One Night with His Virgin Mistress. Sara Craven
Читать онлайн книгу.
vineyards to learn more about the business. Besides, he’s not my type in the slightest.’
Her type, she thought with a pang, was tall, with blond hair falling across his forehead, blue eyes and a lazy smile. Kit Benedict, on the other hand, was medium height, dark, and rather too full of himself.
‘He needs a house-sitter,’ she went on. ‘I need somewhere to live. Done deal.’
‘So what’s it like, this place of his? The usual bachelor pad, overflowing with empty bottles and take-away cartons?’
‘The total opposite,’ Tallie assured her more cheerfully. ‘It’s on the top floor of this Edwardian block, with an utterly fabulous living room—wonderful squashy sofas and chairs, mixed in with genuine antiques, plus views all over London. There’s a kitchen to die for, and two massive bedrooms. Kit said I could use whichever I wanted, so I’m having his—the master with its own gorgeous bathroom.’
Her room at Josie’s was like a shoe box, she thought. One narrow single bed, with a zip-up plastic storage container underneath it for her limited wardrobe. No cupboard, so the rest of her clothes were hanging from two hooks on the back of the door. One tiny table, fortunately just large enough for her laptop, and a stool.
But then her cousin had never really wanted her there in the first place. Her offer of accommodation had been grudgingly made after family pressure, but neither she nor her flatmate Amanda, who occupied the two decent-sized bedrooms, had ever made Tallie feel welcome.
But the rent was cheap, so she’d have put up and shut up for as long as it took—if it hadn’t been for Gareth.
Wincing inwardly, she hurried on. ‘In fact, the whole flat is absolutely immaculate because there’s a cleaner, Mrs Medland, who comes in twice a week. Kit says she’s a dragon with a heart of gold, and I don’t even have to pay for her. Apparently, some legal firm sees to all that. And I send the mail on to them too.’
She took a deep breath. ‘And, from tomorrow, it will be all mine.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lorna. ‘What I can’t figure altogether is how it can possibly be all his—unless he actually owns this wine importing concern he works for.’
Tallie shook her head. ‘Far from it. Apparently the flat is part of some family inheritance.’ She paused. ‘There’s even a room that Kit uses as an office, and he says I can work in there and use the printer. I’m spoiled for space.’
Lorna sighed. ‘Well, I suppose I have to accept that the whole situation’s above board and you’ve actually fallen on your feet at last. I just wish you could have moved into Hallmount Road with us but, since Nina’s boyfriend arrived, we’re practically hanging from the light fittings as it is.’
‘Honestly,’ Tallie told her, ‘everything’s going to be fine.’
And I only wish I felt as upbeat as I sound, she thought as she walked back to the advertising agency where she’d been temping for the past three weeks, filling in for a secretary who’d been laid low by a vicious bout of chickenpox. She’d soon adapted to the strenuous pace of life at the agency, proving, as she’d done in her other placements, that she was conscientious, efficient and highly computer-literate. At the same time she’d revelled in the stimulation of its creative atmosphere.
In fact, it had been one of the nicest jobs she’d had all year and she was sorry it had come to an end, especially when her immediate boss had hinted that it could become a permanency. That she might even become a copywriter in due course.
And maybe Lorna was right and she was insane to throw away that level of security for a dream. On the other hand, she knew that she’d been given a heaven-sent opportunity to be a writer and if she didn’t grasp it she might regret it for the rest of her life.
Everything she’d done that year had been with that aim in mind. All her earnings from the wine bar, and as much as she could spare from her daytime salary, had gone into a savings account to support her while she wrote. She’d be living at subsistence level, but she was prepared for that.
And all because she’d entered a competition in a magazine to find new young writers under the age of twenty-five. Entrants had been required to produce the first ten thousand words of a novel and Tallie, eighteen years old and bored as she’d waited for her A level exam results, had embarked on a story about a spirited girl who’d disguised herself as a man and undertaken a dangerous, adventure- strewn odyssey across Europe to find the young army captain she loved and who was fighting in Wellington’s Peninsular Army.
She hadn’t won, or even been placed, but one of the judges was a literary agent who’d contacted her afterwards and asked her to lunch in London.
Tallie had accepted the invitation with slight trepidation, but Alice Morgan had turned out to be a brisk middle-aged woman with children of her own who’d been through the school and university system, and who seemed to understand why career choices were not always cut and dried.
‘My brother Guy always knew he wanted to be a vet like Dad,’ Tallie had confided over the wonders of sea bass followed by strawberry meringue at the most expensive restaurant she’d ever visited. ‘And at school they think I should go on to university and read English or History, before training as a teacher. But I’m really not sure, especially when I’ll have a student loan to pay off once I qualify. So I’m taking a gap year while I decide.’
‘Have you never considered writing as a career?’
Tallie flushed a little. ‘Oh, yes, for as long as I can remember, but at some time in the future. I always thought I’d have to get an ordinary job first.’
‘And this gap year—how will you spend that?’
Tallie reflected. ‘Well, Dad always needs help in the practice. And I’ve done a fairly intensive computer course, so I could find office work locally.’
Mrs Morgan leaned back in her chair. ‘And what happens to Mariana, now in the hands of smugglers? Does she get consigned to a file marked “might have been”? Or are you going to finish her story?’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it,’ Tallie confessed. ‘To be honest, I only wrote that first bit for fun.’
‘And it shows.’ Alice Morgan smiled at her. ‘It’s not perfect, but it’s a good rip-roaring adventure told with real exuberance by a fresh young voice, and from the female angle. If you can sustain the storyline and the excitement at the same level, I think I could find more than one publisher who might be interested.’
‘Goodness,’ Tallie said blankly. ‘In that case, maybe I should give it some serious thought.’
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ the older woman told her cheerfully. ‘One aspect you might consider is your hero, the dashing William. Is he based on anyone in particular—a boyfriend, perhaps?’
Tallie flushed. ‘Oh, no,’ she denied hurriedly. ‘Nothing like that. Just—someone I see around the village sometimes. His parents have a cottage they use at weekends, but I…I hardly know him at all.’
Although I know his name—Gareth Hampton.
Mrs Morgan nodded. ‘I rather got that impression because, as a hero, I couldn’t get a handle on him either. And if Mariana is going to risk so much for love of him, you must make him worth the trouble. And there are one or two other things…’
Tallie caught the train home two hours later in something of a daze, the back of her diary filled with notes about those ‘other things’, but by the end of the journey any indecision about the immediate future was over and she had A Plan.
Her parents were astounded and a little dubious when she outlined it.
‘But why can’t you write at home?’ her mother queried.
Because I’d never get anything done, thought Tallie with rueful affection. Between