by Maggie Brown
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Table of Contents
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by Maggie Brown
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bella Books
Synopsis
Hollywood star and the nation’s favorite daughter, Eleanor Godwin wants nothing more than time by herself, especially from the persistent press. What better place to recuperate after a particularly gruelling round of interviews than a picture-perfect exclusive island resort in the Great Barrier Reef?
Political reporter Sophie Marsh is used to digging up dirt. When her editor underhandedly snags her the position as Eleanor’s housekeeper for two months, she reluctantly agrees to spy on the star. After all, her hard-won position at the paper is on the line.
Against the background of the breathtaking island, passions run high. As secrets are revealed, the assignment becomes Sophie’s worst nightmare—write the article or lose her job. She knows that succumbing to temptation can’t be an option. But tell that to her heart…
Copyright © 2018 by Maggie Brown
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2018
eBook released 2018
Editor: Cath Walker
Cover Designer: Judith Fellows
ISBN: 978-1-59493-575-6
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other Bella Books by Maggie Brown
I Can’t Dance Alone
In the Company of Crocodiles
Mackenzie’s Beat
Piping Her Tune
The Flesh Trade
Acknowledgments
Thank you once again Bella Books for the production of this book. Many thanks also to Cath Walker for her editing skills to make this a polished work.
I had fun writing this novel. The islands in the Great Barrier Reef are truly a slice of paradise. There are seventy-four islands in the Whitsunday group, only eight inhabited.
About the Author
Maggie Brown is a writer who thinks wit and humor go a long way. Is she intelligent, model-like, mega-super-important? Hell no!
She is an Australian alien life form, who drinks too much coffee, sits too long at the computer, and sometimes is a hot mess when struck down by writer’s block.
She hopes you enjoy her story.
Dedication
To my family
Chapter One
The Morning Globe pressroom buzzed with frantic activity. It was nothing new. Before an edition went to print, the chaotic last-minute scramble was a matter of course.
Sophie Marsh loved it all: the adrenaline rush, the smell of percolating burnt coffee, the tinge of panic in the air. It was her battlefield. Today, though, she wasn’t amongst it. She sat in her editor’s office, engaged in a different war. A verbal one.
“You’ve been assigned the job so dig up some dirt,” Owen Cameron said flatly.
“But…”
“I don’t want any further argument, Marsh.”
She ignored the urge to sweep from the room in a grand gesture of defiance, but instead, hunched into her chair. Her dreams scurried further into the background at his words. Was this what the iconic Brisbane publication had become, a tabloid? But in today’s world of social media, it was harder to find a story that wasn’t old hat by the time the edition hit the streets. The Globe, like many papers, was struggling.
Silently, she watched him pop the antacid tablet into his mouth and chew it distastefully. A film of white frothed across his bottom lip. After a convulsive swallow, he wiped his mouth before he threw the manila folder across the table. The chief editor of the paper for over twenty years, Owen was a wiry, balding, acerbic man with little sense of humour and gastric reflux. A tough boss most of the time, he could be downright scathing when rattled.
He leaned across the desk with a glare. “What don’t you understand about this? All you have to do is live in the house with the woman and find out what makes her tick. It isn’t hard, so what’s the goddamn problem? Anyone in the office would jump at the chance to be with Eleanor Godwin on a tropical island for a week, let alone two months. I want a story that unmasks that reclusive goodie two-shoes. No one is that perfect. You find out exactly what rocks her boat. What she likes, what she does for kicks, her vices, and most of all, who she screws.”
“What about the State election? I’ve some important interviews lined up.”
“Yeah…and that sells papers, does it? People are sick of politics. Look, my hands are tied. She specifically asked for an unattached woman in her late twenties or thirties. I didn’t have a choice. It was either you or Brie.”
“Then why can’t Brie do it?” Her inner voice yelped don’t whine. Sophie ignored it. “She’ll jump at the chance—she is the social reporter, after all. You’ll be handing her the Holy Grail.”
A snort erupted. “Brie hardly fits the mould. Can you honestly visualize her as a domestic? Besides, I don’t want to know who designed her dress, the colour of her lipstick, or how high her fucking heels are. I want something that sells papers.” He scratched the side of his nose irritably. “I had to call in favours to get you a fine set of references.”
“You actually sent a false CV to an employment agency? That’s not right.”
“So?” he said with an unconcerned shrug. “Lots of résumés have some misleading information. And it’s not as though I forced them to take you. I s
ent it in and they picked you out of the pile. It was a long shot but it worked. The Fates are on your side.”
“Why didn’t they interview me?”
“Apparently, Godwin’s mother did the hiring and insisted she wanted you when she was sent the short list. I fail to see why you’re bellyaching anyhow. You’re going to be paid by her as well as the paper. It’s a windfall for you.”
Though she welcomed the extra money, Sophie felt a moment of real disquiet. Eleanor Godwin would probably be within her rights to sue the paper when the article came out. Sophie hoped Owen had some contingency plan for that. She didn’t want to be a sacrificial lamb in the pursuit of a scandal. “It’s not ethical to spy on people in their own home,” she ventured in a small voice.
“Then make sure you fulfil the terms of your employment. Do whatever the woman asks and do it properly.” He squinted at her. “You know how to cook, don’t you?”
“I’m half Italian…of course I do. I love it. Food’s an art form in my family.”
“Good. We’ll cover your arse when the story’s written.”
Sophie picked up the folder, careful not to aggravate him further and retired sulkily to tidy her desk. An assignment of this length was a lifetime in this cutthroat business. The only hope to retain her edge would be to unearth something juicy about the film star, though the likelihood of that was slim. Eleanor Godwin was not only an excellent actor but also seemingly above reproach. She was one of the nation’s favourite daughters, crème de la crème, a national treasure.
At this particular moment though, Sophie was not one of her adoring fans. Her ambition to be a top political reporter was disappearing—two months in domestic servitude sounded like a jail sentence. “A general dog’s body” was the expression Owen had used. She appreciated what a coup getting the job must have been, for Eleanor was known to value her privacy, but why did she have to be the one to go? Sophie knew she hadn’t a hope in Hades of wriggling out of this one.
Curious, she flipped open the folder. By nominating the age bracket, it was apparent Eleanor wanted a companion as well as help. She eyed the company logo on the front page. The employment agency was expensive and discreet, used exclusively by the rich and famous. Her enclosed application form contained a glowing manufactured curriculum vitae, with three very important referees. She recognised the names immediately—Owen’s fishing cronies.
At least her alias, Sophie Ryan, was not known to the upmarket set, so she was able to keep her first name. Her photograph was flattering, though she had no idea when it was taken or by whom. It would have had to been airbrushed, for she didn’t look half that good. Wincing, she scrolled down the employment criteria: house duties, gardening, cooking, pleasant-natured, a keen reader, a good sense of humour.
The damn woman wanted Mary Poppins.
She moved to Owen’s notes on Eleanor. Born in Australia, the star had settled permanently in Hollywood after her career took off. Four years ago at the age of thirty, she had won an Oscar for her role in the acclaimed Wings of the Hawk, a period drama set in the American War of Independence. This year it was rumoured she would score another nomination for the grittier role of a lesbian drug addict, with a very good chance of taking out the coveted award once more.
Her working history read like a thespian Mother Teresa. She was cooperative with her fellow cast members, hardworking, never late on set and a role model for aspiring actors. Not only was she a stunning beauty, she had other starring qualities, being a noted philanthropist and humanitarian. Her personal life, however, was shrouded in mystery. Occasionally a man escorted her to a function or a show, but she had not formed any lasting attachments. She had never been seen drinking late at nightclubs or displaying herself badly in public in any way. In fact, she was always the model of decorum.
Sophie made a disparaging snort. Owen was right—no one could be that damn perfect. Everyone had a skeleton in a cupboard somewhere.
She flipped through to the site of her assignment. She’d never heard of the place. Eurydice was a small tropical island in the Whitsunday group in the Great Barrier Reef, a very exclusive destination with twenty-two guest villas, three privately owned. When she scanned the prices, Sophie gave an involuntary whistle. Wow! That was what you had to pay for complete privacy. No wonder it wasn’t on the radar. Only the filthy rich would consider it. If Eleanor was hiring a live-in help, then it was a probability she was in one of the private ones. Now that would take some serious money. Given the location and the fact that there was the only one accessible point to land a boat on the island, the paparazzi wouldn’t have a chance of sneaking in undetected.
At the sound of clicking heels in the corridor, she jammed the folder shut. Brie Simmons appeared around the door in an outfit that definitely did not come from Big W. Dressed in bottom-hugging pants, a low-cut top and knee-high soft leather boots she oozed panache. Her usual white smile was missing as she reached for the folder.
Sophie pulled it out of reach. “Ah, ha. No, you don’t. This is mine.”
“Is it true you’re going to interview a movie star?” Brie screwed up her face into a frown of disapproval. “I’m the social reporter. Why was this given to you of all people?”
Sophie raised her eyebrows; the walls obviously had ears. “The news spread fast. It’s not exactly an interview, per se. And,” she said with a waggle of her finger, “it’s a secret assignment, so I can’t tell you any details, so don’t ask. Besides,” she added offhandedly, “the actor is nobody of importance.”
“If it’s no one famous, then why are you so tight-lipped about it? Now you’ve got me really curious.”
“You’ll just have to wear it.”
“Surely you can give me a hint.”
Sophie smiled at her fondly. Although totally absorbed in her appearance, Brie was warm and generous, and one of her best friends. With her elegant slim body and a passion for clothing that screamed haute couture, there was no way she would be a suitable candidate. “My lips are sealed. And what did you mean by that remark… you of all people?”
“Soph, have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Why?”
“You’ve let yourself go. Your hair badly needs a trim, your eyebrows need work, and,” she sniffed, “you have to get out of those baggy clothes you always insist on wearing. They look like they’ve come from Vinnies.”
“For shit sake, I’m a reporter, not a model.”
A slim hand reached over to finger Sophie’s unruly curls. “At least take a trip to the hairdresser.”
“I intend to.” Sophie pulled the hand away and studied Brie’s sparkling blue nails. “Manicure Monday this week?”
“Great aren’t they?”
“It looks like you’re cyanosed.”
Brie snorted. “And you’d be the fashion expert? So…back to this film star. What did you mean it’s not exactly an interview?”
“More like a position.”
“What! Why did Owen give you that assignment?”
“He must think a lot of my reporting skills. Now no more prodding.”
“Okay, but you can tell me how long you’ll be away, can’t you.”
“I guess. It’s for two months.”
Brie stared at her, bug-eyed. “But that’s a lifetime in this job.”
“I know. But he gave me no choice. So much for my career as a political reporter. If I miss this election, I’ve lost any credibility,” Sophie said bitterly.
Brie gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. “Chin up. No one can hold a candle to you, and the others will do a crap job, pissing off the readers and the pollies. Owen will welcome you back with open arms.”
“I hope so.”
“Well, I’m going to miss that big ol’ cheery face of yours. What say I take you to the hairdresser in the morning for a new style, and then we’ll buy you some clothes at that new boutique I found in Rosalie? Afterward, we’ll hit the bar with the girls for a farewell drink.”
Sophie hesitate
d before she nodded reluctantly. Brie’s idea of a hairstyle was far different from hers, but from the determined look on her friend’s face, she wasn’t going to wriggle out of it. And she was right about the need for a shopping expedition, though Sophie was a bit dubious that her credit card could handle the prices of any shop Brie recommended. However, if she were going to an exclusive resort, she’d need some decent gear. Most of her clothes were begging to be put out of their misery.
* * *
At the hairdresser, the trim morphed into a mod pixie look: layered at the back and short one side, while the other side feathered forward over her forehead. Sophie watched nervously as her dark curls were cut ruthlessly, while Brie directed the proceedings. Her protests were sternly ignored as the scissors snipped on. Afterward, she yelped as her eyebrows were ripped into shape with hot wax.
“There,” Brie said triumphantly as they both stared into the mirror. “Isn’t that simply fabulous? Wow, the style really made a difference. You look…well…rather striking now. I never realized you had such a perfectly adorable oval face. Now if you’ll stop scowling at me, I might buy you lunch.”
Sophie critically assessed her hair. Brie could talk rubbish sometimes, but she had to admit the style did flatter her face. Her cheekbones were accentuated, her lips fuller and her jaw not so prominent. Her brown eyes, compliments of her mother’s Italian heritage, appeared as large dark pools. Who would have thought a haircut could make such an improvement?
Then it was off to the shops. She arrived home laden with parcels, with only a little time to finish packing and grab a snack before the cab arrived. Brie was already waiting at the entrance to the bar when her taxi pulled up.
Sophie self-consciously flipped back a stray bang as she trailed behind her to join the three women who sat in a corner booth. The cocktail bar was their favourite watering hole: a classic old-world bar with a warm and cosy atmosphere, subdued lighting and a dark sexy decor. It was busy with the usual professional crowd, some still in suits although it was nearly eight.
