In fact, the height and stature of the mysterious woman was a closer match to Tabitha than Hazel.
He sat back with his eyes frozen on the screen, his stomach churning and his palms sweating. Overcome with despair, he realised that he’d made a terrible mistake.
Tabitha wasn’t in when he arrived at her flat in Norwich, but he wasn’t surprised. Tabitha liked going dancing on Saturday nights, so he settled down in the car to wait for her.
Later, a knock on the Land Rover’s window brought him out of his involuntary slumber.
‘Cooey! Have you come to see me?’
‘Where have you been?’ Squinting at the morning sun, Jonathan stepped out of the car.
Tabitha pouted. ‘Clubbing. Is there a problem?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Well, come on up.’
He followed her up the stairs to her flat, conscious of the questioning glance she sent him over her shoulder.
‘I’ll get the coffee on,’ she said, in her most sultry voice. ‘You look like you could do with some.’
‘Fine.’ He didn’t really want coffee but it postponed the moment when he had to confront her. Confront her with what exactly? He had nothing to go on, except a hunch, and he wasn’t sure he could trust even his hunches these days.
While Tabitha was in the kitchen, his eyes roamed the décor of her living room – all glass, chrome and white furnishings, which wasn’t much to his taste. He slumped down on her pristine sofa, realising only then how tired and confused he felt, and adjusted an expensive-looking silk cushion. Something dug into his back. Pulling the offending article out from under the cushion, he froze.
It was a crumpled red raincoat.
Smiling, Tabitha appeared with coffee on a tray, but her smile dropped when she saw what he was holding, and she put the tray down.
‘Would you like to explain yourself?’
She gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘How did that get there? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.’
‘It’s not even yours.’
‘Of course it’s mine. Who else would it belong to?’
‘There was a break-in at the Manor, the night between Friday and Saturday. Two people were caught on CCTV, and one of them was wearing this coat, which, by the way, is far too small for you. Hazel claimed that someone had collected her coat from the dry cleaner's, but I didn’t listen. I should have.’
Realising that the game was up, Tabitha sank into an armchair with a dramatic sigh. ‘I did it all for you, Jon-nee.’
‘For me?’
‘I thought we had something.’
‘What gave you that idea? I respected you as a colleague, and I admit you are very attractive,’ Jonathan replied, ‘but that’s all. I’ve never given you the impression that I had any tender feelings towards you.’
‘She turned your head,’ Tabitha snarled, with a sudden nasty expression on her face. ‘I noticed that as soon as she arrived. When my old colleague, Lawrence, contacted me, I saw a way of getting rid of her and helping him at the same time.’
‘So you decided to frame Hazel by deliberately stealing her coat?’ Jonathan’s voice was cold and hard, but she hardly seemed to notice.
Tabitha just shrugged. ‘She’d dropped her dry cleaning ticket in the office, and I collected it to annoy her. That it was a coat proved to be useful, but it was mere chance.’
‘So how did you get in again after the party? I thought all the gates were secured.’
‘I stayed behind afterwards, and took the gate keys from your office. As for the fence around the shed, I’d seen the code for the keypad on your desk, and I knew where the camera was.’
She looked almost proud of herself, while Jonathan had to fight an urge to wipe the smug grin off her face.
‘Are you going to have me arrested?’ she asked, with a toss of her hair. ‘You can’t prove anything.’
He noted the challenge in her words, but didn’t rise to it. Any admiration he’d had for Tabitha had completely evaporated. ‘No, but Lawrence will be. Whether he spills the beans on you or not, is up to him. In the meantime, you can expect the paperwork in the post for dissolving our company partnership. I suggest you sign.’
Clearly she hadn’t considered the possibility that Lawrence might implicate her, and her face paled visibly. Carrying Hazel’s raincoat over his arm, Jonathan left Tabitha standing in the middle of the room, struck dumb.
He called Alison from the Land Rover. ‘When you picked up Hazel yesterday, where did you take her?’
‘To Sunnyside B&B, just off the high street. Why? Jonathan, what have you done?’
‘Only made the biggest mistake in my life,’ he replied, and hung up.
Sunnyside was tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac, and fortunately there was a parking space right outside. However, Hazel wasn’t there.
‘The young lady checked out early this morning,’ explained the proprietor. ‘She seemed in a hurry.’
‘Do you know where she was heading?’
‘The station, I believe. Wanted to catch the– ‘
Jonathan didn’t hear him out. He jumped back in the Land Rover and reversed out into the high street,, the vehicle’s tyres squealing as it roared off.
Because of his stupidity, Hazel was going to disappear out of his life. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to catch her, and if that meant getting a speeding ticket, then so be it. The alternative – never seeing Hazel again – was unthinkable.
Hazel watched the young family as they entered the platform. The father was pushing a pram with a baby inside, the mother carrying a weekend bag and with a tight grip on the hand of a little boy. The baby dropped her bottle and the father picked it up, sending his wife an affectionate grin. The ordinary, domestic scene made Hazel swallow hard, and she had to look away to prevent the tears she’d refused to shed during the night.
She didn’t blame Jonathan for believing only what his eyes told him. Most people would. She blamed herself for being a fool, for not seeing it coming. For falling in love and making everything so much worse for herself.
Yesterday, when visiting Aunt Rose, she’d blurted it all out, and her aunt had comforted her as best she could. However, there was no cure for a broken heart, they both knew that. Aunt Rose had encouraged her to go away for a while, despite Hazel’s protests that she wanted to stay near her. Eventually, she’d come around to the idea.
She’d called her former flatmate in London, who was very sympathetic and had said Hazel could have the box room in the flat for as long as she wanted it, since her old room had already been let out again.
It didn’t matter to Hazel that she’d be sleeping on a camp bed; she just needed to put some distance between herself and Jonathan while she considered her future.
But what future could there be without Jonathan? Or the boys? Her heart contracted at the thought, and she had to swallow again.
‘A penny for them.’
Jonathan could have kicked himself when Hazel stepped back in alarm, as if she thought he was going to hit her.
‘I know you didn’t do it,’ he said, slightly breathless from his frantic dash through the station building. ‘Tabitha stole your raincoat to make it look like you did. Can you forgive me for not believing you?’
She stared at him, her expression inscrutable. Realising that the situation required a different tactic, he surprised even himself by going down on one knee in front of her.
‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘But ... ’
‘And you’re not allowed to say ‘no’. I am, after all, your boss.’
Hazel felt the eyes of other passengers on them, and the colour rose in her cheeks. She wished she didn’t have this awful tendency to blush. ‘Jonathan, you ... this is really embarrassing. Please get up.’
‘Not until you agree.’ Grinning broadly, he rose anyway and placed his hands on her shoulders.
Looking up into his handsome face, Hazel composed herself an
d a smile stole over her lips as she pointed out something he seemed to have forgotten. ‘You sacked me, remember?’
‘I’m revoking it.’
‘Really? Just like that?’
He drew her close for a gentle kiss. ‘Just like that.’
Sighing against his chest, she wanted to remain realistic. ‘The thing is, Jonathan, you already have everything: great kids, a loving dad, even if he doesn’t show it. A beautiful house. Money. Staff who dote on you. You don’t need me.’
Holding her away from him, he said, ‘How about this? I love your smile, your sense of humour, your kindness, even the way you get yourself into impossible situations. Your unpredictability brightens up my day, and I don’t think I can live without you. Will that do?’
He pulled her into a hot embrace, which raised whispers among the onlookers. Hazel’s heart soared, and she felt herself melt into him.
‘I don’t know. You’d better kiss me again to make sure.’
About the Author
Henriette grew up in Northern Denmark but moved to England after she graduated from the University of Copenhagen. She wrote her first book when she was ten, a tale of two orphan sisters running away to Egypt fortunately to be adopted by a perfect family they meet on the Orient Express.
Between that first literary exploit and now, she has worked in the Danish civil service, for a travel agent, a consultancy company, in banking, hospital administration, and for a county court before setting herself up as a freelance translator and linguist.
Expecting her first child and feeling bored, she picked up the pen again, and when a writer friend encouraged her to join the Romantic Novelists’ Association, she began to pursue her writing in earnest. Her debut novel, Up Close, won the New Talent Award in 2011 from the Festival of Romance and a Commended from the Yeovil Literary Prize.
Henriette is married and lives in London.
Henriette has two full-length novel published - Up Close & The Elephant Girl. Her next novel, The Highwayman’s Daughter, in May 2014.
Follow Henriette:
Twitter – @henrigyland
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Website
More Choc Lit from Henriette Gyland
Up Close
Full length novel
Too close for comfort …
When Dr Lia Thompson’s grandmother dies unexpectedly, Lia is horrified to have to leave her life in America and return to a cold and creaky house in Norfolk. But as events unfold, she can’t help feeling that there is more to her grandmother’s death than meets the eye.
Aidan Morrell is surprised to see Lia, his teenage crush, back in town. But Aidan’s accident when serving in the navy has scarred him in more ways than one, and he has other secrets which must stay hidden at all costs, even from Lia.
As Lia comes closer to uncovering the truth, she is forced to question everything she thought she knew. In a world of increasing danger, is Aidan someone she can trust?
Find out more and purchase in the kindle store:
UK here
US here
The Elephant Girl
Henriette Gyland
Full length novel
Peek-a-boo I see you …
When five-year-old Helen Stephens witnesses her mother's murder, her whole world comes crumbling down. Rejected by her extended family, Helen is handed over to child services and learns to trust no-one but herself. Twenty years later, her mother's killer is let out of jail, and Helen swears vengeance.
Jason Moody runs a halfway house, desperate to distance himself from his father's gangster dealings. But when Helen shows up on his doorstep, he decides to dig into her past, and risks upsetting some very dangerous people.
As Helen begins to question what really happened to her mother, Jason is determined to protect her. But Helen is getting too close to someone who'll stop at nothing to keep the truth hidden ...
Find out more and purchase in the kindle store:
UK here
US here
The Art of Deception
Liz Harris
This is a novella of approximately 120 pages
Copyright © 2013 Liz Harris
Published 2013 by Choc Lit Limited
Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK
www.choc-lit.com
The right of Liz Harris to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE
ISBN-978-1-781891-12-4
Chapter One
In a matter of minutes Jenny was going to come face to face with one of the men who’d killed her father. Her mouth felt dry, and she ran her tongue around her lips.
The taxi stopped in front of the office block in Holborn. She paid the cab driver, stepped out on to the pavement and walked slowly towards the building, smoothing down the skirt of her suit as she went.
For the last two weeks this was the moment she’d been longing for, and also the moment she’d been dreading – it was almost impossible to believe that it was only fourteen days since her world had turned upside down …
She’d been leafing through the weekly educational newspaper that she’d borrowed from the staff room. The final pieces of work done by her pupils at her teachers’ training placement really did need marking, but getting a job for September was even more urgent than that.
Her heart sank. Once again, the only openings for newly qualified art teachers were miles away in the north of England. That was much too far from Cornwall. Her mother would be alone when she’d gone, and she wanted to be able to come home and see her often, and see her friends, too.
She took a sip of coffee, and turned to the last section of the paper, where vacancies for private tutors were advertised. A few hours a week as a tutor would be better than nothing until she could get a permanent job. Even though she’d worked for two years after leaving school to save enough money to study for her Art degree, her three years at college, plus her year afterwards as a PGCE student, had left her completely broke. She had to earn some money as soon as possible.
She sat up sharply, spilling her coffee. Max Castanien was advertising for someone to teach art classes throughout the summer in Italy. This was a name she knew well, a name that she and her mother would never forget. She spread the paper flat on the desk and stared hard at the advertisement. Her heart started to race, and she put her hand to her mouth to steady herself.
Then she took a deep breath – she was being silly, letting herself get into a state at the sight of a mere name. There was obviously more than one family in the country with that surname, and there was probably more than one Max Castanien, unusual though the name was. It was highly unlikely that the man advertising was one of the Castanien brothers, Max and Peter, whom she and her mother hated so much.
For several moments, she sat biting her thumbnail, staring at the advertisement. The only other information, apart from the name and brief job description, was an e-mail address.
Could this possibly be the same family, she wondered. She pushed the newspaper aside, pulled her computer towards her and switched it on. It couldn’t be that difficult to find out, and she couldn’t leave it – she had to know.
The Castanien family had a large textiles company so there were bound to be any number of references to the family and their business on the internet, and if it was the Max Castanien, one of the references might say something that linke
d him to Italy. If the man who was looking to hire an art teacher did turn out to be one of the brothers responsible for her father’s death …
She could hardly breathe at the thought.
If she could just meet him, she’d have a chance – albeit a slim chance – of finding out why the brothers had acted as they had done. She’d been twelve when her father died – too young for her mother to feel able to talk to her in depth about it, but not too young to know that the Castaniens had brought misery into their lives. As she’d got older, she’d increasingly wanted to know the reason why.
Her mother had answered any questions she'd asked over the years – but she'd never been able to tell her why they'd done it. But with an opportunity like this to meet the brothers, and a chance to find out what had happened for herself …
Jenny felt a sudden surge of hope at the thought of learning why they had let her father down as badly as they had, and she felt a momentary shock at the strength of her feeling. She hadn’t realised quite how desperately she wanted answers to her questions.
Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to them and asking for an explanation, telling them that she needed to know, but she’d always instantly dismissed the idea. There’d be no point: they’d have time to compose something that sounded like a good answer, but which was unlikely to be the whole truth. And if she made an appointment to see them in person and asked them outright – they’d be immediately on the defensive and would probably lie. She’d never know if she could believe them or not.
But if she could get to know them without them realising who she was, then she might have an opportunity to ask them in person. If they became friends, they’d be more likely to want to tell her the truth, whatever that truth was. And even if they lied, she’d know them well enough to be able see it in their body language.
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