Trisha Ashley - Good Husband Material

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Judy Piatkus (Publishers) Ltd in 2000

This edition published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers in 2013

Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2000

Cover design © debbieclementdesign.com2019

Cover illustration © Dominique Corbasson 2019

Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847562814

Ebook Edition © March 2013 ISBN: 9780007494088

Version: 2019-11-28

For Mary Turner Long, with love.

Cover

Title Page GOOD HUSBAND MATERIAL Trisha Ashley

Copyright Copyright Published by AVON A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by Judy Piatkus (Publishers) Ltd in 2000 This edition published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers in 2013 Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2000 Cover design © debbieclementdesign.com 2019 Cover illustration © Dominique Corbasson 2019 Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9781847562814 Ebook Edition © March 2013 ISBN: 9780007494088 Version: 2019-11-28

Dedication Dedication For Mary Turner Long, with love.

Prologue

Chapter 1: A Dream of a Man

Chapter 2: Home, James

Chapter 3: Painted Out

Chapter 4: Wild in the Country

Chapter 5: The Bourgeois Bitch

Chapter 6: The Posy Profligate

Chapter 7: Drained

Chapter 8: Busted Flush

Chapter 9: Nutthill Nutria

Chapter 10: Just Award

Chapter 11: Nasty in the Woodshed

Chapter 12: Mayday!

Chapter 13: And the Beet Goes on

Chapter 14: In the Drink

Chapter 15: Brief Encounter

Chapter 16: Cat’s Paw

Chapter 17: A Fête Worse than Death

Chapter 18: Fencing

Chapter 19: One Big Ham

Chapter 20: No Change

Chapter 21: Through a Glass, Darkly

Chapter 22: Bugged

Chapter 23: Love Goes West

Chapter 24: Reciprocations

Chapter 25: Blood and Roses

Chapter 26: Pregnant Pause

Chapter 27: Similar Conditions

Chapter 28: Bonfire of the Vanities

Chapter 29: The Great Castrator

Chapter 30: Pupped

Chapter 31: The Least Little Thing

Chapter 32: Tie-dyed

Chapter 33: Christmas Spirit

Chapter 34: Twinkle,Twinkle

Chapter 35: Uncertain Appetites

Chapter 36: Guilt-edged

Chapter 37: The Sweet Wine of Love

Chapter 38: Unlicensed Behaviour

Chapter 39: Dress Optional

Chapter 40: Sold a Pup

Chapter 41: Green-Eyed Men

Chapter 42: Mirror, Signal, Manoeuvre

Chapter 43: Out of the Dark

Chapter 44: Aftershock

Chapter 45: Issues

Chapter 46: Alignments

Chapter 47: Photo Finish

Chapter 48: Besieged

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

‘The lyrics of the new Goneril single, ‘Red-Headed Woman’, taken from the album of the same name, show a searing agony of loss and grief. Singer/songwriter Fergal Rocco plumbs new depths of helpless agony and despair in a voice that seems to have been created for that very purpose.’

New Musical Express

Fergal: 1986

My first brief glimpse of Tish seems to have been indelibly imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, for even after almost twelve years and God-knows-how-many women, I only have to close my eyes and there she is: a dryad poised far above me in the shivering green oak leaves, stretching forward with one hand reaching out, her expression intent.

Then the sharp crack as the branch gives way beneath her weight, precipitating her into a long downward swoop towards me, apricot hair flying behind her like a wild Renaissance angel – a mermaid swept by the glassy green waves – a ship’s figurehead forging ahead, one out-thrust hand clasping—

Well, not a trident, at any rate, only some small grey thing. It didn’t just then make the same impression that Tish was about to: a bolt from the green.

While I’d like to say I caught her, truth compels me to admit I merely broke her fall, ending flat on my back with the angel sprawled across me. Enormous smoke-grey eyes stared apprehensively down into mine from an inch away. I decided to give in without a struggle.

Then something scuttled shiftily up my arm on hot, pronged feet and bit me savagely on the ear.

I swore and the creature let go and gave an evil laugh.

I’m not joking.

When Dad came round the corner of the house to see what all the noise was, he found the angel still sprawled over me, incoherently apologising and dabbing at my bleeding ear with a wadded-up bit of filmy skirt.

A small, evil-looking grey parrot stood nearby (too near) regarding us with interested, mad eyes.

‘Always Fergal catches the girls,’ Dad said cheerfully, taking the scene in his stride. Then, with his usual aplomb, he removed his jumper and enveloped the parrot in its folds.

The small assassin gave a dismal squawk, echoed by a screech of outrage from behind us. A tiny, well-preserved blonde, like a piece of shellacked fluff, was advancing up the drive with the martial air of one about to rescue her daughter’s honour or die in the attempt.

‘Leticia – get up at once!’

‘Leticia?’ I questioned incredulously, looking up into the grey eyes so close to mine. (And feeling as I did so as if I’d been sucked into a Black Hole and squeezed out on the other side like toothpaste.)