Excerpt:

Here is Chapter One, of this untitled contempory romance...

Chapter One - NaNo 2008

“I’m sorry,” her boss shuffled in his chair. “What with the downturn in the economy, visitor-numbers to the gallery have halved.”

“When does the redundancy take effect?” Megan wanted to clasp her hands over her ears in denial.

“Immediately.” Bryan Statton ran his bony fingers through the few remaining hairs on his head and stared myopically at her.

“You can’t be serious?” Megan gasped. “What about my flat?”

“The board of governors have elected to put it up for sale upon your removal.”

“Removal?” Anger spurred Megan to her feet. Her hand arcing through the sun dust-moted air. “I’m nothing more than some unwanted junk to be removed from the premises, am I? Prey tell me,” she sneered at her boss, “have they found me a rubbish tip to move to?”

“Really Mrs. Havers…” James swiped his eyes with his hand. “You are exaggerating.”

“Am I? Am I, really? And how long do the board of governors allow me to find alternative accommodation?” She turned and rested her hand on her boss’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t your fault. You don’t have to tell me that the governors, to a man, don’t have the balls to tell me to my face. But what do they expect me to do? Am I supposed to wave some magical wand and spirit some suitable flat out of thin air. I mean,” she paused as reality began to seep below her anger. “I mean,” her voice wobbled, “it’s hard enough finding accommodation when you are employed. Where will I find something without a wage coming in?”

“You could try living with your husband.” The deep voice came from within the dark shadows of the room behind her. A voice she’d heard once before, more than ten years ago. A voice, that at the time, pleaded with her to replace the woman who’d reneged on her agreement to marry him that morning.

“I beg your pardon?” Time, she needed time to make sense of the stranger’s sudden reappearance in her life. The last time she’d seen him, she’d been passing the door of the Los Angeles chapel of … What was the name of the place? She shook her head and refocused on her present dilemma. Her dream job had just vanished along with her home, and in its place stood her husband of less than one hour suggesting she go and live with him.

Had she somehow joined Alice and hopped through the looking glass? Bemused she watched the tall, wide-shouldered, lean-hipped man approach. A lock of rich gold hair fell across his forehead, and his ice-blue eyes focussed on her face. When she’d lost her mind and agreed to marry the man ten years ago, he’d worn, faded denims, mud-caked boots, and his checked shirt had gaped open at the neck and dirt caked his broken fingernails. She had just left work to join her friend Marie for lunch and wore one of her favourite Armani suits in pearl grey. She remembered because he’d told her she matched the colour of the rain-filled sky above.

Groping behind her for her chair, she fell onto it with a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here?”

“I have just bought the gallery and to ensure its future have set about making the required changes.”

“Apparently the first casualty of your new strategy is your wife’s instant removal from both the staff and her home.” Her lip curled on the final word. “The gallery not longer requires an accountant?”

“I have my own people to run the accounts department.” Cold finality dripped from his voice.

“I see.” Megan rose, dignity as stiff as a steel rod, holding her spine straight. “In that case, I have some packing to do.” She turned to leave the room but turned back. “How long have I got before I must vacate my home?”

“A week.”

She couldn’t prevent the gasp that slipped between her clenched teeth.

“And, that’s being generous, given you do have alternative accommodation immediately available.”

In your dreams, buster, Megan turned to the door at the other end of the book-lined room and left her boss and husband staring at each other as she departed. No way, she decided would she move in with a stranger who just happened to be her husband.

Why hadn’t she made the effort to file for divorce on the grounds of desertion when her farce of a marriage hit the seven-year requirement? Perhaps she could have listed him as missing, her lips curled at the thought, and then thinned again. The guy said he’d just bought the gallery. Then he must be loaded. Why would he ask some woman he snatched off the street, to fulfil his father’s dying demand that he be married within one week of his funeral or forfeit his legacy to his cousin, to move in wit him, if he had money? Perhaps he hadn’t, until after his father’s death? What did it matter what the man had, or when, she wouldn’t move in with some arrogant stranger who’d just taken her job and her home away from her.

She could spend time with her sister until she found another job. Surely she could find a job and a flat nearby? Her heals clacked on the concrete path between the gallery and small flat at the rear of the building. Unnoticed, rain began falling, gently at first, then more steadily, until the heavens opened and dumped their contents on the hapless victims still outside. Megan swore. Pushing wet strands of hair off her face she didn’t care whether men called her a titian goddess or not right now.

Her suit jacket stuck to her body, and her pencil slim skirt clung to her legs like a limpet, making progress awkward and unpleasant. Anger, mixed with fear, urged her forward, and she fumbled for her key with rain-chilled fingers that suddenly took on a life of their own. Her key dropped to the ground and when she bent to pick it up, long, well-manicured, masculine fingers beat her to them and picked it up for her.

“Let me.”

Of course the wretched man had a huge umbrella and remained dry beneath it. She sniffed in disdain. “There’s no need. I can manage. I’ve been unlocking this door for the last five years, I do know how it works.” Sarcasm may be the lowest form of wit, she acknowledged silently, but, hell, she needed something to put the man in his place. Only, it didn’t work. Impervious to her snarling reply, her husband slipped the key effortlessly into the lock and pushed her door open, and stood back to let her in.

Turning in the doorway, she held out her hand for the key and waited. She may have to vacate the place by the end of the week but until then, she decided who came in with her.

“You may as well let me in, you know.” His lips quirked in amusement at her belligerence.

“Why?”

“Because we have to talk.”

“There’s nothing more to say.” Megan tried to push the door closed, but his perfectly shod foot, in soft Italian leather shoes in the doorway prevented her from closing it in his face. “You’ve taken my job, and my home, away from me and you expect me to fall in with your harebrained scheme to move in with you. I don’t even remember your name.” She lied without batting an eye.

“Havers.” He shifted until his shoulder leaned on the doorjamb. “You use it everyday.” Steeping forward, he smiled when she unconsciously stepped back, before shutting the door behind him with a satisfied snap. “Why do you use a married name if you don’t remember your husband’s first name.”

“You got what you wanted from the marriage, I saw no reason for not taking advantage of it too.”

He levelled a puzzled gaze at her. “What advantage would that be?”

“I don’t date, and by using my married name it saves a lot of hassle.”

“You didn’t cash the cheque I gave you.”

“I did you a favour, and when I needed to I took a favour back in return.”

“Your married title?”

She nodded, and stripping her sodden jacket from her shoulders, wrestled it down her arms before hanging it on the back of a saddle-backed kitchen chair. Turning she headed for the kettle until she saw his eyes flare when they focussed on her breasts. The rain had soaked through to her skin and her cold nipples thrust against the sodden material stuck to the soft curves.

“I’ll make coffee, I suggest you get out of those wet things before you catch your death of cold, and before I do things you would not forgive me for.” Un-gently, he pushed her out of the kitchen and she heard water splash into her kettle as she headed for the stairs.

Surely he hadn’t just implied he wanted her? She shook her head. On top of everything else that had occurred, she twisted her wrist to look at her watch, in less than an hour, she’d lost her job and her home, gained a husband she known for less than an hour, coincidence? Her mind skittered from one thought to another, then focussed on the man downstairs. What did said husband want from her?

Had he known, when he bought the gallery, that she worked there? Had he deliberately taken her job and home away from her, and if so, why? What could he possibly gain from doing that to her? Did her assume she’d fall into his arms in gratitude, when he offered her a place in his home? Surely not! There were strangers. Strangers connected by a marriage of convenience. Convenient to him, and of no use to her, until, on her return to England, some men working at or connected with the gallery seemed to think her single state entitled them to vie with each other for her attention, when she knew she’d become a challenge to them.

Did they think she hadn’t heard about the bet between the three men in design to see who could bed her first? Her lip curled and she blanked her mind to them. That was one problem solved by her job loss. It would be too much to hope for, that fate ensured they became casualties of the sudden changes too, she thought as she dumped her soggy clothes into the basket. She slipped under the hot shower, before drying and dressing in a casual top and faded jeans. She left her feet bare, and headed downstairs, inhaling the aroma of coffee that drifted from the kitchen to meet her.

He pushed a mug across the table towards her when she sank into a chair, and continued to study her features silently. Ignoring the heat that climbed into her cheeks Megan’s sipped at the hot strong brew provided. She preferred more milk in her coffee, and reached for the sugar bowl when she discovered the bitter taste too strong for her.

“You’re looking good.” The surprise behind his lazy statement annoyed her.

“Thank you. I think.”

“I remembered you as good looking, but you’ve matured…”

“Is that a euphemism for…” she held his gaze, “I’ve aged?”

“No. Don’t be so prickly.” He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. “You have an air of serenity about you, you lacked when we met.”

“After the last hour or so, serene is the last thing I’m feeling, I assure you.” Megan snapped. Only now, did it penetrate her consciousness, that the man she’d married in America was not American. He spoke with a concise upper-class English accent.

“What are you doing here?” She wanted to ask, where are you from, but couldn’t quite raise the courage to ask such a directly personal question. Figures she could organise, until the danced to her tune, eventually. If she found a discrepancy in them, she virtually wrung their necks until they fell into place, or she uncovered the reason for their misalignment. People, at close quarters, she didn’t appreciate.

“I have taken over the gallery. I told you that earlier.” He pulled a chair from beneath the table and sat down opposite her.

“I know that.” Given the repercussions, why wouldn’t she have received that message by now, loud and clear? “I mean why come personally. You said you had taken over the gallery, not that you are working for the company who have taken it over.” She paused to gather her thoughts.

“Astute of you.”

She ignored his comment, uncertain as to whether he was laughing at her or not, and continued. “Why this gallery? It’s not that big, Yes, it handles some well known pieces and is favoured by collectors, but there are plenty of other galleries that would give you a better return on your money than this one.”

“I take over ailing companies and either rescue them and sell them on, or break them up and sell off the parts that will make a profitable return.”

“So why this gallery? It is neither ailing nor unprofitable.”

“Let’s just say, there were certain parts of this company that didn’t benefit the future of the business.”

A finger of unease snaked through her. “How many other redundancies have their been?”

“None.”

“None?”

Hearing confirmation, that the sudden thought that skipped through her mind arlier, had not been so outrageous after all, stunned her.

“You deliberately bought this gallery to target me and my job…” Tears of anger threatened to spill over. “What have I done to you, that you repay me by taking away everything I have?”

“Not everything.” Her husband stood up and reaching for her empty mug took it to the sink and swilled it beneath the tap. “Do you have a dishwasher?”

“No.”

“James.”

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t remember my name. It’s James.”

“Oh!” What did she care, as soon as she arranged her removal from this place she’d never see him again. Hurt and betrayal zinged through her. For reasons beyond her comprehension, the man she’d helped ten years ago had stripped her of her home and her job. Why?

Placing a hand beneath her elbow, James helped her from her chair and led her into the tiny sitting room. She’d furnished it sparingly, with second hand furniture that offered comfort over design, and a mixture of colours that blended rather than made some kind of statement.

“This is cosy. I like it.” James sat on the settee beside her.

“So do I, but little good it will do me as it won’t be here in a few days time, so skip the niceties and tell me why you’ve decided to wage a one-man-war against me.”

“It has nothing to do with wars, or vendettas,” he added before she could dispute him. “Have you heard of Havers Engineering?”

Of course she had, her sister worked there. They built engines for ships and aircraft, and their turbines probably powered most stations in the old national grid. Open mouthed she nodded.

“My great, great, great – I forget how many greats, so I could be wrong - grandfather started the company, and it passed on down through the family, and when my father died, he’d left a clause in his will, intended to bring my elder brother into line. Unfortunately, my brother and father were in the same car when it was involved in a multiple vehicle pileup on the motorway. Neither survived, but they did prove at the inquest, my brother died first. That left me as the stated elder son, and in accordance with my father’s will I had to marry within one week of his funeral or the business and the house would go to my cousin.”

“And that was bad because?”

“My cousin made no secret of his intention to sell both the business and the house to fund his gambling.” James paused, stood up and stared down at her. “I couldn’t let that happen. My father gave his life to the company. He died for it.”

She gasped, and without thinking reached out a comforting hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“They were on their way south to meet with government officials. They had to present their official tender for turbines for a recently commissioned aircraft carrier.”

She remained silent when he stopped, his gaze rested on her face, but his thoughts were elsewhere, she knew.

“I live in the house, now.”

“Didn’t you always?”

“No.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. “Like most young men, I wanted to make it on my own. As the ‘spare’ to the heir, I didn’t expect to take over the reins of the company. So I started my own company buying and selling other struggling businesses. I still have apartments in New York and Los Angeles, and when I returned to the UK lived in the old home and commuted to London.”

“Where was your mother when your father and brother died?” He hadn’t mentioned his mother now, or during their short acquaintance in Los Angeles ten years ago.

“She died giving birth to my younger sister.”

What could she say? She didn’t know, so remained silent, while he gathered his thoughts.

“It has come to my notice that there are certain financial discrepancies within the department run by my cousin.”

The way he spoke told her more than the words, how carefully he chose his method to present his case to her, even if she couldn’t understand his reason for doing so.

“Given his gambling habit, I need someone new in his department who can gain access to the departmental finances. Someone I can trust, and someone who knows her job inside out.” His gaze refocused on her face. “In other words. You.”

He sat down beside her again and took her hands between his. The warmth from his fingers as they curled round hers, zinged along her nerve endings and shot up her arms.

“When your sister mentioned your name and the mysterious circumstances of your marriage…” He grinned a genuine grin that lit his face and revealed a dimple in his right cheek. “Do you have any idea how pissed your sister is because she can’t wheedle the details of our marriage from you?” He laughed out loud. “If only she knew who she was telling!”

Astonished at her sister’s loose mouth, Megan gasped. “Why would she tell you?”

“Because we share the same name. Thankfully, like you, she assumes your mysterious husband is American, so never followed the possible connection between us.”

“Okay,” she paused, “but that doesn’t explain why you would trust me with this information or the job.”

“Ten years ago, after our wedding, I handed you a cheque for ten thousand pounds and guaranteed you a monthly allowance for five years. In that time you never touched a penny of it. That told me all I needed to know about your honesty. Your reasons for not taking advantage of our deal, still alludes me though, I have to confess.”

Evening sunshine filtered into the room, casting a rosy glow on her cream painted walls. Ignoring his last comment she picked up on the former. “Does your cousin know who you married? Obviously you presented proof of our wedding to your father’s lawyers or you wouldn’t be in the house or running his business.”

“He never saw the marriage certificate. My father’s lawyers informed him I’d met with the terms of my father’s will and would inherit the house and company.”

“Didn’t he resent that?” Megan shifted her position so she could watch his face.

“No.”

“I find that surprising.”

“Not so surprising. He told me he didn’t really expect to inherit. Said he knew me well enough to know I’d enter into, and I quote, ‘some scatterbrained marriage’ just to thwart him.” He paused thoughtfully. “He’s not a bad chap. Very likeable in fact. His only flaw is his gambling. He’s heavily into debt and desperate for cash. I think that’s why he’s dipping into company coffers.”

“And if your suspicions are proved right? What then?”

“I don’t know.” James sighed. “At least gambling is seen for the social disease it is, now. If I can only persuade him join a counselling programme, or accept treatment…” his voice trailed off. “First I have to prove who’s dipping into the till before I can take the appropriate action.”

She knew the answer to her next question, but needed to hear his confirmation. “And the termination of my job at the gallery and loss of my home, helps you in this, how?” For the life of her, she couldn’t prevent her acid tone.

“I have a cottage near the works. It’s owned by the company, so wouldn’t draw suspicion. We’d say, as your home went with your last job, when made redundant, you also lost your home.”

“Well no one will be able to dispute that fact.”

“The fact the cottage belongs to the company means no one will suspect the connection between us.” He continued, as though she hadn’t spoken.

“You don’t think, when they discover we share the same name, it won’t arouse gossip?”

“Why should it? If I checked, I bet there’s several Smith’s and Jones’s working at the company without creating gossip.”

“And my sister? What will you tell her? How come the two of you met, anyway? Do you get that close up and personal with all your staff?”

He smiled at her, then. “Jealous?”

“What?” Shock held Megan still for a moment before she laughed. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Why indeed?” James stood and surveyed the room. “You’ve made it cosy, and comfortable in here, is the rest of the place the same?”

“You want to look around?” Amusement lit her face. “You think that’s wise if we’re to maintain the impression of being strangers?”

“Who will know? And I won’t tell, if you don’t.” An answering smile lit his features, and she felt a swarm of butterflies lift off in her stomach. Surely she wasn’t attracted to her husband?

“How are you going to install me in your cousin’s department without causing suspicion among your staff?”

“You have and interview at ten tomorrow morning with personnel, and you will be appointed in due course.”

“And I move where in the meantime?”

“There will be a crisis opening for an accountant in our Australian subsidiary and the position will become vacant immediately. Believe me, this time next week you will be in your new job.”

A flicker of excitement burst into full-blown anticipation. Her main concern was finding the source of her excitement. Did the prospect of a challenging job set her heart racing or did her husband’s request have anything to do with it?

“And when the job’s finished?” Half of her didn’t want to know. The other half couldn’t help hoping. Hoping for what, for goodness sake.

“One day at a time.” James replied dryly. “Softly, softly, catchee monkey.” He quoted, the old English proverb.