The Bluebonnet Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page B

women along, down to the train that took them to Paddington Station. During the fifteen-minute journey, she saw more than one chin sink to a chest, only to bolt upright again. She had thought the last leg of their journey could be on the Tube—their first London adventure—but as they struggled to swing carry-ons over their shoulders, and pushed their wheeled bags along as if they were filled with bricks, she took pity and ushered them to the taxi rank. Instead of relinquishing her responsibilities for the ARGS garden, it was now all too clear she had assumed even more.
    —
    Lamont Road in Chelsea would not be a bad place to spend a month, Pru decided as they pulled up to the Austin women’s temporary home, a large, corner house along the brown-brick terrace. Pru had lived in Chelsea her first year in England, not too far away, and she knew the neighborhood. If the women could stay awake long enough, she would take them to the Cat and Cask, her old local.
    Rosette had the key, and once in the door, the five women dispersed to look round, choose a bedroom, find the loo. Pru could hear them upstairs exclaiming about bedding and paint colors. She stood in the entry for a moment, and noticed boxes against the wall with boots, high-vis vests, and work passes. All sorted, then—at least Twyla had done that much. Pru wandered through the sitting room and into the kitchen and looked out the window at a tiny back garden with patio and barbecue.
    “This is fabulous,” she said to Ivory, who walked into the kitchen and opened cupboards until she found a glass. “How did you find it? Oh, don’t tell me—Twyla arranged it.”
    “Damien. He’s covered the rent, too.” Ivory turned on the tap and stuck a finger under the running water.
    “Well, whoever Damien is, he must have deep pockets. Is he from GlobalSynergy?”
    “Ten thousand pounds for the month—that’s how much it cost,” Ivory replied. “Whatever that is in real money.”
    Pru’s eyes widened. “It’s a
lot
.”
    “Are we supposed to go to sleep now or what?” Sweetie asked, standing in the doorway, already wearing fuzzy slippers.
    “Too early for that,” Pru replied. “You should try to stay up until a regular bedtime—it’ll be easier for you to adjust to the time change. I thought we could go down to the pub. Why don’t you get everyone together.”
    Sweetie padded obediently back up the stairs, and Pru turned to Ivory. “Is her name really Sweetie?” she asked in a whisper.
    Ivory shrugged. “If she has another one, she’s never told us.”
    —
    Pru led the way to the pub, but had to retrace her steps several times as the five women stretched themselves out behind her in a stringy parade, KayAnn and Nell bringing up the distant rear. When they got to the end of Lamont Road, the women stopped.
    “How many blocks is it?” Rosette asked.
    “We don’t really have blocks here,” Pru replied. “But it isn’t far—six or seven minutes. Truly.” Possibly. She got behind KayAnn and Nell to nip at their heels. “I’m sure you all could do with a drink.”
I certainly could
.
    Down two more streets and round the corner. They walked under gray skies, but on dry pavement while Pru kept up a lively, albeit one-sided, conversation about London and what they might like to do in their free time—not that she expected them to have much of it. Next, she described the Chelsea Flower Show, which none of them had ever attended, and mentioned the occasional sighting of a celebrity or royal. At those last words, KayAnn and Nell scooted closer, but Rosette just shook her head and said, “You sound like Twyla.”
    Pru pulled up in front of the Cat and Cask, and the women gathered behind her. Begonias, trailing lobelia, and multitudes of small violas erupted from hanging baskets and window boxes, standing out against the dark green walls. Her first year in London, Pru had been a jobbing gardener—pruning here, planting there—and tended the potted