Truly, Madly, Deeply. Romantic Novelist's Association
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Название: Truly, Madly, Deeply
Автор: Romantic Novelist's Association
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon M&B
isbn: 9781472054845
isbn:
‘What shall we do then?’ Moira asked.
‘Write to each other. See each other as often as we can –if we can.’ He could be sent abroad. So could she.
December came. Time was short. Each day began as if it was their last together. The weather worsened and it became icily cold. They spent as many nights as they could manage in the pub, making love full of wonder as well as sadness.
They were there one Saturday when the bar was crowded with military men and women, and locals. Songs, old and new, were sung, as well as Christmas carols.
Upstairs in their attic Robert and Moira made love. It was a surreal experience. The songs filtering up through the floorboards and sounding as if they were being sung in the room with them. As the night wore on, the music slowly faded until all that could be heard were faint voices, still singing, on their way to the bus stop.
They were lying in each other’s arms when they heard the plane approach. Moira got out of bed to watch it passing over.
‘Stay here,’ Robert implored. Had he sensed the danger he was to wonder afterwards?
She was at the window when the bomb plunged through the roof, taking away half the room, leaving him safely in bed on a shelf of severed floorboards. Robert watched, horrified, as she disappeared from sight amid tons of debris and a thunderous whooshing sound.
For a long time, it was like the end of everything.
Many years went by until the time came when he met a woman who loved him. They were married and she bore him a child. A day never passed when he didn’t think of Moira. Nor did a day come when he was as happy as he’d been with her: his one and only love.
And now, seventy years later, he knew they were about to meet again. He could see her more clearly than he’d ever done. She drifted in and out of his mind, she was foremost in his thoughts; singing, always singing. And now here she was, coming towards him, smiling, holding out her arms ready to embrace him.
‘I love you,’ he cried, opening his own arms to greet her. ‘Did I ever tell you how much I love you?’
The wife knew that he had gone. She wept, not just at his passing, but at the words he’d never said, not once, throughout their long married life. Still, it was wonderful to know that all that time he had really loved her.
Miranda Dickinson
MIRANDA DICKINSON is the author of five Sunday Times Bestselling novels, two of which have been international bestsellers in four countries. She is published in six languages and to this date has sold over half a million books worldwide. She is also the founder of the New Rose Short Story prize. She has been nominated for two RNA awards –the RNA Romantic Novel of the Year award 2010 for Fairytale of New York and the RONA for contemporary novel of the year in 2012 for It Started With a Kiss. Her fifth novel, Take A Look At Me Now, is available now, published by Avon (HarperCollins).
Miranda publishes regular vlogs at her website: www.miranda-dickinson.com and blog: coffeeandroses.blogspot.com. You can follow Miranda on twitter @wurdsmyth and on Facebook: www.facebook.com/MirandaDickinsonAuthor.
I love my job.
It’s not glamorous or particularly well paid, nor is it anywhere near what my careers advisor had in mind for me when I left school, but it offers magic that few people looking in would see. The van I drive and company sweatshirt I wear may be emblazoned with sunnyside meals on wheels, but my job is so much more than that. I might deliver affordable, nutritionally balanced ready meals to elderly customers, but what I receive in return is priceless. For I am a collector of stories, a sharer of nostalgia, a confidant of dreams.
Not that my boss –who, awkwardly, also happens to be my mum –understands this. She would much rather I limit my conversation with customers to ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’, or maybe ‘See you next week’, if it’s a quiet day on my round.
‘We don’t pay you to be their friend, Emily, we pay you to deliver their food,’ she lectured one morning, clearly imagining herself to be the female incarnation of Lord Alan Sugar. ‘If they want company I’m sure their families can oblige.’
‘Mum, have you ever met the customers on my round?’ I protested, knowing full well that she hadn’t and that my argument was futile. ‘I’m the only other person some of them see all day.’
Mum cast a disapproving eye over my dyed hair –this week a fetching shade of blue. ‘What a treat for them! The point is we are not a charity or a befriending service. First and foremost, we are a business. Now, I need you to read this time and motion study Trevor’s written. And act upon it.’
As she passed me the sheet of paper, I inwardly groaned. Trevor. Repulsive, fifty-something boyfriend of my mother and the kind of man so boring even paint drying would mock him. Since Mum had met him at a business breakfast six months ago, he had fast become the balding, beige-faced bane of my life. What Trevor Mitchell didn’t know about health and safety, workplace law and mindless business jargon simply wasn’t worth knowing. In fact, he seemed to think it was his God-given right to comment on anything and everything, regardless of how much he actually knew about it. And, judging by his latest intrusion, Trev was on top form.
I cast my eyes over his calculations, unimaginatively typed in Comic Sans font –the childishness of which only served to make the whole document more insulting. Well, he could shove this exactly where all his other advice could be deposited. I knew that effectiveness in my job couldn’t be measured by miles covered per hour or minimum amount of time spent with each customer. It was in how I could share a conversation, spend a little time with someone lonely and maybe make a difference to their day. Unfortunately for me, Trevor saw our lovely elderly clients as nothing more than aged donkeys on a conveyor belt, good only for parting with their pension and having food chucked at them.
‘Trevor says you’ve been spending too long with each client,’ Mum continued, oblivious to my disdain. ‘By his calculations it should take no more than seven-point-five minutes to make a delivery. Now, there’s a new gentleman on your round today, so Trevor says you should begin the new timings on this one.’
I rolled my eyes and this time she couldn’t ignore it. ‘Oh well, if Trev says…’
Mum gave me a stare that could freeze the Sahara. ‘His name is Trevor, Emily, and I’ll thank you not to disrespect him. That man could well be your next stepfather.’
On that cheery note I left, glad for the peaceful sanity of my company van when I climbed into it. I wasn’t surprised by boring Trev’s intervention, but it still annoyed me.
‘Idiot!’ СКАЧАТЬ