Recipes for Melissa Read Online Free PDF Page A

he listened to the latest on the Eurozone Crisis. Greek’s plea for a second bailout was still at stalemate. Max was thinking Cyprus could well be next. Maybe he should warn Melissa to take some dollars or sterling? Just in case. No. Stop panicking.
    Max switched to a music channel, checked his watch then and prayed for no hold-ups south of the river. He texted ahead to say he should be no more than 15 minutes late, but they were still watching out anxiously from the window as he pulled up outside the block, and appeared almost instantly on the pavement.
    ‘What the bloody hell is that?’ Max kissed his daughter as Sam struggled behind her with the most fantastic piece of luggage he had ever seen.
    ‘Don’t you start. I have had enough grief already from Sam.’
    ‘I’m not surprised. So what’s the plan here?’ Max stepped back to examine the case more closely. ‘To live in it?’
    ‘Shut up,’ she punched his arm playfully as Sam wheeled the monster toward the boot.
    ‘And belated happy birthday. To both of you.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    It was only then that Max clocked just how exhausted they both looked.
    ‘Heavy night on the juice, was it guys?’
    Melissa grimaced.
    Max checked her face more closely and knew to ask no more. Max knew all his daughter’s faces.
    They made good time – the traffic light – and Max felt the familiar anxiety as he pulled into the drop-off point. ‘You’ll text me when you land?’
    ‘Sure.’
    She wouldn’t.
    ‘And we’re on for our regular dinner when you get back?’ He would track the flight online.
    ‘Yes of course – Dad. On the calendar.’
    ‘And we’ll talk then. You know – about the freelance contract. You haven’t made a decision?’
    Melissa, only just finishing her training as a journalist on the local paper, had the unexpected offer of a try-out on a national. A big call. Local job with pension versus freelancing.
    ‘I’m bumping it until after the holiday. In fact I’m bumping everything until after the holiday.’
    Max got out briefly, brushed imagined fluff from his trousers and eventually stretched out his hand to Sam. ‘You look after her.’
    ‘Dad.’
    ‘Sorry, darling.’
    Melissa then kissed him hurriedly on the cheek, checking her watch. ‘Look. I really am sorry but we need to dash.’
    Max glanced again at the huge grey case and shook his head. ‘You have a lovely time.’
    ‘We will.’
    At the university later, Max made himself the treat of a large cafetière of coffee and tried very hard not to worry; to prepare himself instead for Anna’s arrival.
    Anna was the school’s newest seminar leader. She had started in the summer term and was now grappling admirably with a timetable chock-a-block with freshers. A couple of times each week she touched base with Max to talk through progress and the following week’s plans. Max had been right about her appointment. She was keen, bright and ambitious; though there was now a problem he had not foreseen.
    Max braced himself, closing his eyes to the smell of the coffee. Ten to noon and right on cue – the click of her heels in the corridor, then the knock on his door which was already ajar.
    ‘Come in.’
    And then – there it was again.
    ‘Morning Max.’
    The lurch .
    ‘Sorry. Good afternoon, I should say. Christ. Where does the time go in this place?’ she was staring down at a single sheaf of paper.
    Max had tried to convince himself that it was his imagination. The lurch to his stomach. But no. It had happened three times now for three consecutive meetings. First sighting. Cue lurch.
    Today she was wearing cream linen trousers with a burgundy wrap top. There was the tiniest flicker of a thin pink silk bra strap showing on her left shoulder as she tightened a large tortoiseshell clasp holding her hair up.
    Max shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Never again would he date anyone at work.
    ‘You got time for a quick run through this, Max?’ she was now leafing through more