The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

got a few lines referring to him as a bachelor business mogul or playboy restauranteur, then acres of coverage about whichever of his new restaurants was about to open.
    ‘I hear you’re doing OK for yourself,’ Holly had said, thrumming the pub table with her fingers, glancing up at Wilf, licking her suddenly dry lips
.
    ‘As are you, Miss Somers. What was it at the Olympics? Bronze?’
    ‘Silver.’
    ‘Congratulations.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘My pleasure.’
    ‘
Don’t look at me like that.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Like you think I’ll jump straight into bed with you.’
    Wilf had laughed and said, ‘I think you’ll find you’re looking at me exactly the same way.’
    Now, at the polo ground, as Holly walked further away from the safety of the ice cream van, for a second or two, when her eyes met Wilf’s, before anyone spoke, there was that same unguarded connection. He looked dishevelled and tired. His white trousers were grass-stained, his duck-egg polo shirt muddy, his hair pushed back with sweat, the tips of his cheekbones pink under his tan, the hollow around his eyes dark like he’d slept as little as Holly.
    But then he glanced to his right, saw Emily and Alfonso watching them, waiting, and turned back, one eyebrow raised and said, ‘Well, if it isn’t the mother of my child.’
    Holly sighed and turned away from him, running her tongue under her top teeth and fixing her stare on the ponies warming up on the practice ring. Emily said, ‘Wilf!’ And Alfonso coughed as if he had embarrassed shock caught in his throat. Then he jumped down from his pony, took a couple of strides in Holly’s direction and, hand outstretched, said, ‘Excuse my friend for his rudeness. We lost today and he doesn’t like to lose. You must be Holly? Alfonso,’ he said, one hand on his chest to indicate he was talking about himself.
    ‘Hi,’ Holly said, swallowing over a lump in her throat, half anger, half held in tears. ‘It’s really nice to meet you.’
    ‘The pleasure is absolutely all mine. You are going to France this evening, yes? I am driving over later in the week. I have never actually been to France before, can you believe it?’ He smiled and the corners of his eyes tipped up like a cat.
    Holly bit down on her thumbnail and smiled, ‘It’s really beautiful, I’ve heard. From Emily.’
    ‘And I have heard from Wilfred.’ Alfonso turned to try and include Wilf in the conversation, but his jaw was set and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for casual chit-chat.
    ‘We should probably go to the clubhouse, talk privately,’ Wilf said, indicating towards the big white pavilion, its arched windows sparkling in the sunshine, beautifully topiaried pot plants lined up along the terrace and a huge viewing platform just behind it from where you could survey the entire grounds of the club.
    ‘I’m not sure there’s time for that,’ Emily said, taking a step forward so she was standing next to Alfonso.
    Wilf frowned. ‘What do you mean there’s no time? Your ferry’s not till tonight.’
    ‘No, actually it’s in two and half hours from Dover.’
    ‘What?’ Holly held her hands out wide in disbelief.
    ‘Yeah,’ Emily twizzled her hair around her forefinger. ‘I got it wrong.’
    ‘Like hell you did,’ Wilf dragged a hand through his sweaty hair and exhaled slowly, his sigh practised over years of exasperation with his sister.
    Emily trotted barefoot over to the van where she pulled out her wheelie suitcase and thumped it on the shorn grass, ‘Yeah and also, I can’t come with you, Holly. Sorry.’ She bit her lip, ‘I’ve realised I have stuff to do, important work stuff, so I think the only way it can work is if I go with Alfonso‒’
    ‘Hang on.’ Wilf held up a hand, ‘What important work stuff?’
    Emily looked affronted, ‘Just some stuff that has come up at the office.’
    Wilf narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t believe you.’
    Emily shrugged. ‘Well that’s your prerogative. Anyway,