Wild Oats Read Online Free PDF Page A

weight loss for ageing you. She surveyed herself critically from all angles, deciding that her golden tan and the freckles like a dusting of cinnamon over her nose saved her from gauntness. Her hair was a disaster though, falling in a tangled mass of unkempt copper to well past her shoulders, her fringe long grown out but yet to catch up with the rest. She tugged a comb through it, then twisted it up in a butterfly clip. She dug round in her drawer for some make-up, finding some old mascara and a millimetre of pink lipstick, and was pleased to see they brought some life to her face. She tutted at herself for being so vain all of a sudden, when she hadn’t given a second thought to how she looked for ages.
    She wondered if she would have been so anxious if Olivier hadn’t been around. She remembered how he’d made her feel all those years ago; how she’d repeatedly checked her appearance on that fateful holiday, wondering if she was too fat, too thin, too flat-chested, too pale, too frumpy, too freckly. Notthat she’d cared what he thought then, or now, of course…
    She went downstairs. The kitchen was empty and she felt a tiny prick of disappointment. The tea things had gone from the table and the ashtray had been cleared away. There was no sign of Olivier.
    Her stomach rumbled and she went in search of sustenance, but there was absolutely nothing to eat. Plenty of bottles of Budweiser in the fridge, half a pint of milk, a packet of curling bacon and some Flora. No eggs. No bread. Typical blokes. Never mind. One of the advantages of living near Ludlow was that the once gastronomically-challenged post office was now an epicurean paradise.
    She was fishing about for the keys to her old Ford Fiesta when the early afternoon peace was shattered by an almighty roar that made her jump out of her skin. She peered through the window at the sky: sometimes fighter planes went overhead on exercise. But the sky was empty. And the noise was coming nearer. It seemed to be coming from the stable yard. With her heart in her mouth, she hurried outside to investigate.

2
    Parsnip and Gumdrop shot out of the door behind Jamie, barking frantically and nearly tripping her up as she raced round to the front of the house, her heart hammering. What she saw made her stop in her tracks.
    The impossibly long bonnet of a car was nosing its way through the archway that led from the stables, its blue and silver paintwork glittering in the afternoon sun. It glided across the cobbles, as purposeful and predatory as a shark cruising shallow waters, before coming to a halt in front of Jamie, resplendent in all its glory.
    It was a Bugatti, the ultimate in vintage racing cars: a welding of nostalgia, glamour, sex-appeal and horsepower. Sleek, streamlined and understated, its perfection lay in its simplicity. Each line, each contour, had a purpose. There was no unnecessary embellishment. It was a design classic. And, like the most ravishing Italian film star, it took centre stage quietly confident that nothing could compete with its beauty, knowing that all eyes were feasting upon its curves with longing and wonder.
    At the steering wheel was Olivier. Dressed in a white polo shirt that showed off his tan, a cigarette smouldering in his mouth, he looked for all the worldlike a thirties playboy on the hunt for his next conquest. He dropped the revs, letting the engine idle. It now sounded like a gentle purr, but Jamie could still feel the power of the car reverberate through her body. It was having a disturbing effect on her, combined with the heat of the sun, the noise and the overpowering smell of the fumes. She told herself it was lack of food and sleep that was making her feel faint, rather than the disarming grin Olivier was giving her as he gauged her reaction, narrow-eyed, through the plume of smoke from his cigarette.
    ‘Is this… Dad’s car?’ she managed to stammer. ‘The one he used to share with your father?’
    Olivier nodded