemed genuinely pleased to have company. He looked at Moir. Even he appeared less preoccupied, his mouth giving an occasional twitch at the corners. It was such a simple thing: food, drink, company, conversation. Simple, but it looked like something none of them had had too much of recently. Good, thought Larkin. They