Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

Italians. The dinners were fabulous; at the evenings out, at concerts and the theatre, they were always in the best seats, drawing envious glances from the less fortunate mortals stuck near the back. And the clothes! She’d had to entirely re-think her wardrobe, long dresses, even furs, these bourgeois women seemed never to have heard the words conservation and animal rights.
    And after the baby was born, Susie had known the personal trainer, the one you needed an introduction to before he’d even look at you. Annabel’s excess pounds had rolled off, her arms and legs had felt on fire as she sweated and contorted herself into the necessary positions guaranteed to get her back in shape. But it had all been worth it. And Annabel intended asking Susie who her cosmetic surgeon was. There was no way a woman of her age could have such a perfect face, not a sag nor a wrinkle in sight. She was quite a stunner, Susie.
    If she was really honest she had to admit the attraction of London was fading. She had new friends now, a new social circle, new haunts in the chic five star hotels where the women would meet for champagne cocktails and tiny exquisite appetisers straight from the chef’s ovens, the manager bowing and hovering and snapping his fingers for white-jacketed menials whenever they wanted something.
    She headed back into the bedroom, checked her tablet for messages. Damn. There was one from Creara, about the dress. Creara! What was her mother thinking of, saddling her with a name like Creara? But she was the person to go to when you needed the perfect wedding dress. Her stuff was always featured on the pages of Klass, that’s how Annabel had got to know her.
    She flung herself on to the bed, counting on her fingers. April, May, June, July. And then it would be August, they would be in Acapulco for the wedding. There was so much to do! And just because she wasn’t working, Julian thought it was perfectly alright to leave everything to her. She had a baby for God’s sake. And a role, as Julian’s wife. There were so many things to sort out, flowers, linens, cake, why had she ever thought she could handle it on her own? But last summer, when she was full of energy, she’d taken the decision not to hire a wedding planner. Hell, she could be a wedding planner. She had the taste, the organisational skills, the flair, the contacts, it was a possible future career, she wouldn’t mind zipping round the world researching venues and caterers, hurrying on and off planes, BlackBerry in hand. Pity Concorde was no longer in service.
    She read the message again. Creara wanted her to come to London to discuss the dress, now that Annabel had got her figure back. She’d look at flights for next week, check there was nothing too fabulous on her social calendar. They’d already seen each other a couple of times, she’d even had the initial fittings for the dress that she’d really fallen for at the first meeting. Of course that was when she’d been pregnant, there was quite a lot of adjusting needed now she had her figure back. Creara really was one of the best, Annabel was forced to admit it. But she was so bossy, almost rude at times, chivvying Annabel along and reminding her she wasn’t the only client on her books. As though Annabel was some sort of common or garden WAG with a husband in the third league. And there was Julian’s outfit as well, they were still arguing over the damned thing. She wanted something with a Mexican touch, well they were getting married in Acapulco, it was all themed. Of course she wanted him to look chic as well as exotic, but the way he’d reacted you’d have thought she’d asked him to wear a bloody sombrero and strum a guitar. Really. She suspected Edward had been egging him on. Her eyes narrowed. Edward Rayburn. The turncoat.
    And Caroline. And the bridesmaid’s dress. More bloody moans.
    Caroline. Her expression hardened. She’d had no choice. No matter which way she looked at things, she