call me Stella,’ the housekeeper invited warmly as she placed a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of Arabella, having seated her beside Merlin.
‘Arabella,’ she returned lightly, before gratefully sipping at the tea.
‘What a pretty name,’ the housekeeper said spontaneously. ‘Sounds like one of your heroines, Rob.’ She smiled at her employer; she was a small, plump woman, with hair almost as white as her husband’s, and brown eyes that twinkled as much too. Obviously this was a happy household, even if their employer was more than a little taciturn.
Merlin grunted at the comment, his gaze fixed morosely on the bottom of his teacup as he drank from it. Physically, Arabella acknowledged, he looked just like his hero, Palfrey, although there were no laughter-lines on this man’s face, no warmth or humour in his blue eyes, something the Palfrey character had in abundance. But Merlin wrote the Palfrey books, so he must be possessed of a sense of humour. Mustn’t he...? Not when it came to unwanted visits from his editor, obviously!
Suddenly he stood up abruptly. ‘Shall we take our tea and go through to my study?’ He looked at her with coldly compelling eyes.
‘Of course,’ Arabella agreed; at least he was going to talk to her. It was a step further than Stephen had got, and that had to be better than nothing. She directed an apologetic smile at the elderly couple as Merlin instantly turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Arabella with no choice but to follow him. She wasn’t apologising for Merlin’s behaviour—the couple must be used to that by now—she was apologising for not doing justice to the afternoon tea the housekeeper had provided; Merlin hadn’t given her time!
His study was like that of so many other authors she had seen: the desk was the dominating feature, a large leather-topped mahogany one in this case, behind it a bookcase full of reference books. The only difference she could see in this room was the lack of a word processor; most authors used them nowadays. But Merlin’s, manuscripts were always neatly presented, so he had to have one somewhere, making her wonder if this was actually the room that he used to work in.
‘Sit down,’ he invited curtly, already seated across the desk from her himself, the dogs on either side of him.
Now Arabella knew what it felt like to be a prospective published author seated across from her in her own office: a bit like being back at school and being hauled before the headmaster for some misdemeanour. And the dogs definitely added to the feeling of menace in the room. As the seconds, and then minutes, passed once she had sat down, that feeling didn’t diminish!
‘I take it you did receive my letter?’ Arabella was finally the one to speak.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed harshly, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair to look at her with narrowed eyes.
‘So my being here isn’t unexpected?’ she persisted determinedly; remembering the dogs and the open gates, she knew damn well it wasn’t!
‘A. Atherton’s presence here isn’t unexpected,’ he acknowledged coldly. ‘Your presence...’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I had no idea the A stood for Arabella.’
Or he would have asked for another editor years ago, the accusing statement implied. Did the fact she was a woman mean she wasn’t a good editor?
‘I had no idea your first name was Robert, either,’ she said lightly, but just as pointedly.
He was silent again for several long seconds, and then his mouth twisted wryly. ‘Touché.’ He nodded in acknowledgement of the challenge in her voice.
It was strange, really, but here, in the privacy of his study, Robert Merlin had taken on an even more familiar appearance. Of course he reminded her of his hero, Palfrey, but there was something else too, a definite feeling that she had seen him before somewhere. But where? And surely she would have remembered it if she had? With his golden good looks, and powerfully attractive face, he was a man who would be very difficult to forget Yet she knew she had seen him before somewhere, knew—
She straightened in her chair as she realised she was staring at him, and that he was returning that stare with questioning eyes. ‘Sorry.’ She blushed ruefully. ‘It’s just—you aren’t quite what I was expecting either.’ That had to be the understatement of the year! ‘But then we’ve agreed the feeling is mutual,’ she added briskly as she sensed a sarcastic reply was about to leave his lips. She put down her empty teacup. ‘I have some papers in my bag for you to look at—
‘If it’s about the filming of Palfrey, then I’m not interested,’ he interrupted harshly.
Arabella looked up from picking up her bag. ‘You can’t possibly know that until you’ve seen what the film company has to offer,’ she pointed out gently, not wanting to antagonise him further but at the same time aware of just how lucrative the film contract could be for him. For Atherton Publishing, too, she acknowledged ruefully, sure that he would lose no time in pointing that out.
It was obvious, from this house and the presence of the elderly couple who worked for him, that he was comfortably off. And she knew better than most how much money he earned from the Palfrey books. But the film company was talking major money for this author. It would be slightly reckless on his part, she felt, to say no to the idea without even looking at the contract...
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Palfrey would become a Hollywood caricature—with all the hype that goes along with it!’ he dismissed easily.
Arabella took out the offending contract before snapping shut her bag. ‘I’m sure the film company will be completely open to negotiation about your own amount of involvement in things.’ After his obvious reluctance to talk to them at all, they seemed agreeable to any terms he cared to make! ‘With a contract to match,’ she added encouragingly.
‘A contract they would instantly break, if and when it suited them to do so,’ he returned scornfully.
‘Of course they wouldn’t!’ she gasped indignantly.
‘Just how many Hollywood contracts have you, or your publishing company, been involved in, Miss Atherton?’ he said tauntingly.
Atherton Publishing was not that sort of publishing company; had made its name and money mainly from educational books. It had been Arabella who had introduced successful contemporary fiction to the list, and Merlin was definitely her most successful author to date. A fact which, looking at the intelligence in those blue eyes, she had a feeling Robert Merlin was completely conversant with!
‘How many have you?’ she returned somewhat tartly, knowing she was getting nowhere with this man.
The mockery left his face as his expression hardened once again, a tense stillness settling over his muscular frame. ‘I don’t have—’
‘Daddy, I’m in the swimming team!’ The study door had burst open, and the excited statement had come from the young lady who stood framed in the open doorway.
Despite her considerable height, she was young, Arabella realised, probably about thirteen or fourteen, poised on the brink of womanhood. Raven-black hair fell silkily past her shoulders, her glowingly lovely face had none of that puppy-fat that could be so annoying at her age, and her body was tall and slender, with the promise of curves yet to come. In another couple of years she was going to be a stunningly beautiful woman.
And she had called Merlin ‘Daddy’...
Arabella
