Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [51]
This was truly a nightmare. Florence had lost her marbles and now she was planning - gleefully, dammit - to lose all her money too.
`Mother, I'm not sure Vegas is a good idea.'
`Why not, too many wedding chapels?' Florence teased. `Don't worry, darling, Orlando's already asked me and I turned him down.'
Thank Christ for that, thought Bruce. His hands were slippery with sweat.
`I have no desire to be married by a crooning Elvis lookalike in a white crimplene jumpsuit,' Florence went on consolingly. `I told Orlando straight. If we decide to get married, we'll do it in England, with a real vicar and in a proper church.'
Chapter 21
Greg's new flat, in Maida Vale, was situated on the third floor of a modern apartment block set in landscaped gardens. The flat itself was small but adequate, and had been recently redecorated in shades of creams and greens that were only faintly reminiscent of municipal toilets.
`This is great, I love it,' Miranda enthused as she was given the full guided tour. It wasn't strictly true, she much preferred old buildings to new ones, but what else could you say when someone was proudly showing you around their new home?
And this was Greg's new home, so she would grow to love it.
`Really?' He put his arms around her. `I know it's not huge, but it has its advantages. No Adrian, for a start.'
Miranda kissed him. Adrian meant well, but privacy - or rather the lack of it - had been an increasing problem recently. The other evening, back at Adrian's house, things had been progressing nicely in a bedroom direction when he had arrived home unexpectedly with a crowd of friends from the pub. Discovering Greg and Miranda sitting bolt upright on the sofa, taking in at a glance Miranda's pink cheeks, lack of bra and wrongly done-up blouse, he had waved afour-pack of lagers and yelled, `Oops, coitus interruptus! Hey, don't mind us, feel free to carry on. We were going to watch the football but we can always watch you two instead.'
Miranda blushed again just thinking about it. How embarrassing had that been? Almost as embarrassing as the moment thirty seconds later when she and Greg were making their escape through the front door and a roar had gone up in the living room as one of Adrian's friends, chucking a sofa cushion to one side, had triumphantly unearthed her bra.
Honestly, it was bad enough being a 34A without having it announced to a roomful of half-cut football fanatics who immediately launched into a raucous chant to that effect.
Oh yes, the prospect of total privacy had a lot going for it.
`No Adrian,' Miranda agreed happily, `just us.' She kissed him again, sliding her hands longingly under his rugby shirt. `I don't think you've shown me the bedroom yet.'
Greg stroked her hair.
`We're going to do this properly. There's no rush, we've got all the time in the world. Look, it's only seven o'clock,' he showed her his watch, `and you've been at work all day. You must be starving. I thought we'd go out and get something to eat first. Then, when we come back… well, you can see the bedroom.' He grinned. `It's Sunday tomorrow, no need to get up. If we want to, we can spend the whole day in bed. And I think I should warn you now, I'll definitely want to.'
`Except I promised Florence I'd decorate that room,' groaned Miranda.
`Put it off.'
`I can't. She had the paint delivered today.'
`I thought you said the girl wasn't moving in for another week.'
`She isn't, but Florence really wants the room done tomorrow. Otherwise the smell of paint will still-'
`Don't let her boss you around,' Greg interrupted impatiently. `She can't make you do it. What is she, some kind of slave-driver? Just tell her tomorrow isn't convenient.'
`Florence isn't a slave-driver, she just wants the job finished. And I promised I'd do it. I don't want to let her down.'
Greg was frowning, not bothering to conceal his irritation.
`I wanted us to spend the day together.'
`But we can!'
`In bed,' he said pointedly. `Not painting bloody walls.' There was a horrible silence.
`Oh God,'