authors were only too pleased to have personal interest shown in them. But then, Robert Merlin wasn’t like any other author she dealt with!
He gave an impatient sigh. ‘I hadn’t been talking to Miss Atherton long enough—before your interruption! —to have the chance to make a dinner invitation,’ he snapped pointedly.
Emma again looked completely undaunted by her father’s abrupt behaviour. ‘Well, make one now, and then tell Stella we have one extra for dinner.’ She gave him a cheeky grin.
Two sets of deep blue eyes warred for several long seconds before Robert Merlin broke the battle of wills with another irritated sigh, and turned impatiently towards Arabella. ‘You’ll stay to dinner?’ he said harshly.
It was far from the most gracious invitation she had ever received, and if she had any sense she would turn it down. But on a professional level she knew she couldn’t do that, knew she had to at least try to persuade Robert Merlin that he was committing professional suicide by killing off his main character, Palfrey. She doubted very much that he could create another series that the public would take so much to their hearts. Or she to her own!
‘Thank you,’ she accepted, just as stiltedly.
He turned to his daughter. ‘Satisfied?’ he rasped irritably.
‘Of course.’ Emma grinned, moving to kiss him lightly on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you both later, then,’ she added with satisfaction.
Arabella was still too stunned by the news that Merlin was considering killing off Palfrey to respond to Emma’s conspiratorial wink as she left the study.
‘I apologise for my daughter,’ Robert Merlin murmured distantly. ‘She can be over-familiar at times.’
‘Unlike her father,’ Arabella replied without thinking, colour darkening her cheeks as Robert Merlin raised dark blond brows. ‘I’m only stating the obvious, Mr Merlin,’ she added awkwardly, although she had a feeling it was too late to worry about offending this man; he was so prickly, it was impossible not to offend him.
‘Unlike her father,’ he conceded dryly, looking at her with renewed interest, as if—unlike everyone else in this household!—he had just realised she was a woman.
Arabella felt her cheeks grow hot under that intense scrutiny, suddenly aware again of her own appearance—of how businesslike her clothes were, of her hair secured at the nape of her neck, and the glasses perched on the end of her nose. She wished she were blonde and stunningly attractive, and had the sort of body men looked at. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t have, and perhaps that was why she was still unmarried at twenty-seven...!
‘I’m sorry.’ She broke his gaze awkwardly. ‘That was extremely rude of me.’
‘Yes, it was,’ he acknowledged slowly. ‘But it was also honest.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m always honest, Mr Merlin—’
‘Robert,’ he put in mockingly. “The formality is ridiculous in the circumstances.’
She couldn’t have agreed more. But she had had the impression that formality was what he preferred. ‘And, as you know, I’m Arabella,’ she invited stiltedly.
He relaxed back in his chair. ‘As Stella remarked earlier, it’s a fitting name for one of Palfrey’s ladies.’
In view of the fact that in her mind he had become Palfrey, was the living image of him, that was a very unnerving thing for him to say. ‘If what Emma was saying earlier is correct, then there aren’t going to be any more Palfrey ladies.’ She turned the subject away from the disturbing thought of herself as Robert Merlin’s ‘lady’; the man, by the mere evidence of Emma’s existence, was married, for goodness’ sake.
He visibly bristled. ‘As well as being over-familiar, my daughter is also indiscreet!’
. ‘But also truthful?’ Arabella prompted guardedly; after all, he hadn’t actually confirmed yet that he intended killing off Palfrey.
‘Yes,’ he rasped.
The baldness of the statement was enough to tell her he really meant it; he was going to kill Palfrey! She couldn’t believe it; she felt as if she had just been told that someone she loved was about to die.
‘They must be traits she inherited from her mother,’ Arabella murmured distractedly.
‘Let’s leave Emma’s mother out of this!’ Robert Merlin was no longer relaxed in his chair; his whole body was rigid with tension as he sat forward, his mouth set in a grim line.
That she had touched on a sensitive subject was obvious. Perhaps there was no Mrs Merlin after all; divorce, unfortunately, was all too common nowadays, and Robert Merlin wouldn’t be the first man to have claimed custody of the children from a marriage. But that Emma’s mother had been beautiful could be in no doubt either. Emma’s colouring and looks were nothing like her father’s; only her height, perhaps, could be attributed to him, and of course the blue eyes.
But if Merlin found the subject of his wife a painful one Arabella had no interest in pursuing it either!
‘Certainly,’ she dismissed gladly. ‘I would much rather discuss Palfrey anyway.’
His mouth twisted impatiently. ‘I’m sure you would, Arabella, but, as I’m sure you must realise only too well, I don’t discuss my work with anyone.’
Being his editor for the last five years had certainly not involved too much work on her part; Robert Merlin had just periodically submitted manuscripts to her, never asking her for advice or guidance on the storylines as some authors did, and rarely did any actual editing need doing either: the manuscripts were always perfectly presented and written.
‘Except Emma, apparently,’ she pointed out lightly, still deep in thought as to how she could actually get this man to listen to reason over such drastic action where his hero was concerned. Arabella, for one, would be very upset if Palfrey were to die, and that wasn’t just from a professional point of view.
‘Not even with Emma.’ He shook his head. ‘She happens to have taken a computer course at school during the last year,’ he explained at Arabella’s puzzled frown, ‘and now insists on putting all my work on disk. I write in longhand, Arabella,’ he elaborated dryly. ‘I had someone come in to type up my manuscripts for me before Emma decided she could do it on her computer.’
That explained the lack of a wordprocessor or typewriter in this room. She had had no idea that Merlin wrote his manuscripts out by hand, still really knew nothing about him. Except that he was going to kill off Palfrey!
She frowned. ‘What are your reasons for killing off Palfrey?’
He shrugged dismissively. ‘It’s time.’
Time for what? How could she, and millions of other readers, not have the publishing of the Palfrey books to look forward to? ‘I don’t agree.’ She shook her head decisively. ‘In what way is it time?’
‘He’s outlived himself.’ Robert Merlin’s tone was implacable. ‘It’s time to move on to something else.’
Incredible. Palfrey wasn’t just a character in a book for her, he was real, and
