The Beekeeper's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

‘Have you told Dad?’
    ‘Not yet. I wanted to talk it through with you first. I’d rather like to tell him that it’s over and needs no further discussion.’
    Trixie looked relieved. ‘OK, I promise to remain on the island. I think the boys are staying until September anyway. They’re making an album at Joe’s.’
    Grace was relieved, too. ‘So, that’s a deal. Good. Now tell me, what’s he like?’
    Trixie let go of her leg and began to brush her hair. It was thick and lustrous like her mother’s used to be before it aged. ‘He’s very handsome.’ Her face softened into a smile.
    ‘I bet he is.’
    ‘He has the most beautiful eyes. They’re grey-green, like sage, and he’s funny. We laugh all the time. But he’s gentle, too, and he’s kind.’
    ‘He’s English, isn’t he?’
    ‘Yes, he sounds like a prince.’ She remembered the rose behind her ear and pulled it out. ‘Of course, he’s not a prince. But he’s going to be famous one day. You should hear him sing. He has the sexiest voice on the planet.’
    ‘I’d like to hear him sing,’ said Grace.
    Trixie sighed happily. ‘Well, maybe you will. Maybe he’ll sing one of his songs for you. I think you’ll be impressed. He loves me, he loves me not . . .’ She began to pull petals off the rose.
    Grace laughed. ‘I think he loves you, by the sound of things,’ she said.
    Trixie grinned at her knowingly. ‘I think he does, too,’ she replied.

Chapter 3
    Freddie Valentine had once been a handsome man. That was before one half of his face had been disfigured in the war. A bullet had taken his eye, shattering his cheekbone and ripping his flesh apart. The wound had healed, as wounds do, but an unsightly scar remained to remind him of the day that changed everything. The day the world turned on its head and robbed him of all he held dear. The eyepatch he had worn ever since was symbolic of the way he had picked himself up and got on with his life. Beneath, the hurting never stopped.
    He arrived on Tekanasset by boat the following morning with a warm sense of satisfaction after a weekend on his boss’s farm in Bristol County. For the last ten years he had managed the Cranberry farm on Tekanasset, which cultivated over two hundred acres of bog, and had made such a success of it that Mr Stanley was keen for him to lend his expertise to his other farm on the mainland, which grew blueberries, raspberries and strawberries as well as raising livestock. Freddie had spent three days doing what he loved best and Mr Stanley had raised his salary to reflect his gratitude. He had left with a heightened sense of self-worth and the conviction that the disappointments he faced at home were more than compensated for by the pleasure he derived from his work. It was only unfortunate that he happened to bump into Bill Durlacher at the newsagent’s as he stopped to buy cigarettes on his way home, extinguishing as surely as peat on fire the remnants of his enthusiasm.
    ‘I hear your Trixie’s in a bit of hot water,’ said Bill, slipping his newspaper under his arm and patting Freddie with his free hand.
    ‘What kind of hot water?’ asked Freddie impassively. His reserve was considered characteristically British by Tekanasset society, but Bill usually managed to bring out a jollier side on the golf course or over a beer at the clubhouse.
    ‘I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news,’ Bill continued, delighted to be the bearer of bad news.
    ‘You might as well tell me, since I’m going to hear it soon enough from Grace.’
    ‘She ran off with one of the boys from that English band staying up at Joe Hornby’s. Guess he thinks he can turn them into the Rolling Stones.’ Bill gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Grace must be beside herself. Evelyn says Trixie didn’t come back for three days.’
    Freddie paled. He rubbed the bristles on his chin as he deliberated how to deal with Bill Durlacher. His response would determine how long this scandal would run.