About the Author
RITA and Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice nominated author, Liz Fielding, has been writing since the age of twelve when she won a hymn writing competition at school. After a gap of more years than she is prepared to admit to, duri ng which she worked as a secretary in African and the Middle East, got married and two two children, she was finally able to realise her ambition and turn to full-time writing in 1992 with the publication of her first Harlequin Romance, An Image Of You.
She now lives with her husband, John, in West Wales, surrounded by mystical countryside and romantic crumbling castles, content to leave the travelling to her grown-up children and keeping in touch with the rest of the world via the Internet.
Recent titles include:
The Best Man & the Bridesmaid
His Desert Rose
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
A CASE OF COLD FEET? WILLOW ... Her ghostly reflection stared back at her from the car window. On the surface, everything perfect. Her dress, her hair, her make-up. 'Nearly there, Willow. All set?' She turned to father, distinguished in his morning suit, his top hat resting on his lap as the car, ribbons fluttering, drove in slow state towards a church filled with friends and family, all gathered for her big day. What would they do, she wondered, if she didn't turn up.
'Did you wonder? Before you married mum? Whether you were making a terrible mistake?' 'It's a big step. Nerves are to be expected.' Then her father frowned. 'Or is there something more?' 'I don't know. Maybe. ' Then, 'If I hadn't been offered that wretched job ...' The letter to Toby Townsend lay on the hall table. She'd kept putting off posting it. She'd meant to do it last night, along with the thank you letters for wedding presents; like the juicer, the clock to count the hours that she'd spend dusting a house she'd loathed on sight. She'd had to smile and smile to keep her feelings bottled up, so as not to hurt Mike's father. Not to hurt Mike, who'd been so overwhelmed by the generosity of the gift of the house that he'd been quite lost for words. And somehow the letter hadn't quite made it into the box. 'Tell me, Willow, if Mike had rung last night and said "let's forget the wedding", how would you have felt?' 'Relieved.' The word, blurted out without hesitation, shocked her. She said it again. 'Relieved.' And this time she knew it was true. Not because she didn't love Mike, but because she didn't want this life. As the car began to slow she said, 'Don't stop!' MIKE ... Was that why he was doing it? Going through with the wedding? Taking on the Chronicle? Not to disappoint his father. One life, Cal had said. He had one shot at getting it right. He didn't have time to waste it living other people's dreams. And Willow? What about Willow? He loved her. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him in years, but she wanted a career. He wasn't stupid. She'd been aching for him to say she should take that job at The Globe. He'd seen it and part of him had wanted to say, go for it, don't waste a minute of your life. But there was another, darker side that was all screwed up, that reminded him that she was the one who'd insisted on marriage. Well, she'd got it. She couldn't have it all. What kind of start was that? How soon before they'd both be wishing they were somewhere else? Out of sight someone was playing the organ, quiet incidental music, a counterpoint to the quiet rustling as the wedding guests took their places, exotic hats surreptitiously angled as women glanced sideways at him, tipping close as they whispered to each other. The sun was shining in through the stained glass, spattering the marble steps with red and blue and gold. But he felt cold and the scent of flowers in the vast arrangements either side of the aisle was making him feel slightly nauseous. How much longer? He glanced at his watch. Willow was late. Last minute nerves? Suppose she didn't turn up? How would he feel? Devasted or just relieved? 'Don't look so worried, Mike, I haven't lost the rings.' Relieved.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
