“Tell me exactly how this is going to go?” Isabella eyed the antipasto platter with a twist of her lips. She grabbed a slice of the bread and pulled it apart with her fingers.
“I think the best thing to do is to let Portia know.”
She made a face, “how exactly are you intending to do it?”
“I’m going to tell her.”
“You’re just going to come out and tell her?” She trailed off as he pulled his phone from his jacket and dialled his daughter and put her on speaker. She pushed a morsel of the fluffy bread between her lips to stop herself interrupting him.
“Hi Daddy,” Portia’s whiney voice cut through the air
“Question for you Portia,” he sounded very matter of fact.
“Of course, you can ask me anything,” she mewed like a kitten.
Isabella made a face of disgust. Her father would have used a
