Read Katy Carter Keeps a Secret for Free Online

career Very Seriously Indeed. I even caught him reading The Guardian the other day, and a few nights ago he shouted “ attainment targets” in his sleep. I’m a bit worried to be honest, but he seems keen and I’ll do anything I can to support him.
    I. Must. Not. Let. Ollie. Down.
    Mads and I make plans for a brainstorming session in the vicarage when the Rev is busy with the parish council and safely out of the way. Then she rounds up the twins, both on major sugar highs, and heads off to their party. Feeling far more optimistic now about the chances of Lucinda and Alexi actually getting down to basics, I practically skip round the shop. Even the astronomical price of what looks like a pretty puny selection of goods can’t dent my excitement. What cost an engagement dinner and feeding the man I love? I even throw in a bottle of fizzy wine for good measure. This is going to be a wonderful evening; I just know it!
    Now all I have to do is get home and find that ring.
     

Chapter 4
    Whoever knew that a tiny two-bedroomed cottage could have so many possible hiding places? I’ve must have been searching for at least two hours and I can’t find any trace of an engagement ring or even a card. I’ve tried everywhere too, from the bottom of Sasha’s basket to the ironing pile (somewhere I never venture – after all, what are tumble driers for?) to the top of the kitchen units, and still no joy. I’ve searched drawers, cupboards, under the sink, the garden shed – but there’s still no ring. Ollie’s found an amazingly safe location for it, that’s for sure. I’ve searched so hard I feel like Frodo.
    At least my Valentine’s gift is well under way. The kitchen might look a bit like an explosion’s gone off and I may have helped myself to a glass or two of the cooking wine, but the lump of goo bubbling away on the hob certainly looks like it has potential and it doesn’t smell too bad either.
    I really do hate cooking. It’s like I have cookery dyslexia or something. I always think I’m following the recipe, measuring carefully, blending religiously and, unlike Nigella, resisting the temptation to dip my fingers into anything nice, but this domestic-goddess lark is way harder than it looks. As I survey the war zone that is my kitchen I promise I will never again look down on the Food Technology teachers. So they might have sod all marking to do, but just imagine the washing up! And as for kids near hobs and blenders? I shudder at the thought. If today’s art class was anything to judge by, then the Food Tech crew are lucky to make it out alive.
    Anyway, my dinner’s looking really good, if I do say so myself, and if Ollie makes it home soon then it should be just perfect. The pretendy champagne is cooling, Nora Jones is crooning in the background and I’ve lit a few candles too. Ol reckons my candle habit is a fire hazard, and he’s always paranoid at bedtime just in case I’ve left one alight to burn us all to a crisp, but I always think they make the atmosphere very romantic. I bet Alexi and Lucinda would find plenty of interesting uses for candles and hot wax—
    Quick! Write that down! Maybe they can do something naughty with risotto too? Nibble grains of rice from all kinds of exciting places? Dust themselves with Parmesan cheese? I’ll ask Mads what she thinks. It could work; everyone’s MasterChef and Bake Off mad these days, so some food-themed cheekiness might be the very thing to hit the spot.
    I’m just hunting for a notebook (which is something of a challenge, seeing as I’ve turned the desk inside out and everything’s now in a bit of a muddle), when I hear the front door open. Moments later Sasha, our Irish setter, hurls herself at me as though she’s been away for twenty years rather than just with the dog sitter since eight a.m. Shortly afterwards Ollie walks into the kitchen, staring about the place in disbelief.
    “Bloody hell! Have we been burgled?”
    Honestly, what’s Ollie like?