Breaking and Entering Read Free Page A

first?’
    â€˜Yes, ’course.’ He should have warned her after the first occasion not to buy him lighters, but instead he had feigned such gratitude, she kept repeating the performance. It would be unkind to tell her now that the best lighters were the cheapest: matches, Bics, the gas flame on the cooker.
    â€˜I’ll fetch it in a sec. I wrapped it up and everything, but then you really threw me, giving up like that.’
    He unlaced his shoes and got into bed beside her, still in his shirt and jeans. ‘So aren’t you glad I’ve weakened, then?’
    â€˜No.’ She kissed him, seriously. His wife never skimped on kisses, always gave full measure, always took her time.
    â€˜You’ll catch my germs,’ he growled, at last.
    â€˜I like your germs. Though I’m afraid they won’t at the office. You’d better not go in today, or you’ll spread that bug around.’
    â€˜I must. I’ve got a meeting. It’ll cause too much aggravation if I miss it.’
    â€˜You said that last time you were ill, and look what happened – in the end you had to take a whole fortnight off. It’s much more sensible to stay at home for a day or two. If you insist on battling on like a martyr, you’ll only go down with something worse.’
    He leaned over to the tray and passed her the glass of grapefruit juice. ‘Aren’t you going to eat your breakfast? Your boiled egg’s getting cold.’
    â€˜I like them cold. And don’t change the subject. You look feverish to me.’
    â€˜I’m not. I’m fine. I haven’t even …’
    â€˜It’s selfish, Daniel, honestly, making everyone else ill, just because you’re a workaholic and too stubborn to see sense.’
    He lay back against the pillows in a posture of defeat. It was bad enough being deceitful and weak-willed, without adding selfish martyred stubbornness to his catalogue of vices. ‘Okay, you win,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll languish on my sick-bed all day, and won’t even think of work.’ Except he’d have to think of Juliet: how on earth he could get in touch with her if he didn’t leave his bed?
    â€˜Good boy!’ said Penny, stroking his hair from his forehead.
    She had left her hand against his brow, as if rewarding him for compliance. It felt soothing and arousing both at once. He slid his own hand down towards her breast, savouring its warmth, its weight. ‘Penny …’
    â€˜Mm?’
    â€˜I love you.’ He prayed God it was true still.
    â€˜Love you too.’
    â€˜I’ll love you more tomorrow than today.’
    â€˜What?’ She pushed him off, took a sip of juice. ‘Why more tomorrow? What’s happening tomorrow?’
    â€˜Nothing. I’ll just love you more each day.’
    â€˜You’re taking the mick.’
    â€˜I’m not. And here’s your present. D’you want it now, or after your cold egg?’
    â€˜Now!’ Her full attention was already on the package, squeezing it and shaking it, sniffing at the paper like an eager dog at a fox-hole. He had found some gift-wrap in a drawer (the sheet she’d bought for him, most likely: his lighter and her earrings decked out alike in purple stripes).
    She ripped the paper off. Penny never untied knots or unpeeled sticky-tape. It was one of the crazy reasons why he loved her – if he only knew what love was.
    She was opening the padded box, exclaiming at its contents, stroking the plush velvet of the lining; her voice high-pitched with excitement. ‘Oh, Daniel, they’re gorgeous!’
    Her whole plump and freckled face expressed unabashed delight; the flax-blue eyes crinkling at the corners, the fair brows lifted and alert, the wide mouth open, displaying gappy teeth. Her skin was fragile-pale beneath the freckles, in contrast to the shock of hair above – shock in every sense: carrot-coloured wire-wool