My Mother's Secret Read Online Free PDF Page B

imprinted on his consciousness were obvious. He didn’t have anyone to compare her to, unless you counted his mother, which Camilla didn’t, since Jenny Sheehan hadn’t been, from what she could gather, a domestic goddess of any consequence. Davey was almost grateful, Camilla thought, to have a woman around the house who, although a hundred per cent committed to her career, also knew about healthy eating and comfortable living and, of course, was good in bed. Camilla smiled to herself. She knew that she was very good in bed and that Davey was reaping the benefit of her experience. It was nice, as the woman, to feel that you were the one with the more varied past; it was also nice that Davey didn’t feel the need to quiz her about it. Of course sex with Davey wasn’t all about her own talents; he was a generous and adaptable lover, and far more concerned about her pleasure than her previous boyfriends had been, which was a refreshing change. But she was definitely the one with more skills in the bedroom.
    Nevertheless, from Camilla’s perspective, Davey Sheehan was a good bet and she was certainly happy to be sharing a spacious loft apartment in Østerbro with him. She thought it was sweet that he still wanted to impress her. And she knew that he wanted her to like his family, and for them to like her too. She leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment. He took one hand from the steering wheel and squeezed her knee before she sat upright again.
    Davey returned his hand to the steering wheel and glanced at his girlfriend. Sometimes he really did pinch himself to see that he wasn’t dreaming, because it seemed inconceivable to him that he, Davey Sheehan, without any great redeeming features to his name, had somehow managed to land a beauty like Camilla Rasmussen. From the moment he’d first seen her at a conference on alternative energy sources, he’d been attracted by her unshakeable poise, her effortless good looks and her easy conversation. When she’d accepted his invitation to dinner, he’d been astonished. And it was still a mystery to him why she’d agreed to move in with him. Yes, he admitted to himself, he was successful in his job. Yes, in comparison perhaps to some of the earnest people that populated the industry, he was easy-going – Camilla said that she liked that about him. But still. His hair was thinner than it had been ten years earlier and flecked with grey. His abs weren’t exactly a six-pack. (They hadn’t been in his twenties either, but back then he could have fantasised.) And while he knew he’d upped his game over the past few months, he would never be as ruthlessly groomed as Ivar Nygaard – of the black jumpers, black trousers and silver-rimmed designer glasses – who worked in the same company as Camilla and with whom she’d had a year-long relationship that had ended shortly before he, Davey, had met her at the conference.
    He was afraid of being her rebound man. He was afraid that she’d temporarily fallen for him because he was so different from Ivar. He was afraid he’d lose her and he didn’t want to. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He’d already bought the engagement ring.
    He patted the inside pocket of his jacket. It was actually too warm to be still wearing a jacket, but he hadn’t wanted to take it off in case the box containing the beautiful diamond in its distinctive setting fell out. Davey had bought it a few weeks earlier in a moment of confidence and enthusiasm, thinking that making a romantic proposal to his girlfriend would be a grand gesture. But he’d chickened out. Camilla wasn’t a grand gesture person. And what if he asked her and she said no?
    It was all very well for girls, he thought as he turned the air-con up a notch, they had all these books and movies telling them that they were worth it, and that they deserved the best. They could get into a state about hoping that a guy would propose to them, but they didn’t actually have to do it, did