despite having had plenty of time for thought since Rachel’s call Leonie was no nearer knowing the reason for this meeting. She had even enlisted Jeremy’s help, but he had simply teased her about ‘hobnobbing with the rich and famous’. Other than that he had been no help in finding a solution either.
Jeremy…
Leonie found herself smiling as she thought of her fellow lecturer, a computer whizkid, who managed to transmit his love for the technology to the students who flocked to join his degree course year after year.
An attraction of opposites, Leonie accepted with a rueful smile. Leonie, with her love and interest firmly fixed in the past, Jeremy, with his lightning-speed acceptance and understanding of an advanced technology that he was sure would dominate the future.
He was also the reason she didn’t want to be late back to town, the two of them having a dinner date for this evening…
Rachel unlinked her arm from Leonie’s as she turned to look at her, suddenly serious, the green eyes no longer glowing with warmth but darkly searching, looking more like her seventy-odd years now that she was no longer smiling. ‘But surely it’s obvious why I telephoned you, my dear?’ She frowned quizzically.
Leonie gave a rueful grimace, shaking her head in obvious puzzlement. ‘Not to me. All you would say on the telephone last week was that you wanted to talk to me,’ she reminded lightly.
‘But—’ Rachel shook her head. ‘You mean you have absolutely no idea why I invited you here?’ She sounded incredulous.
‘None at all,’ Leonie confirmed with a good-humoured grimace.
‘I see.’ Rachel frowned. ‘Oh, dear. Well, that makes things rather awkward, doesn’t it?’ she realised ruefully. ‘You see, I read your book on Leo Winston—’
‘So—so your son informed me.’ Somehow Leonie couldn’t bring herself to call that arrogantly cold man by his first name! ‘I believe he also read it.’ Her voice hardened as she remembered the disparaging comment he had made. ‘I’m pleased you liked it, of course, deeply flattered—’
‘My dear girl, I didn’t ask you all the way down here just to compliment you on your book,’ Rachel assured her chidingly. ‘I could quite easily have done that on the telephone. No, my dear Leonie, I asked you here because I want you to write my biography. An official biography this time,’ she added with a certain steeliness in her tone for the previous effort that had so recently appeared.
Leonie stared at the older woman.
She wanted her to—
Rachel couldn’t be serious!
‘IS SHE serious?’ Jeremy gaped at Leonie across the width of the dinner table later that evening.
‘She says she is,’ Leonie confirmed slowly. ‘That she’s been looking for the right person to write the truth for years—’
‘And she’s decided that you’re it,’ Jeremy realised excitedly. ‘What a coup!’
Leonie nodded less certainly. ‘I did try to tell her that I’m not really a biographer…’ But her protests had been instantly dismissed, Rachel assuring her that she wanted Leonie, and Leonie alone, to write the biography that the public had been clamouring for for years, that after reading Leonie’s biography on Leo Winston she was sure Leonie would write Rachel’s own story with the same truth and warmth.
‘Of course you are,’ Jeremy instantly rebuked, grinning widely, the same height as Leonie if she wore flat heels, as she was this evening. He was boyishly handsome, his straight blond hair slightly overlong so that it fell endearingly over his eyes, those eyes the blue of a summer sky. ‘A damned good one too!’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ Leonie accepted with a smile.
‘But this is—wow.’ He shook his head dazedly. ‘In view of Rachel Richmond’s well-publicised view of biographies, this was something we never even gave a thought when we were mulling over reasons she might want to meet you—I still can’t believe it!’ His grin widened.
Neither could Leonie. And despite the obvious compliment being paid to her, she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it, either!
It wasn’t the work involved that daunted her. In fact, she was sure she would very much enjoy the research involved. The reason for Leonie’s reluctance to become involved in such a venture could be summed up in two words—Luke Richmond!
She hadn’t seen Rachel’s son again before leaving the house earlier, Luke not having graced them with his presence while they’d drunk tea together, but Leonie had no doubts whatever what his reaction would be to being informed that Leonie was going to write his mother’s biography; he would believe Leonie had arranged to see his mother for the sole purpose of persuading the actress into letting her do it!
In view of that, Leonie had asked Rachel for a week to think the offer over…
‘You accepted, of course?’ Jeremy looked at her searchingly as he seemed to sense her confused thoughts. ‘Leonie, you have to have accepted!’ he continued incredulously when she made no answer. ‘This is the story the press have been after for almost forty years! I take it she will—finally!—be revealing the identity of the father of her love-child? Of course she will,’ he instantly answered his own question. ‘There would be no point in the biography if she were to leave out that particular detail.’
Yet another reason for Leonie to hesitate about accepting the actress’s offer! For reasons unknown, Luke Richmond already disliked her enough, without holding her responsible for publicly revealing his paternity. And she had no doubts that he would!
‘I didn’t ask her.’ Leonie shook her head. ‘But I expect so. It isn’t that, Jeremy.’ She frowned. ‘I just—it isn’t really my thing, now, is it?’ she reasoned to herself as much as to Jeremy. ‘You said it yourself last week—we’re talking about the rich and the famous. I’m a historian—’
‘You could be a very rich historian with your name on this particular book,’ Jeremy pointed out determinedly.
A famous rich historian. Something she was sure she didn’t want to be.
She enjoyed her life exactly the way it was, lecturing at the university, going off on historical pilgrimages during the long weeks of holiday, puttering around in her small one-bedroomed flat during term time, occasionally going down to Cornwall to visit her parents on weekends, her grandfather in Devon on others.
Although that hadn’t happened too often during the three months she had been going out with Jeremy, their Saturday evening dinner together having become a regular thing, as had a visit to the theatre or cinema one evening during the week…
‘It would seriously cut into my spare time,’ she pointed out heavily. ‘Rachel has already suggested that as I lecture during the week the best thing for me to do is go down to her house in Hampshire for the weekends while we work on the book. If I work on the book,’ she added decisively.
‘Of course you
