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Chapter Five
Miranda Bendt was stunning.
Alice was finding it almost impossible not to gawk.
Her thick copper tresses were piled into an up-do that defied gravity, dark lashes framed her china blue eyes, and her skin shone like a burnished peach. Everything about herglowed.
Of course, the other two wives, Delia Trojan and Natasha Fink, were also attractive and immaculately groomed—they made Alice think of thoroughbred horses. But Miranda was, without question, the jewel in the crown of the Trojan, Bendt and Fink wives club.
After doing the introductions, Miranda had thrown herself nonchalantly back against the cushions of a plush sofa. “Just look at that husband of mine.” Her lips curled indulgently. “Putting Aaron through his paces already.”
Alice gave a weak smile and let her gaze stray to where Aaron was standing ramrod stiff in his dark blue suit next to a broad-shouldered Nordic god and a dark-haired man who looked whip-smart. Natasha Fink gave an elegant little snort. “Mark my words, any minute now they’ll disappear.”
“And where will we find them?” Miranda slid one bronzed leg over the other, affording a glimpse of long thigh beneath her figure-hugging black dress.
Delia Trojan, the slightly older of the three, shook her head. “Raiding the beer fridge, without a doubt.”
Miranda gave a little shrug. “They never really grow up, do they? Happiest in the shed cracking beers and sharing bad jokes.”
There was no way, Alice thought, there would be anything remotely resembling a shed in the grounds of this palace.
“Honestly,” Natasha laughed, “I don’t think Charles would know how to iron a shirt. Or boil an egg. Where would they be without us?”
“Lost.” Miranda smiled like a cat that had just licked the saucer clean out of cream. She played with a sparkling diamond on an (obviously white gold) chain around her neck. “So, Alice, Archie tells me you and Aaron have been together a while now?”
Alice sipped her champagne and rifled through the memory of her debrief with Aaron. “Nearly two years.” God, how she hated lying. “But we’ve known each other since uni.”
“How did you meet?” Natasha asked.
While I was hyperventilating in a huddled heap behind the lecture theatreprobably wouldn’t sound the best. “Oh, you know how it is. We sort of spotted each other around, and then we got chatting and… One thing led to another.”
“I can’t say I blame you.” Miranda’s gaze followed Aaron as he sauntered around with Archie, shaking hands with his new colleagues. “He’s a cutie.”
Alice stomped on the green-eyed monster.
She knew that admiring look. She’d got used to it from countless women. But really, what was the point letting it worry her? Aaron was no more her boyfriend now than he’d ever been.
Earlier, with Polly’s enthusiastic thumbs-up following her out of the Book Genie, she’d felt confident, attractive—even a little bit sexy in another of Polly’s hand-me-downs; an Audrey Hepburn-style classic. And when Aaron’s eyes had nearly propelled out of his head at the sight of her, followed by a kiss on the cheek she was sure lingered for just a second more than was necessary, well. Her heart had done gymnastics for a moment.
But now… among these women for whom beauty and obscene wealth were obviously considered a birthright, she felt like a fraud.
“So, Alice, you own a bookshop, with your mum. How deliciously quaint.” Miranda leaned forward and refilled Alice’s glass as she spoke. Alice stared at the red and gold label and Miranda’s immaculately manicured hands as she placed the bottle carefully back on the alabaster coffee table.
She could hardly own up that the Book Genie—other than some virtual shares that she really had no idea what to do with—one hundred per cent belonged to Rowena. Always had, always would. It was her mum’s pride and joy.
“I inhale books. It’s my outlet now I don’t work,” Delia commented, almost wistfully. “What’s your shop called?”
“The Book Genie,” Alice said. Miranda and Natasha stared at her blankly. “It’s in Northbridge. We sell second-hand books.”
Miranda tinkled out a laugh. “Oh, I never buy second-handanything. And if I read, it’s on a device. Other than the books in Archie’s study all our books are really just for decoration. And old books have that smell, don’t they?” She wrinkled her nose.
Delia gave Alice a warm smile. “I love old books. I really should come and have a snoop. Could you get hold of a copy ofNorth and Southfor me? Now, who’s the author…”
“Elizabeth Gaskell,” Alice supplied, feeling like she had something to offer at last.
“Yes, of course. Remember that BBC series—with that sexy broody guy, oh, what was his name?” Delia snapped her fingers. “You know, who played the lead. Probably way before your time.”
“Richard Armitage.” Of course Alice knew, she’d lost count of how many times she’d watched it. “I’ve got the series on DVD. Wasn’t he amazing?”
