Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles 4)

“Yes, I must admit you’ve got to sell a few jars of fish paste to buy a pile like this.”

Jessica laughed, but stopped laughing when the front door opened and a butler appeared, followed by two footmen who ran down the steps to open the boot and unload their bags.

“I don’t have enough luggage for half a footman,” whispered Jessica.

Clive opened the passenger door for her, but she wouldn’t budge. He took her hand and coaxed her up the steps and through the front door of the house, to find Mr. and Mrs. Bingham waiting in the hall.

Jessica thought her legs were going to give way when she first saw Clive’s mother; so elegant, so sophisticated, so self-assured. Mrs. Bingham stepped forward to greet her with a friendly smile.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you at last,” she gushed, kissing Jessica on both cheeks. “Clive’s told us so much about you.”

Clive’s father shook her warmly by the hand and said, “I must say, young lady, Clive didn’t exaggerate, you’re as pretty as a picture.”

Clive burst out laughing. “I hope not, Dad. Jessica’s latest painting is called Smog Two.”

Jessica clung on to Clive’s hand as their hosts led them into the drawing room, and she only began to relax when she saw a portrait of Clive, which she’d painted for his birthday not long after they met, hanging above the mantelpiece.

“I’m hoping you’ll paint a picture of me one day.”

“Jessica doesn’t do that sort of thing any longer, Dad.”

“I’d love to, Mr. Bingham.”

As Jessica sat down next to Clive on the sofa, the drawing-room door opened and the butler reappeared, followed by a maid carrying a large silver tray, with a silver teapot and two large plates of sandwiches.

“Cucumber, tomato and cheese, madam,” said the butler.

“But, you’ll note, no fish paste,” whispered Clive.

Jessica nervously ate everything she was offered, while Mrs. Bingham chatted away abo

ut her busy life and how she never seemed to have a moment to spare. She didn’t seem to notice when Jessica began to draw an outline of Clive’s father on the back of a napkin, which she intended to finish off once she was alone in the bedroom.

“We’ll have a quiet supper this evening, just the family,” she said, before offering Jessica another sandwich. “But, tomorrow, I’ve planned a celebration dinner—just a few friends who can’t wait to meet you.”

Clive squeezed Jessica’s hand, aware that she hated being the center of attention.

“It’s very kind of you to go to so much trouble, Mrs. Bingham.”

“Please call me Priscilla. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house.”

“And my friends call me Bob,” said Mr. Bingham, as he handed her a slice of Victoria sponge.

By the time Jessica was shown up to her room an hour later, she wondered what she’d been worrying about. It was only when she saw her clothes had been unpacked and hung up in the wardrobe that she began to panic.

“What’s the problem, Jess?”

“I can just about survive having to change for supper this evening, but I have nothing to wear for a formal dinner party tomorrow night.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, because I have a feeling Mother plans to take you shopping in the morning.”

“But I couldn’t let her buy me anything when I haven’t even given her a present.”

“Believe me, she only wants to show you off, and she’ll get far more pleasure out of it than you will. Just think of it as a crate of fish paste.”

Jessica laughed, and by the time they went up to bed after supper, she had relaxed so much that she was still chatting happily away.

“Wasn’t that bad, was it?” said Clive as he followed her into the bedroom.