Treacherous Longings. Anne Mather

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       CHAPTER TWO

      ELIZABETH screamed, and Harold shot almost two feet into the air. Heroines weren’t supposed to do that, thought Harold crossly, but even he had been startled by the sudden appearance of the dragon. It was all very well telling himself that the dragon was friendly, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. It was so big and white and scaly. How could he persuade Elizabeth there was nothing to be afraid of, when he was shaking in his paws? She was only a girl, after all...

      So much for female emancipation, thought Julia wryly, placing both hands in the small of her back and arching her aching spine. But then Harold was the hero of the story. And the audience she was aiming at didn’t mind a little chauvinism.

      It was a new departure for her all the same, and one she wasn’t entirely convinced by yet. The trouble was, since that grotty little man had appeared on her doorstep, she was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything, and having a male character as the main protagonist required a different kind of approach.

      Still, Jake liked it, she consoled herself, determined to put the memory of that disturbing incident out of her mind. And it was because of him that she was trying something new. Her agent would have had her writing Penny Parrish books until her teenage fans were tired of them, but with twenty under her belt Julia was ready for a change.

      The temperature didn’t help, of course. At present the thermometer was reading well into the eighties, and although she’d only been at the word processor for a little over an hour her spine felt damp and her shorts were sticking to her.

      Perhaps she should have chosen to write about a fire dragon, she thought, studying the last few lines she’d written with a critical eye. But a snow dragon was much more original, and Xanadu, as she’d called him, was turning out to be such an appealing character. Even if he did make Elizabeth scream, she appended with a rueful smile.

      She sighed and glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. Eleven o’clock, she saw with some relief. Time for a nice cup of coffee. Harold could consider his options for another half-hour. After all, Old English sheepdogs weren’t noted for their agility.

      Getting up from her chair, she walked rather stiffly through the living-room and into the spacious kitchen she’d designed herself. Hardly space-age, it nevertheless combined the homeliness of a farmhouse kitchen with some of the technology of the nineties, and although she didn’t have a dishwasher she had all the gadgets necessary to prepare and cook good food.

      Food was something she had become rather an expert on. She had discovered, somewhat belatedly, that she had a natural talent for baking and, growing most of her own produce as she did, she enjoyed experimenting with her craft.

      Besides, in the early days, before she had found she could make her living at writing children’s books, she had had lots of empty hours to fill. Looking after one small boy did not absorb all the energies she had expended as a busy actress, and she had found the transformation from public figure to private individual rather disconcerting at first.

      Not that she had ever regretted it. Long before she had made the decision to give it all up she had been feeling increasingly dissatisfied with her life. In spite of her success, and the many friends she had made because of it, she had grown tired of the adulation. It had all been so superficial, and she had been desperate to escape.

      She supposed her mother’s death had had something to do with it. Without Mrs Harvey’s encouragement, Julia doubted she’d ever have attended drama school, let alone had a successful career. Unlikely as it might have seemed to other people, she had wanted to go to university, and then get married. She hadn’t wanted to be an actress. Becoming rich and famous hadn’t interested her at all.

      Well, not to begin with, she conceded honestly, remembering that she had had a lot of fun in those early days. The press calls, the parties, meeting famous people—it had all seemed quite wonderful to the innocent Julia Harvey. She had been the darling of the photographers; she couldn’t seem to put a foot wrong.

      Until Hollywood had called, and the rumours about her personal life had started to circulate. It hadn’t mattered that the stories were false, that her mother had made sure she didn’t do anything to ruin her image—they’d printed them just the same. It was as if her success had generated a kind of resentment in the reporters who had previously lauded her. Unwittingly she had gained a reputation that grew more outrageous with every film she made.

      But by then she had been able to handle it. It was amazing how quickly she’d learned to parry insults with the same ease as she’d accepted compliments. The fallacy that she had had affairs with all her leading men had been good publicity, after all. The studios hadn’t denied it. It had incited interest in her films.

      She supposed they had all been waiting for the moment when she took her clothes off. They had wanted to see her naked so that they could justify СКАЧАТЬ