The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
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was the ultimate expression of her feelings for Billy and, often, she pondered Neville Worthington’s words about energetic love that made you breathless and exhausted. It did not apply to Billy and her, but she reckoned things must be approaching something akin. At least she thought so.
She had finished half-a-dozen watercolours and three pencil sketches of Billy besides, her favourites of which she’d had framed and were now hanging on her bedroom walls. He warranted being a subject of her paintings. He was the one who had appeared in her life like a whirlwind and swept her off her feet. The reason he fascinated her so much was because he kept her guessing. She was intrigued that he had resisted her for so long in the first place, and that intrigue turned to fixation, and then to love.
If Billy had never come along she could have comfortably existed with no male companion. Hitherto she’d been perfectly content to open doors herself, pull on her own coat, without any masculine courtesies. In any case, on a practical level, doing things for herself was by far the fastest way. But Billy was now a part of her life and she was content.
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