Runaway Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

little ’un. And when you get back, you can tell me all about how it went and when you are going to see your dad and what you are going to say to him.”
    Rose smiled. She found Jenny’s motivation of sheer nosiness much easier to accept than her sudden gesture of kindness, although she had to concede Jenny was being kind, and she obviously did worry about Maddie, caught in the middle of some drama she could only guess at.
    “I will be fine, Mummy, with the miniature things,” Maddie assured her. “I don’t want to go. I’m not sure I will like it.”
    “Well, OK,” Rose said, wondering if she would ever understand her daughter. “I will just be down the road. If you need me you can call me . . .” Rose thought of her mobile phone, which lay dormant in her pocket. She really had no desire to switch it back on, to see the number of calls from Richard that she had missed, listen to his messages, or read his texts. He would be angry with her, that much was a given, and everything that had happened to drive her out of the door, that would be her fault, he’d be adamant about that. The trouble was, Rose thought, there was a good chance he might be right.
    “Love,” Jenny said, brushing her concerns away, “the pub’s five minutes down the road. If I need you, I’ll phone Ted and he can give you a shout.”
    “Ted?” Rose had visions of some ancient local who was permanently situated in the corner of the bar, slowly sipping a pint of real ale and stuffing his pipe.
    “My middle one. He’s a live-in barman over there—not a proper job, but he likes it. Keeps him in beer money while he works on being a rock star. One day he’ll grow up and realize life isn’t about having fun, although God knows his father never has.”
    “Ted.” Rose smiled. “I’ll look out for him.”
    “Oh, you won’t have to,” Jenny said, pursing her lips and looking Rose up and down in her new get-up. “He’ll find you like a shot.”
    •  •  •
     
    The Bull was quiet when Rose pushed her way in through the door. A traditional pub with flagstone flooring, ancient-looking furnishings, and walls still stained with nicotine, it was almost empty at midday except for a couple of hikers and an old lady sitting in the corner sipping beer from a bottle. Just as Jenny had told her, another reproduction of John Jacobs’s painting of Millthwaite hung over the impressive stone mantelpiece that surrounded a cold grate, and a young man, possibly Ted, was leaning over the bar, examining a magazine.
    “Ted?” Rose approached the bar, smiling uncertainly.
    Ted looked up, grinning wickedly. “Rose! I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”
    “How did you . . . ?”
    “Mum texted me that you were on your way,” he told her warmly. “I’m to try and listen in on your conversation and find out what you want with Albie. Don’t worry, I don’t care what you’re doing here, unless you are planning to ask me out for a drink, in which case the answer is yes, day after tomorrow is my night off, although I am gigging, but you can come and be my groupie.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Rose half spluttered, half laughed, uncertain if he was teasing her or not.
    “Sorry,” Ted said, smiling ruefully. “I was trying to be funny. I do play in a band, though, that much is true. And there’s a live music night on. If you’ve got nothing on you should come down and check me out. Once a girl’s seen me sing, she’s powerless to resist my charms.”
    Rose blinked at him.
    “Trying to be funny again,” Ted said. “And failing again.”
    Ted was indeed quite charming to look at. In his early twenties and brimming with confidence, he had Jenny’s coppery brown hair, which he wore with a long fringe thatflopped into his brown eyes, and a swagger that he shouldered as confidently as his pristine white shirt, which was unbuttoned down to at least the middle of his chest.
    “Well, as I am very far from being a girl, I think I’ll