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Storm Force
Sara Craven
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
‘BUT, MAGGIE,’ Philip Munroe’s tone was plaintive, ‘do you actually mean you’re leaving me in the lurch?’
Maggie counted to ten under her breath. ‘No, Philip,’ she said courteously. ‘I mean I’m taking some leave. A holiday that I’ve had booked for months, and which you’ve known all about for the same length of time.’
‘But this is an emergency. Kylie St John is flying in tomorrow, and she’ll want to know what we think about the new book.’
‘The readers’ reports and my detailed memorandum are on your desk, attached to the script.’
‘I know that,’ Philip said fretfully. ‘I’ve seen them. They say that the whole middle section needs to be completely re-written.’
‘They do indeed,’ Maggie agreed cordially.
‘But I can’t tell her that. It’s not the kind of news she wants to hear from me.’
Maggie smiled gently, pushing her red hair back from her forehead. ‘Of course not. You have Maggie, the mad axe-woman, to do your dirty work with the authors, then you take them to lunch at the Connaught and kiss their egos better. It’s a great system. Only I’m spending the next three weeks in Mauritius, and you’ll have to wield the axe yourself for once.’
‘But surely you could delay your flight for forty-eight hours. I’ll get my secretary to ring the travel agent and …’
‘I could do nothing of the sort,’ Maggie said tersely. ‘You seem to be overlooking the fact that I am not going to Mauritius alone.’
Philip stared at her. ‘Oh, of course, you’re going with Whatsit. I’d forgotten.’
‘His name,’ said Maggie, holding on to her temper with a superhuman effort, ‘is Robin.’
‘But I’m sure if matters were explained to him, he’d understand.’
‘Why should he? I don’t even understand myself.’
There was a loaded silence. Then Philip tried again. ‘Kylie St John,’ he began, ‘is probably our most successful author.’
‘She’s also extremely temperamental, very tough, and a professional to her fingertips. Don’t let her browbeat you,’ Maggie advised, picking up her briefcase. ‘Now, I’m going home to finish packing.’
‘And is that your final word?’
Maggie groaned. ‘Please don’t sound so wounded,’ she said. ‘This is my first vacation in two and a half years.’
‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it,’ Philip said warmly. ‘No one’s worked harder than you, darling, to put the firm on its feet. I’ve always been able to rely on you totally.’
‘Good old Maggie—everybody’s friend,’ Maggie muttered.
‘Well—if you want to put it that way.’
‘No,’ she said roundly. ‘This is the way I want to put it, Philip. I am going on holiday with the man I love. You are going to deal with Kylie the Terrible. Call it your baptism of fire,’ she added, as she swirled through the door, and down to her waiting cab.
Traffic was heavy, and she sat back in the corner of the taxi, looking out of the window with unseeing eyes.
It would do Philip no harm to stiffen his sinews and summon up the blood when dealing with some of the formidable ladies on their fiction list, she thought, defensively.
In any case, there was no way she was going to do anything to put her holiday in Mauritius in jeopardy. It had taken weeks of patient and subtle manoeuvring to get Robin to the stage of accepting the idea of a joint vacation anywhere.
She adored him, of course, but sometimes the old-fashioned principles rigorously instilled by his elderly mother were a little hard to take. And Robin loved her, she knew. There was a tacit agreement that—one day—they would be married. Perhaps the romantic surroundings of Mauritius would provide the spur he needed to make their engagement official, she thought wistfully. Especially if Mama wasn’t around to ask why he needed to get married, when he was so comfortable at home with her …
Oh, don’t be such a bitch, she adjured herself impatiently. Mrs Hervey can’t be expected to look forward eagerly to losing her only son to another woman. She’s come to depend on him, perhaps too much.
But I wish I could believe that, underneath, she likes me really, she added, with a little sigh.
She paid off the driver outside the block of flats where she lived, and dived up to the first floor.
Mrs Hervey would have every reason for disapproval if she could see the state of the flat, Maggie had to acknowledge as she dashed into the bedroom. It looked as if a bomb had hit it.
