Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

‘I swear he can smell an ice-cream van a mile off,’ said Richard. ‘Come on then. Ice cream once we’ve got you dry. Anything for you, Amy?’

‘No thanks,’ Amy replied.

‘Not even strawberry?’ questioned Daniel, unconvinced. ‘Actually,’ said Amy. ‘You know what, I will. Chocolate.’

Mr Trapper walked past her desk the following morning, then walked back and past again. ‘Can I help you, Mr Trapper?’ asked Amy.

‘Oh Amy, just the person,’ he said, as if surprised to see her. ‘Yes, actually, I was hoping to catch you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing important,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all, really.’

Amy frowned at him.

‘Maybe come to my office for a minute, just if you’ve time.’

Amy got up and followed him.

Mr Trapper’s office was the opposite of Amy’s empty desk. Framed photographs of his wife and kids littered the walls and surfaces. His two girls smiling at Disney World. Holding up the leaning tower of Pisa. More recently, as teenagers, lazing on a beach somewhere. It reminded her of DCI Hooper’s desk. Happily married men taking happy family holidays. She hadn’t used her own holiday allowance in years.

‘So,’ said Mr Trapper. He had his Nottingham Forest mug on his desk in front of him, and he picked it up and put it down, though Amy could see it contained nothing but coffee stains. ‘This is rather awkward.’

‘Is it?’ asked Amy.

‘Yes,’ he said. They sat in silence. Amy looked at him. A bead of sweat was escaping from his hairline and making a dash for it down his cheek. It lingered on his chin before finally leaping on to his desk. They both looked at it for a moment, before Mr Trapper wiped it away with the cuff of his shirt.

‘Have I done something wrong?’ asked Amy, finally.

‘What? Wrong? Certainly not,’ he replied. He picked up the mug then set it down again. ‘Listen,’ he began. ‘What you do on your own time is your business.’

‘Agreed,’ said Amy. The council must have been in touch with him. Perhaps that was what Leah meant when she said the wheels were in motion. Mr Trapper knew about her house. ‘It doesn’t affect my work,’ said Amy. ‘Not at all.’

‘Of course not,’ replied Mr Trapper. ‘But it’s just,’ he paused. ‘I feel I have a duty of care,’ he said.

There it was again. Duty of care. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone?

‘You’ve worked here a long time, Amy,’ he continued. ‘Before and after it, you know, happened. I know it affected you. Of course it did.’

‘My work hasn’t suffered,’ said Amy.

‘No, it’s not that at all. It’s just . . . ’ He paused again. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘I’m perfectly safe,’ said Amy. ‘I’m very careful.’ Mr Trapper looked horrified.

‘I wasn’t suggesting . . . ’ he began. ‘Maybe this whole conversation was a bad idea.’

‘Thank you for your concern,’ said Amy, ‘but I think you’ll find my desk is always clear.’

‘What?’

‘I keep my house one way, the office another.’

‘Your house?’ Mr Trapper looked at her, confusion piling on to his features.

Amy frowned. ‘What were you talking about?’

‘Liam Salter,’ he said. ‘Apparently he’s told a few people in the office that you two are seeing each other.’

‘Oh,’ replied Amy. If anything, she felt more mortified than ever. What had she said about being safe? ‘Oh god,’ she muttered.

‘You’re of course welcome to have . . . um . . . relations with colleagues,’ he began again. Amy felt as though she was getting a horrifying birds-and-bees chat from her father. She felt colour rising in her cheeks. Mr Trapper was already crimson, and sweat continued to run down his face. ‘But I thought you should know something.’

‘I’m not having relations . . . ’ she said.

‘Good,’ said Mr Trapper, clearly wanting the conversation over. ‘Because I have Liam Salter’s CV here. There’s something on here. It’s a bit “old school” to include this sort of detail.’ Mr Trapper made exaggerated quotation marks to communicate that he himself was not ‘old school’ at all. Then he paused again and looked down as he said the words. ‘Liam Salter is married.’

It had taken Amy a while to find, but here it was, rescued from the depths of her kitchen cupboard.

A small vacuum cleaner named Henry.

She didn’t often bother vacuuming. There didn’t seem to be much point when there was so little floor space available. But Amy was allowing a visitor into her home and she didn’t want to let the side down. And her hallway was already a great deal emptier than it had been.

She started there, dusting off the remaining bottles with an old but freshly cleaned sock. Dried honeysuckle flowers fell from their stems as she went, drifting gently to the floor. Amy fought the urge to collect them together and save them. No. She would simply vacuum them up and get some fresh flowers.

But not red roses.

The very thought of it made her seethe. It wasn’t as if she had even liked Liam. But to know that he was trying to betray his wife. With her. After everything.

It was too much.

More dried flowers fell to the lino and Amy realised she’d been dusting the bottles way too vigorously. She had to be more careful or something would break. Amy switched on the vacuum and watched the flowers disappear. The lino was still stained, and had always been ugly, but at least it was clear of debris.

Amy went into the living room. She couldn’t vacuum in here, it would be too dangerous for the birds. She straightened a box that was askew instead. Scarlett looked at her, and Amy gave the bird a gentle wipe with the sock. ‘Good as new,’ she told her. ‘Better, in fact.’ Amy smiled at Scarlett, but the bird looked nervous.

Perhaps allowing Richard into her home was a bad idea. She had a lot of belongings and a lot of responsibility. What if something were to be broken? Richard wasn’t his sons, but