‘Dad,’ cringed Robin, making all three of them laugh.
‘He made a brilliant job of my kitchen too!’ Jasmine said, enjoying the banter.
All the repartee proved to be a good icebreaker. The afternoon had been pleasant and easy going, with everybody relaxed in the sunshine. It was blatantly obvious that Robin’s parents were delighted with Jasmine, especially his mum.
‘I can’t tell you how relieved we are he’s met you,’ she whispered discreetly, whilst the men were sorting out the food. She and Jasmine sat relaxing with a glass of prosecco. Ann rolled her eyes. ‘After all the trouble we had with Ellie…’
This was music to Jasmine’s ears.
‘Yes, Jack isn’t a fan of hers either,’ she said.
‘Oh Jack’s been an absolute trooper, always can rely on a chap like that. They’ve been best mates since we moved here,’ Ann told her, furthering Jasmine’s opinion of him.
Only much later on, after many more proseccos, when Ann threatened to get the baby album out, did Robin insist on leaving. Enough was enough, he thought, even though Jasmine had been clearly up for it.
‘It’s been lovely, but it’s time to go now,’ he said firmly, getting up.
His dad gave a low chuckle. ‘I think you’re right, son.’ God knew what his wife might come out with next – baby album for goodness’ sake! He looked fondly at her, chatting animatedly to Jasmine. It was a far cry from all the anxiety his son’s ex-girlfriend had given them.
On the way back to her cottage, Jasmine turned to Robin.
‘Your parents are so lovely,’ she said, feeling just a tad tipsy. She sank back into the passenger’s seat with a contented sigh.
Robin grinned, pleased with the way the afternoon had gone. Glancing at the sleepy girl beside him, he felt his parents’ approval, and a wave of exhilaration swept over him.
Bunty was anything but calm. Butterflies were flapping inside her stomach from the moment she woke up. Today was the day the estate agents were calling. Perry, as promised, had arrived early on as moral support and upon seeing how panicky she was, he’d put a reassuring arm round her.
‘Now come on, Bunty, it’ll be all right,’ he’d said in his low smooth voice.
‘Oh Perry.’ She looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’
‘You know you are, sweetheart, it’s just nerves, that’s all.’
He was right, of course. As soon as the agent rang the doorbell, Bunty slipped into her role, playing the eccentric lady who owned the big white house on the peninsula.
‘Come in, darling!’ she welcomed, throwing the front entrance door open.
‘Pleased to meet you, Ms Deville,’ said a very smart looking man.
Expecting to see a younger person, like the previous estate agents, Bunty was quite surprised at the middle-aged, pin-striped suited fellow, with a centre parting and moustache. He had a clipboard clung to his chest.
‘I’m Anthony Armstrong-James,’ he announced in a pompous voice.
Bunty’s eyes flicked sideways to Perry, who was pursing his lips.
‘Pleased to meet you too and please, call me Bunty,’ she gestured to Perry, ‘and this is Perry.’
‘How do,’ nodded Perry and offered his calloused sailor hand.
Anthony looked aghast at it, before gingerly shaking it.
‘My, what an impressive hall,’ he stated as his head tilted back to assess the high ceiling, detailed cornices and huge chandelier. He also clocked the sweeping staircase and marbled tiled floor.
‘I think you’ll find itallimpressive, Anthony,’ countered Bunty, confidence fully in bloom now.
That’s my girl, thought Perry, cheering inside.
‘May I ask, how long have you lived here Ms Deville?’
