Christmas at Tiffany's Read Online Free PDF Page B

with laughter but just crying. She put an arm round her and they slid down the wall together, Cassie resting her head on Kelly’s shoulder as she stroked her hair, just like they always had done when they were younger.
    They sat like that for a long time.
    ‘Oh dear, that’s not the start I was hoping for,’ Cassie sniffed finally. ‘I was expecting to hold out for at least half an hour before the wailing hysterics took over.’
    ‘Well, it’s going to be like that for a while,’ Kelly said quietly. ‘It’s all got to come out somehow. How were you on the plane?’
    ‘Oh, utterly mortifying – louder than most of the toddlers. You’d have left by parachute.’
    ‘Don’t doubt it,’ Kelly nodded, beginning to get up. ‘Come on, let’s run you a bath. You need to unwind. I’ll pop out and get dinner while you soak.’
    ‘Oh no, I’m fine. I’ll come with you.’
    ‘Plus you stink,’ Kelly said, walking into the bathroom and opening the taps. ‘There. I’ve poured my favourite Jo Malone in for you.’ She pulled on a pair of knitted Uggs and a sleeveless puffa jacket. ‘Put your pyjamas on after. I’ll be back in a little while.’
    The door clicked softly and Cassie climbed into the bath, letting the water fill up around her. She realized she hadn’t showered or washed at the airport hotel. After drinking her way through the minibar, she’d collapsed fully clothed on to the bed and on being woken by her pre-booked wake-up call had simply stood up, grabbed her bag and staggered out of the door to the departures terminal. She wiped an eyelid and a smudge of bronze shadow came off on her finger. God, she was still wearing the party – literally wearing the makeup, the body cream, the shock and horror of that night . . .
    Taking a deep breath, she slid below the surface of the perfumed bubbles, desperate for their cleansing, transformative effect. It meant she was being submerged in someone else’s scent – perfumed, sophisticated, unfamiliar – but that was okay. That was what she wanted. So long as she could be anything but herself.
    When Kelly got back, she was wearing a pair of green checked flannel pyjamas – an ancient pair of Gil’s, her warmest pair for cosying up in front of the fire on those long evenings alone when he’d been working in Edinburgh during the week. A chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, which she’d picked up at Duty Free, was sitting on the table in front of her, with two coloured water glasses beside it.
    ‘You don’t have any wine glasses,’ Cassie said as Kelly eyed the tumblers suspiciously.
    ‘That’s because I don’t drink wine,’ Kelly said, picking up the bottle and reading the label as if it were dry-cleaning instructions. ‘Although I’m going to have to make an exception tonight. This is an expensive bottle and it is your first night in Manhattan.’
    ‘Why don’t you drink wine?’
    ‘Cass, the calories! That bottle adds up to the same as dinner,’ she said, holding up two steaming white paper bags which were slightly soggy at the bottom. ‘We may as well eat twice!’ She smiled forgivingly. ‘But it doesn’t matter too much. We’ll be running it off in the morning.’
    ‘We will?’
    ‘Yup. Every morning. Central Park, seven a.m.’
    ‘ Seven! Kell, I’m not even breathing at that time of night.’
    Kelly chuckled as she pulled the foil off the bottle. ‘You always were a sleepyhead. Do you remember that time you slept through the alarm and you had to sit your Maths exam in your nightie?’
    Cassie rolled her eyes. It was true. She’d never been a morning person.
    Kelly walked over to the bookcase on the far wall and took a couple of plates from on top. Cassie noticed for the first time that there were a few bowls and a glass full of cutlery there too. So that was where they were hiding. The kitchen cabinets were clearly an extended dressing room, completely devoid of culinary purpose.
    ‘What are we having?’ Cassie asked, pouring