Millie's Game Plan Read Online Free Page B

images. Are you a reporter?’
    ‘No.’
    Her flinty eyes narrowed. ‘So, why are you here?’
    ‘I’m an amateur photographer.’ I flashed her my broadest smile, dimples an’ all. ‘I’m doing a project on village cricket.’
    ‘But isn’t it an invasion of privacy? Photographing people without their consent?’
    ‘Actually, no.’ I’d been in marketing long enough to know my stuff. ‘This is a public place, and so long as I’m not causing an obstruction or using the images for commercial gain, it’s quite legal,’ I smiled. ‘But I’m happy to ask the captain’s permission, if you could introduce me.’
    ‘The captain is my husband, and he’s bowling at present. You’ll have to wait until he comes in for tea.’
    I stretched the smile. ‘Of course. When will that be?’
    ‘About an hour from now.’ She gestured towards the spectators. ‘If you’d like to watch the cricket, I’ll introduce you to Gordon when he comes off.’
    An hour…watching cricket? I nodded and followed her back towards the pavilion.
    ‘Here, you can sit with Marjorie and Ken; they’re two of our greatest supporters. I’m Tamsin, what’s your name?’
    ‘Millie.’
    Introductions over, the snapping little dictator headed off to the teas tent and left me on the bench with my new acquaintances. Ken leaned towards me. I pulled my arms in, instinctively. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Tamsin. Power’s gone to her head since Gordon became captain.’
    ‘I only want to take a few photographs.’
    Marjorie glanced over to the tent. ‘I should get on with it if I were you, I don’t think anybody minds.’
    Ken turned to the team behind us. ‘Any of you chaps object to having your photo taken?’
    Chests were inflated, bellies sucked in and poses struck so I stood up, switched the lens back to normal and snapped away. They were a friendly lot, aged from teens to retirement. It’s a pity none of them quite came up to scratch. Oh, there were a couple of decent looking guys but, unfortunately, their wives and offspring were seated on the picnic rug.
    I was just lining up a long shot when Tamsin’s face popped out of the tent. She was pink, either from the heat or, judging by the look she hurled my way, simmering rage at my having blatantly disobeyed her. I backed towards Ken and Marjorie, scanning the bench for my camera case and wondering whether I could make it to the car before Tamsin attempted a citizen’s arrest. I zipped the camera case shut. I could hear her squeaky sandals advancing on me.
    ‘I thought we agreed, you’d ask the captain’s permission before you took any more photos?’
    Ken responded, ‘She did ask. She asked this lot.’
    Her mouth opened and closed, and her chippy little eyes did their damnedest to fossilize me. Though I was sorely tempted to hang around and really get up her pinched nostrils, my job there was done. I breezed a cheerio to everyone and headed off to the car, my smile fading with every step.
    What on earth was I doing, I asked myself, and would the camera shop give a full refund within forty-eight hours of purchase?
    Sitting in the car, with shoulders slumped and weary brain, I wondered why I couldn’t just meet somebody in the normal course of events. Why had I set myself this absurd challenge, which was bound to fail? An image of Aubrey Riley’s ruddy face lurched into my head to remind me. His salmon and crab fishcakes had been very tasty. It would be no exaggeration to say they were the high point of the evening. But he should be in the Guinness Book of Records for the least talkative man ever to come out of Ireland.
    I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and stared at the men in cricket whites.
    Nothing good had come out of the last two matches so what was the point of going to a third?
    He who endures, conquers . That had been one of Dad’s favourite sayings.
    ‘Okay, Dad. One more. But only because I said I would.’
    Selecting Marshalhampton on the Sat-Nav, I