Escape for the Summer by Ruth Saberton Page B

afternoon did not bode well. With a horrible “beware the Ides of March”sensation, Andi went to let her in.
    “About bloody time,” muttered Angel, trotting into the  lat and flopping onto the sofa. “Tea would be nice, Andi Pandy, and a biscuit if you’ve got one. I’m starving. I’ve had such a bad day.”
    Andi shut the door slowly. The day was only halfway through; surely it couldn’t get any worse?
    “Ooo! What’s this?” Angel’s big blue eyes clocked the drinks on the kitchen counter. “Cocktails? Yummy! Can I have one?”
    Without waiting for a reply she was pouring herself a tumbler of Andi’s special Misery Mix,which she knocked back like it was a tequila shot.
    “Bloody hell, sis! That’s strong! How much of this have you had?”
    “Not nearly enough,” Andi said grimly.
    Angel’s nose crinkled. “It’s got a right kick to it. Beats Jägerbombs. Can I have some more?”
    “No you can’t,” Andi said. She knew her sister. If she wasn’t careful Angel would guzzle the lot and then how could she get roaringly drunk?
    “You’re so tight. I only wanted a little drink.” Angel pouted but, unlike those who usually succumbed to Angel’s ploys, Andi was not a man and was therefore totally unmoved.
    “Step away from the alcohol,” she said. “And if we’re playing crap-day trumps, yours cannot possibly be worse than mine.”
    “Bet it can,” said Angel airily, opening up the fridge and screwing up her perfect nose at the lack of contents. “No food? But I’m starving! And I’ve lost my job.”
    That was a big surprise, rather on a par with being told that the Pope is a Catholic. Nevertheless Andi felt herself going into big sister mode. She just couldn’t help it. After years of looking out for Angel this was Andi’s default setting.
    “Oh Angel! What happened?”
    Angel shrugged. “Nothing really. It was silly. Mrs Yuri just took something I said really personally.”
    “Not Mrs Yuri, wife of the oligarch?”
    Angel nodded her blonde head. “Yep, the one who looks like a pig in a suit? Oink oink! She’s got this mole on her face. It’s huge and hairy but she seems fine about it and we’re all meant to ignore it. But today it looked different, a bit pink and sore, and I had to say something.” She paused. “If somebody had pointed out Mum’s mole things could have been very different, couldn’t they?”
    Andi swallowed. Even after all these years the loss stabbed her speechless.
    “Anyway, before I could finish explaining it was only because I was worried it looked suspicious, I was on the pavement with my P45.” She looked most hard done by. “I was only trying to help.”
    “Of course you were,” said Andi firmly. “Maybe she’ll actually go away and think about what you said?”
    Angel pulled a face. “I doubt it. She’s probably organising a hit on me right now. Anyway, never mind her. This arrived this morning too. I’m really not very happy.”
    She delved into her Chanel bag, scattering old lippies, tattered celebrity magazines and fluffy Tampax all over the just-cleaned floor, and pulled out a thick and official-looking envelope. Thrusting it at Andi, she said, “Some guy handed it to me just as I was leaving the salon. It’s bang out of order, don’t you think?”
    Andi tugged the letter out of the heavy envelope and skimmed the words. Even though they were phrased in eloquent legalese, the meaning couldn’t be any clearer.
    Trespass again, you lunatic, and we will sue your ass.
    For a second her sacking, the missing money and even Tom’s betrayal were totally forgotten. What on earth had Angel done now?
    “Nothing! It’s all a silly fuss,” said her sister when Andi pressed her on this. “Some people have absolutely no sense of humour.”
    “I may be one of them today,” Andi muttered. “Have you tried to gatecrash another party?”
    She already knew the answer. It was practically one of the laws of physics; Stephen Hawking probably had an