by Fiona Harper
As a child, FIONA HARPER was constantly teased for two things: having her nose in a book and living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least she’s found a career that puts her runaway imagination to use!
Fiona loves dancing, so clear the floor if you’re ever at a party with her, and her current creative craze (one of a long list!) is jewellery making. She loves good books, good films and good food, especially anything cinnamon-flavoured, and she can always find room in her diet for chocolate or champagne!
Fiona loves to hear from readers and you can contact her through [email protected] or find her on her Facebook page (Fiona Harper Romance Author) or tweet her! (@FiHarperAuthor)
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Chapter One: Nobody’s Sweetheart
Chapter Two: Just One Girl
Chapter Three: Never Look Back
Chapter Four: I Can Do Without You
Chapter Five: Anything You Can Do
Chapter Six: Ain’t We Got Fun?
Chapter Seven: There’s Good Blues Tonight
Chapter Eight: Teacher’s Pet
Chapter Nine: By the Light of the Silvery Moon
Chapter Ten: Ready, Willing and Able
Chapter Eleven: Send Me No Flowers
Chapter Twelve: I’ll See You In My Dreams
Chapter Thirteen: A Wonderful Guy
Chapter Fourteen: That Touch of Mink
Chapter Fifteen: Three at a Table for Two
Chapter Sixteen: There Once Was a Man
Chapter Seventeen: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
Chapter Eighteen: A Woman’s Touch
Chapter Nineteen: You’re Getting to Be a Habit With Me
Chapter Twenty: Everybody Loves a Lover
Chapter Twenty-One: Let’s Take an Old-Fashioned Walk
Chapter Twenty-Two: I’m Beginning to See the Light
Chapter Twenty-Three: Young At Heart
Chapter Twenty-Four: I Got It Bad (and That Ain’t Good)
Chapter Twenty-Five: Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps
Chapter Twenty-Six: Julie
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Cuddle Up a Little Closer
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Won’t You Dance With Me, Papa?
Chapter Twenty-Nine: What Does A Woman Do?
Chapter Thirty: Between Friends
Chapter Thirty-One: The Party’s Over
Chapter Thirty-Two: It’s Better to Conceal Than Reveal
Chapter Thirty-Three: I Love the Way You Say Goodnight
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Thrill of It All
Chapter Thirty-Five: The Man Who Knew Too Much
Chapter Thirty-Six: I’m Not At All In Love
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Love Me or Leave Me
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Quiet Night of Quiet Stars
Chapter Thirty-Nine: You Should Have Told Me
Chapter Forty: Do Not Disturb
Chapter Forty-One: I Didn’t Slip, I Wasn’t Pushed, I Fell
Chapter Forty-Two: I’ve Only Myself to Blame
Chapter Forty-Three: Foolishly Yours
Chapter Forty-Four: My Kinda Love
Chapter Forty-Five: The Game of Broken Hearts
Chapter Forty-Six: (Now and Then There’s) A Fool Such As I
Chapter Forty-Seven: Softly, As I Leave You
Chapter Forty-Eight: It’s Magic
Chapter Forty-Nine: Sentimental Journey
Chapter Fifty: I Don’t Want to Be Kissed By Anyone But You
Chapter Fifty-One: Hooray for Hollywood
Chapter Fifty-Two: He’ll Have to Cross the Atlantic
Chapter Fifty-Three: Que Sera, Sera
Endpages
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank everyone at Mills & Boon, especially Anna Baggaley, my very patient editor, and the lovely Victoria Oundjian, especially as it took quite some time to help this author see the wood of this book through the trees of her wayward imagination. I also want to say a huge thank you to all of M&B’s marketing and promotion team, for their enthusiasm and hard work from day one.
Big thanks to my amazing agent Lizzy Kremer and also to Harriet Moore at David Higham Associates, for her calm encouragement in the midst of a deadline panic and her insightful suggestions.
My family definitely deserve my gratitude, especially my husband, Andy, who patiently listens to me warble on about difficult plot matters so I can get things straight in my head, even though he hardly ever knows who these people I’m talking about are, and to my lovely daughters, Sian and Rose, who cheer me on all the way, and who didn’t moan (much) when I hogged the TV for months, watching every film of Doris’s I could get my hands on.
Thanks to all my Facebook friends who helped me with football-related stuff. Sorry, those scenes ended up on the cutting room floor, but at least you have educated this football dunce a little.
Lastly, and most importantly, I want to thank Doris Day, for her captivating and charismatic performances that have charmed generations and continue to bring us joy and happiness, but also for her strength of character and resilience. The true story of the woman behind the Hollywood icon was the inspiration for this book.
Chapter One
Nobody’s Sweetheart
When Claire Bixby was nine, she decided that one day she’d like to live in Hollywood, because she wanted to be in movies. Not that she wanted to be an actress. Far from it. No, Claire wanted to actually be in the movies, to live there, a place where the sun always shone, everything was Technicolor bright and families lived happily ever after together. There would be no more shouting, no more crying. No hearing the front door slam, one parent leaving never to return – even if she’d discovered she could breathe out more easily after he’d left.
However, as all little girls do, Claire grew up, and she came to understand that nothing was what it seemed in Hollywood. The houses weren’t real. The outsides were just false fronts and the insides built on a sound stage, made up of plywood flats that could be wheeled around depending on where the camera needed to go. And while the sun might shine pretty regularly in California, she suspected that once the actors took off their make-up, they probably went home and shouted at the dog, or discovered their wife was cheating on them with her plastic surgeon, or maybe just went back to their mansion to sit there with the curtains drawn, wondering why their fabulous lives weren’t really that fabulous and if even one of the hangers-on who buzzed around them knew what their real name was.
So by the time Claire had turned thirty-four, she’d never once visited Hollywood, preferring to keep it a dim and distant bubble of fantasy she wasn’t quite yet ready to pop. As a travel agent, however, she did plan trips to Tinseltown for others, which was why on one sunny and rather muggy May morning, she hopped off the number fifty-six bus, thinking not only about the work of the day ahead but smiling slightly at the memory of her childhood naïvety.
She’d slowly been growing her business over the last two years and recently she’d taken the plunge and hired proper office space. It was only a couple of miles from where she lived in Highbury, North London. She’d moved into the premises two months ago, but she still loved turning the corner into an alley that led into a forgotten gem of a courtyard. Whilst most of the surrounding area had been levelled by the Blitz and had been reimagined into vast modern estates by some of Britain’s top architects during the sixties and seventies, a few narrow streets had survived and tiny pockets of nineteenth-century buildings nestled amongst the landscape of grey concrete and geometrical shapes.
Evidence of the old workshops and shopfronts still remained in Old Carter’s Yard. A couple of units were boarded up, yet to be renovated, but the others were filled with small businesses, many of which were wedding-related. It had started with a proposal-planning agency, of all things, and had grown from there. Now there was a bakery that did the most amazing five-tiered creations, a photographer’s studio, a stationer’s and even a wedding accessories shop, which did everything from garters and stockings to waterproof mascara for the big day and plastic tiaras for rowdy hen nights.
Claire walked across the cobbles carefully in her heels and smiled to herself as she saw the sign above the window. Far, Far Away. She still thought it was a great name for a travel agent’s, especially for one that specialised in romantic getaways, even though that hadn’t been part of the plan when she’d left her job as an advertising executive at Webster & Templeton and had set up an office in her living room.
She gave the window display the once-over before turning the key in the lock. The old-fashioned bay window of what had once been a fishmonger’s was now backed with a collage of elegant and romantic destinations: Paris, Venice, the Orient Express. A deserted Caribbean beach with a startling turquoise sea. A picture of a couple silhouetted by the sunset on the verge of what promised to be a meaningful kiss.
Knowing that brides-to-be were drawn to anything that hinted of weddings like a kleptomaniac to something shiny, Claire had draped white tulle around the window and had added a bouquet of silk flowers and a couple of wedding invitations. She’d then tossed a handful of rose petal confetti across everything, so it looked as if had been blown in by a soft wind. And at the bottom of the window in gold lettering it said, After the perfect wedding, the perfect honeymoon … Her post-wedding bookings had doubled since she’d opened up shop here.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Like many buildings in the Victorian courtyard, her shop stayed fairly cool in summer, but London was in the grip of a heatwave and this was the stickiest May on record for more than two decades. It had only been a short walk from the bus stop, but the back of her neck was already damp under her blonde bob and she could feel her tailored red shift dress sticking to her skin. Before she headed for her desk, she propped the door open to encourage fresh air to flow into the space.
She’d only just sat down in her office chair when she heard a rap on the glass of the open door. She looked up to find one of her fellow ‘wedding ghetto’ traders leaning against the jamb.
‘Hey,’ Peggy said, smiling. Today she was in all her vintage glory. Her platinum blonde hair was curled to resemble Marilyn Monroe’s and she wore a fitted pale pink dress covered with small white polka dots. The look was finished off with matching pink stilettos with spotty bows at the toes.
Claire had been friends with Peggy even before she’d rented the office in Old Carter’s Yard. It was through Peggy, who worked two doors down at Hopes & Dreams as a proposal planner, that Claire had discovered the shop space had been available to rent.
Claire smiled back. ‘Hi. Need help with a proposal?’
Peggy nodded and came and sat down in the chair opposite Claire. ‘Nicole asked me to pop down. We have a client who wants to pop the question – sunset at the top of the Eiffel Tower. That bit we can manage, but we’d like you to handle the first-class Eurostar tickets, and give us suggestions of half a dozen romantic hotels in Paris. He hasn’t got a five-star budget, but he’d like it if his fiancée-to-be didn’t guess that.’
Claire smiled. ‘I know some great little boutique hotels on the Left Bank, where you get a bit more pizazz for your euro. What sort of timescale are we looking at?’
‘Their anniversary is on the fourteenth of July. He’d like to do it then.’
‘No problem.’ Claire opened her browser and clicked through a couple of hotel websites. ‘I’ll have preliminary details to you by the beginning of next week.’
Peggy clapped her hands together and grinned. ‘You’re a star! And I’m so glad you took this office over. It’s so much more fun coming down for a visit than sending off a boring old email.’
‘I’m glad too.’ Carving a name for herself in the travel business had been hard. She needed a niche, she’d realised, and thanks to Peggy and Hopes & Dreams she’d found one. Six months after she’d started doing bookings for them she’d moved from general travel planning to concentrating on romantic trips of all kinds – proposals, honeymoons, special anniversaries.
She’d even planned a couple of holidays to help couples conceive. Okay, well, she didn’t actually help them conceive – that was up to them and God – but giving them some much-needed time together where they could relax and let nature take its course, that she could manage.
‘How about a Frappuccino?’ Peggy asked, nodding towards Sweet Nothings, the organic café and bakery just at the entrance to the yard.
Claire frowned. ‘It’s only ten past nine and you’re having a break? I thought you were supposed to be just “popping down”.’
Peggy’s smile didn’t fade one iota. ‘I’m still working,’ she said sweetly. ‘We’ll discuss the Paris trip while we slurp.’
Claire shook her head gently and considered Peggy’s temping offer. When she arrived for work in the mornings, she usually dived straight in and didn’t surface again until her stomach started to rumble, but this morning her throat was dry and a fine bead of sweat was tickling its way down between her shoulder blades. ‘Oh, go on then,’ she muttered.
Peggy sprung up from the chair, grinning harder. Then she held out her hand. It took Claire a couple of moments before she worked out what was going on. Rolling her eyes, she fumbled through her purse then dropped a ten pound note into Peggy’s hand. ‘I want change!’ she yelled after the polka-dotted figure that practically skipped out of the shop.
There can’t have been much of a queue in Sweet Nothings, she thought, because less than a minute later she sensed a presence in the doorway, hardly enough time to blend the ice, let alone dowse it in ice-cold milk and espresso. ‘I need to talk to you about the film club meeting tonight,’ she said, still looking at her computer screen. ‘How do you feel about being our new treasurer?’
A dark silhouette strode into the shop. ‘You know I’d do anything for you,’ a smooth, deep voice said.
Claire’s head snapped up.
‘Treasurer of what?’ Doug Martin asked.
Claire shook her head. ‘Nothing you’d be interested in,’ she said, laughing. She saw enough of Mr Martin as it was. ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else.’
He took a couple of steps into the office. ‘A boyfriend kind of someone else?’
Claire fought hard to keep her denial unspoken. She pasted on her best professional smile. ‘How can I help you, Mr Martin?’
He smiled at her indulgently. ‘Doug. I thought we agreed you were going to call me Doug.’
They had. And it did feel rather old-fashioned to be talking to a customer that way. He was a nice enough man, maybe a little closer to forty than she was, with an unthreatening, slightly boyish face.
‘Okay, Doug … What can I help you with?’
He didn’t have a chance to answer, because Peggy swept back in the door, a giant Frappuccino in each hand. She took one look at Doug and stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh, sorry … Didn’t realise you had company.’
Claire shot her a ‘save me’ look. Peggy just trotted over to the desk, popped Claire’s drink down two inches to the left of a coaster and whispered so Doug couldn’t hear. ‘Not a chance. Both you and I could do with a few more Y chromosomes in our lives.’
Claire’s brow lowered. You have him then, she mouthed.
Peggy gave her a dazzling smile and headed for the door. ‘I couldn’t possibly poach a client, but you never know …’ She blew a kiss at Doug, who received it gratefully. ‘If things go well, he might be knocking on my door soon anyway.’
Claire resisted the urge to throw the fountain pen sitting on her desk at Peggy
and impale her to the doorpost with it. She did not need more Y chromosomes in her life. She’d only recently got free of one man and she wasn’t about to fill his space either quickly or indiscriminately.
And, as harmless as Doug was, he just didn’t float her boat. ‘So …’ she said, turning her attention back to him, hoping he hadn’t heard their muttered conversation. ‘Where do you want to go this time?’
Doug dropped into the chair Peggy had recently vacated and looked intently at her. ‘I think an island in the South Pacific.’
Claire looked over her shoulder at the world map that sat behind her desk. ‘Any bit of the South Pacific in particular? It’s a pretty big place, and there are thousands of islands.’
When she turned back, Doug looked deep into her eyes. ‘Somewhere secluded … romantic.’
‘Uh-uh.’ Claire nodded, but her eyes narrowed. She had a funny feeling she knew where this was going. She winced as she asked the crucial question. ‘How many travellers?’
He leaned even further forward and gave her a meaningful look. ‘I’d like it to be two. How about adding a wedding on a secluded white sandy beach beneath the palm trees?’
‘Doug,’ Claire said wearily ‘we’ve been through this before.’
He shrugged and shifted his weight so he was sitting firmly back in the chair. ‘You can’t blame a man in love for being hopeful, can you?’
Claire sighed. She’d like to, but the truth was she needed to build a customer base with more Dougs. Well, not exactly like him. She could do without the shameless flirting and the twice-weekly proposals, but she needed more repeat customers who kept coming back because she’d done such a good job the last time they couldn’t imagine booking a holiday without her. It was happening, but slowly.
‘No,’ she said, finally answering his question. ‘But I’ve told you before that I don’t love you, Doug. I hardly even know you.’ No matter how many hours he spent emailing or phoning each month. The downside of having a brand-new shiny office was that he now had the opportunity to moon over her in person.
