Vicki's Work of Heart Read Online Free PDF

‘Heaven,’ I said, thankful not to be looking out over a collage of rooftops, washing lines and satellite dishes.
    Okay, this was it. I was embarking on an exciting journey into the unknown – my future. All I had to worry about was preparing regular, edible meals and unleashing my creative energy. With a rush of enthusiasm, I pulled on a pair of old jeans, a blue sweatshirt and a pair of sandals. I twisted my hair into a knot on the back of my head and fixed it with a clip. At least I had more colour in my cheeks this morning. I rubbed in some moisturiser. No reason for any make-up.
    Well…maybe just a slick of lip-gloss.
    As I descended the stairs, Hercules and Boz stepped from their beds, stretching and wagging their tails. I crouched down to give them some attention, before heading to the kitchen. The sun shone through the old windows, casting shafts of light onto the pale blue cupboards. I had no idea what Christophe would eat but thought a pot of coffee would be a good start. I also decided to make fruit salad and later, when I’d had time to go shopping, I would mix some home-made muesli.
    By the time the fruit salad was in the fridge, and the coffee brewed, I heard the dogs on the move – a hint that Christophe was heading our way. I’m good, I thought. Sorted. The central, wooden table was set for breakfast, the fruit salad was colourful and nutritious, the smell of coffee was inviting…
    Dear Doris! What was I turning into? Just pass me the twin-set and frilly apron.
    Rebelliously, I slopped coffee into a mug and leaned against the work surface, just as Christophe sauntered in. He was wearing battered jeans and a loose-fitting, dark blue shirt. Yowser! He was still hot. Suddenly, I remembered how Marc could make an entrance – one flash of his boyish good looks, lit up by a dazzling smile and female heads would turn, knees weaken and pudenda would…
    Oh no. I’m sooo not going there, I thought, gritting my teeth.
    ‘Good morning, Vicki. Did you sleep well?’ His brown eyes were almost black surrounded, as they were, by lashes the colour of tar.
    ‘Like a baby,’ I smiled. ‘A good baby. Not a colicky one. I mean, it’s so quiet here. Very peaceful. I had a long day yesterday. Long and tiring.’ Oh crap. I was rambling, so I slurped some too-hot coffee and scalded my tongue.
    ‘And getting soaked to the skin on my doorstep didn’t help, huh?’ Something about the way he said ‘huh’ at the end of his sentences was so very…French.
    He leaned against the worktop, hanging his head over the coffee pot and sniffing. ‘Mmm. Smells good.’ He looked down at me. ‘What a treat to come down to hot coffee. C’est merveillieux.’
    The heat of his body was coming off him in wafts of shower gel and amber cologne. I lifted the coffee pot and carried it to the table. Realising his mug was still on the worktop, I carried it back and poured it out.
    ‘How was your racing dinner?’
    ‘Very good. But also tiring.’
    ‘Was it a nice meal?’
    ‘It was delicious – and should have been, the tickets were expensive.’
    ‘Talking of food, what do you like to eat and where do you suggest I do the shopping?’
    He shrugged. ‘I eat most things. I will be happy with anything you make. We have some shops here, and you can borrow the car to go into Limoges. I will take you, some time, and show you round.’
    ‘And…um…shall I buy the food and let you know what your share is?’ He looked puzzled. ‘I assume we’re splitting the food bill fifty-fifty.’
    ‘I know what you are saying. But, you do the cooking, I do the paying.’
    He was a caveman. ‘But I’m cooking in return for staying here. You can’t pay for my food as well.’
    ‘Vicki, I am perfectly happy to pay for the food.’
    I shook my head. I had always paid my own way – not to mention Marc’s. I appreciated his hospitality but this was taking it too far. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I really must pay for mine. I may not be