LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Sorry to moan at you, but I had to talk to someone.’

      ‘I’m glad you did—I can moan at you in exchange. Rupert’s Mrs Parks threw a wobbly today.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘It started with the broken window in the office and the move into the conservatory while it was mended. Then Rupert topped it off with twice as much work as usual this morning because he was struck with inspiration last night and dictated into his machine into the small hours—’

      ‘Sarah, can’t you think of a way to keep him in bed?’ gurgled Lowri. ‘I’ll get you a sexy nightie at cost, if you like.’

      ‘Don’t be rude!’ Sarah retorted, then sighed heavily. ‘Anyway, Mrs Parks has taken herself off, vowing never to darken our door again, and I’m saddled with the typing, heaven help me. I don’t know how I ever coped with working for Rupert in the old days before we got married—too besotted with him to mind all the fireworks, I suppose.’

      ‘Can I help? I get Friday and Saturday off this week. I could lend a hand then, if you like.’

      ‘Oh, Lowri, would you? Rupert pays well—’

      ‘I don’t need money!’

      ‘Of course you need money. Don’t be a goose. Anyway we’ll sort that out when you come.’

      In the end Sarah insisted Lowri come for a meal on the Thursday evening and stay the night, fresh for work in the morning. Lowri needed little persuasion. A couple of days’ typing for Rupert was a small price to pay for a stay in the airy, comfortable house in St John’s Wood.

      The coach house window was intact, and the comfortable little office behind it in perfect order when Lowri settled down to start work on Rupert Clare’s current novel a few days later.

      ‘First of all,’ advised Rupert, ‘read through the draft so far. Sarah’s printed the disks Mrs Parks typed, so spend this morning familiarising yourself with the characters and the plot. There’s a kettle and coffee and so on in the other room when you take a break, but come over to the house for lunch before you start on any typing.’

      Lowri, long one of his most ardent fans, smiled happily. ‘Right, boss. I’m looking forward to a sneak preview of the latest Rupert Clare bestseller—nice work if you can get it!’

      ‘It may not be a bestseller,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’m tackling a new period for me in this one: dark deeds in fog-bound Victorian London.’

      Lowri breathed in a sigh of pleasure. ‘Sounds great to me.’ She rustled the sheaf of papers on the desk. ‘Right then, eyes down and looking for the next hour or so.’

      The story gripped her so completely from the first paragraph that Lowri hardly noticed Rupert leave, and looked up at Sarah blankly when her cousin appeared a couple of hours later to announce that lunch was ready.

      ‘Lunch?’

      ‘Yes, you know—soup, sandwiches, stuff like that,’ said Sarah, laughing, then frowned. ‘No cups? Didn’t Rupert tell you to make yourself some coffee?’

      Lowri bit her lip guiltily. ‘He did, but I forgot. I was so absorbed I didn’t notice the time.’

      ‘That’s a novelty! Mrs Parks could never work for more than half an hour at a time without a dose of caffeine to keep her going.’

      Lowri stood up, stretching. ‘Sounds as though the lady’s no loss.’

      ‘She will be to me if I have to stand in for her,’ said Sarah with emphasis. ‘Come on. Dominic’s in school, Emily’s gone off to spend the afternoon with her chum, and Rupert’s having lunch with his agent so it’s just the two of us.’

      It was pleasant to gossip with Sarah over the meal but Lowri was adamant about returning to the office after half an hour, eager to finish the first portion of the draft so she could start on the real work of typing up Rupert’s next tapes. The novel, which bore all the hallmarks of Rupert’s style in the vivid characterisation and complex, convoluted plot, was an atmospheric story of revenge.

      ‘It’s riveting,’ said Lowri, as she finished her coffee. ‘All that underworld vice simmering away behind a façade of rigid Victorian respectability. I can’t wait to find out Jonah Haldane’s secret!’

      Lowri’s enthusiasm resulted in more progress in one afternoon than the less industrious Mrs Parks had achieved in the two previous working days. When Rupert came to blow the whistle at six that evening he was deeply impressed, and obviously found Lowri’s reluctance to call a halt deeply gratifying.

      ‘Enough’s enough for one day, nevertheless, little cousin,’ he said firmly. ‘Sarah says you’re to pack it in, have a bath, then if you can bear it, read a story to Emily. We had to promise her that to keep her from storming your citadel hours ago.’

      ‘Of course I will,’ said Lowri, stretching. ‘Though something a bit different from yours, Rupert.’ She shivered pleasurably. ‘It’s a bit terrifying in places.’

      ‘Sarah says you like it.’

      ‘Like it! I can’t wait to see what happens next.’

      ‘You’re very good for my ego, Lowri,’ said Rupert as he walked with her across the garden. ‘A little sincere encouragement does wonders. Writers get bloody depressed some days.’

      ‘You needn’t,’ returned Lowri with certainty. ‘This is your best ever, Rupert. And I should know. I’ve read every book you’ve written.’

      He gave her a friendly hug and pushed her into the kitchen, where Emily and Dominic were eating supper while Sarah clattered saucepans on hobs set into an island which gave her a view of the large kitchen while she worked. At the triple welcome showered on her Lowri felt suddenly enveloped in something missing in her life since her father had married again: a sense of belonging. ‘About time you knocked off,’ said Sarah, waving a wooden spoon. ‘The idea was to help Rupert out a bit, not work yourself to death, Lowri Morgan.’

      

      When Lowri was packed and ready to return to Shepherds Bush, Rupert fixed Lowri with a commanding green eye.

      ‘Sarah and I have a suggestion to make. Feel free to refuse if you want, but hear me out.’

      Lowri looked from one to the other, her dark eyes questioning. ‘I’m all ears.’

      ‘It’s about the work you’ve been doing for me—’

      ‘Something wrong?’

      ‘Wrong!’ snorted Sarah. ‘The exact opposite, Lowri. I’m the only one who’s ever worked so well with Rupert. Though you haven’t seen him in a tantrum yet,’ she warned.

      ‘Tantrum?’ said Rupert, incensed. ‘I may be subject to the odd mood—’

      ‘Your moods are not odd, they’re horrible,’ corrected his wife flatly. ‘Anyway, Lowri, the gist of all this is that if you’re not totally dedicated to selling knickers Rupert wondered if you’d fancy working for him full time.’

      Lowri’s eyes lit up like stars. ‘You mean it?’

      ‘You bet your sweet life I do,’ said Rupert emphatically. ‘And what’s more, you can pack in that flat and come and live here with us.’

      ‘But I couldn’t impose on you like that,’ said Lowri swiftly.

      ‘Not even in the coach house flat?’ said Sarah, smiling. ‘You can be as private as you like over there, live entirely your own life as much as you want, or be part of ours whenever the fancy takes you. We’d even take a small rent for the flat if it would make you feel any better.’

      ‘Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me?’ asked Lowri suspiciously.

      ‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ Rupert patted her shoulder.

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