had returned from their honeymoon in Cuba,
Stadium
had folded, the latest victim of the recession. Simon Snell had immediately found another job on
Esquire
, but Poppy had put a spanner in Damianâs job-seeking by simultaneously being offered a promotion in New York. And it wasnât just any old promotion. One of her companyâs proper big shots had been visiting from New York, taken one look at Poppy and decided that she was wasted behind the camera. With her gamine beauty, quick-wittedness and sarcastic London cool, the Big Shot was hoping Poppy would be the new Alexa Chung, presenting a quirky magazine/documentary-type show â an English girlâs take on the Big Apple.
Damian, not wanting to be apart from his new wife so early in their marriage (and, Bella thought, probably still not entirely trusting her, left to her own devices in an exciting new city), had bravely decided to take his chances at freelancing in New York.
Stadium
had left him with plenty of contacts, after all.
âI hope Damianâs getting on OK,â said Andy, and Bella grimaced.
âNot much good for his ego if heâs not.â
âNo,â said Andy. âAnd we both know what his professional ego can be like when wounded. So enough of the Poppy jealousy, OK? Would you want to be in her shoes, constantly reassuring Damian that heâs cleverer than her, while he mopes about, sulking all day, in what I imagine is their vast warehouse apartment?â
Bella laughed. âThatâs such a vivid image! Sâpose not.â She was smiling broadly now, as Andyâs foot, which had been rubbing her leg all night, had made its way up to her knickers.
âArenât you going to finish your mussels?â Andy smiled into her eyes, increasing the pressure of his foot.
âIâd rather you finished my muscles at home.â
The next morning, Bella woke around nine a.m. and stretched contentedly. She still loved the fact she would never again be rudely awoken by a shrill alarm signalling another dreary day in another dreary office. She felt much happier today. The sun was shining through muslin curtains, Andy was wonderful, her life was wonderful, everything was wonderful. She pottered about at a leisurely pace, putting the radio on and making herself a cup of tea. She filled her pretty eau-de-nil watering can and went out onto her balcony to water her window boxes. This little daily act gave her a disproportionate amount of pleasure. Her mint and chives were coming along a treat. She kissed her fingers and patted the plants.
âGrow, my babies, grow.â She was glad nobody could see her and wondered if this might be a sign of broodiness. She certainly didnât yearn for a baby right now. She was perfectly happy with things just as they were, and although she knew she wanted one eventually, and reckoned Andy would make a great father, she had no intention of rocking the boat.
Though her flat was really much too small for two, and she and Andy had talked about selling it and buying somewhere bigger, she loved it too much to leave quite yet. The crappy property market was as good an excuse as any, and Andy was still paying off the enormous loan heâd taken out to pay for his wedding to Alison last year, which had been called off at the last minute. The fact that Alison had been shagging her boss, so it should have been her financial responsibility, still rankled with Bella, but Andy was a slave to his tiresome principles.
By the time sheâd showered, dressed, made the bed (arranging and plumping up all the artfully mismatched cushions exactly to her satisfaction) and read a chapter or two of her book over a boiled egg and thickly buttered toast, it was nearly midday. Guiltily, Bella shut the book. There wouldnât be time for her run now â sheâd booked her jointly rented studio for 12.30. She couldnât imagine how sheâd ever managed to get up in time to arrive,
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