Love, In Writing

by Elsa Winckler

  He looked at his phone. Perhaps he should try and phone her. But Jen had said the phone was ringing off the hook, so phoning probably wasn’t a good idea. He wished he could just transport himself to her within seconds, like the characters in his books could effortlessly do. Reality sometimes sucked.

  ***

  Margaret sat behind her desk, her head in her hands. How did anyone live like this? It wasn’t a life for her. She could throttle Louise. Spiteful little twit. She gulped in a deep breath. Sinking to her level was not going to help, but damn it, how could one person be so nasty? She obviously still hadn’t forgiven her or Graham for leaving her to oversee the clean-up after their Christmas lunch.

  There was a knock on her door. Jen’s worried face peered around the door. “Are you okay?”

  Margaret was too upset to answer her.

  Jen came in and sat opposite her. “Margaret.” She waited until Margaret looked up at her. “Do you love Graham?”

  “Of course I do,” Margaret wailed, “but this is insane. How does one live like this? You know me, you know how I hate any kind of fuss, and this is taking fussing to a whole new ridiculous level.”

  “How much do you love him?” Jen asked softly. “Enough to handle this?”

  “I love him. I’ve never felt this way before in my life. But I can’t...” She looked at Jen, stood up and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I love him enough to handle this, to handle Louise, to handle just about anything life wants to throw my way.”

  Jen jumped up. “Atta girl. Now, what are we going to do about the maniacs in front of the shop?”

  Margaret thought for a minute. “Okay, this is what we’ll do. I’m going to slip out the back to put on something different while you put on the kettle. I’ll bring some extra mugs from home. If I have to swim in a fish bowl, I might as well look stunning while doing it,” she joked.

  ***

  Graham parked his car at the back of Margaret’s shop. He didn’t even want to see how many cars were parked in the front. He slipped in through the back door. With any luck, she would still be in her office. He’d violated so many traffic rules on his way here, he’d probably be paying traffic fines for the rest of his life. But he was here. Now if he could just find Margaret.

  He glanced into her office but she wasn’t there. He walked down the corridor and became aware of excited voices. Anger, worry, frustration clawed inside him. If they’d done anything to harm her, upset her...

  Astonished, he stopped dead just inside the door leading to the front part of the shop. The shop was packed with journalists. Lights had been set up and photographers were clicking away, cameras flashing. And in the middle of all of this was Margaret.

  She looked breath-taking. Her hair was pinned up, she was wearing something soft and flowing. And she was smiling. It was clear she was a bit flustered, but she was smiling. The ball inside him that had tightened up when Jen had phoned loosened a little as he listened to what she was saying.

  “Yes, very romantic. There was a footpath of roses...”

  But then someone spotted Graham and pointed toward him. “There he is.”

  “Graham, could you tell us—?”

  “Why an emerald and not—?”

  “When did you know—?”

  “How did the two of you meet—?”

  While the questions were flying, Margaret turned around. Graham was there. She’d never been so glad to see someone in her entire life. She held out her hand and when he took it, her shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours. His jaw was taut.

  He lifted her hand up to his lips and for a moment they were the only two people in the room. “I was worried they might overwhelm you, but I see you have them under control,” he joked, but she could feel the tension inside him.

  “And now you’re here,” she said softly, squeezed his hand, and both of them turned to face the press.

  “Graham, don’t say anything,” a voice boomed from behind the row of journalists. Peter was jumping up and down, waving his hand in the air. He elbowed a path open to reach Graham.

  “Why don’t you ever answer your bloody phone? I’ve been calling and calling and you never returned any of my calls. I finally wondered if you could be here. If there are questions about your book, I should be here. Why didn’t you call me?” he wheezed.

  Graham smiled and pulled Margaret closer. “This is not about my book, it’s not even just about me.” He lifted Margaret’s left hand and, while cameras flashed and questions were flung at them, he proudly showed everyone the ring.

  Peter just gaped at them, his mouth opened and closed, but no sound escaped.

  Finally, he narrowed his eyes and looked at Graham. “Now I understand the happy ending to your book. Closure.” He shuddered visibly and stomped off in the direction of the nearest table, muttering to himself.

  Graham laughed and kissed her hand once more before they turned to the press again.

  After what felt like hours, the last cameraman left and they could close up the shop. Jen began to gather up mugs, but Margaret stopped her.

  “Thanks, Jen. Leave this mess. We can deal with it tomorrow. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  Jen looked up at her. “Well, I must say, you really impressed me. Graham, you should have seen her. She was magnificent. When she walked out of the front door and confronted them, they were ready to get nasty. They’d been waiting for hours. But she floored them with one smile. After that, she had them eating out of her hand. She’s a pro, I tell you, a pro. You should make her your publicist.”

  Graham laughed and pulled her close to him. “I raced over here, ready to defend her, but I could see she had the whole situation under control. I’m very impressed. Thank you for dealing with them, for answering their questions. Normally, they’re happy with that.”

  “Well, I’m off, see you tomorrow,” Jen called as she left.

  Graham turned Margaret toward him and pulled her close. He looked down at her. “I’m so sorry about this. I should have known, should have prepared you, but I don’t think when I’m with you. I was petrified that you’d decided you can’t handle a lifetime of this. I would have understood, but I don’t know what I would have done if you’d decided not to have me.” He trailed his hands down her arms before clasping both her hands in his.

  Margaret looked up at him. “I’ll be honest with you, Graham. I panicked. When Jen told me the media were here, the phone was ringing off the hook, I really panicked. For one minute there, I wanted to slip out of the back door, get in my car, and just drive far away.”

  She lifted her arms and put them round his neck. “But then I remembered exactly how much I love you. And handling the press? Answering their questions? Dealing with them, even when you can’t be there? This is me loving you. And I’m afraid that is never going to change.”

  Graham bent down and kissed her. When she looked up at him again, his eyes were bright. “Thank you. Thank you for loving me enough to deal with this.” He cleared his throat and smiled down at her. “But remember, having to deal with Louise trumps having to deal with the press.”

  Margaret opened her mouth to argue, but then laughed. Unfortunately, he was so right.

  He kissed her and her heart sang. Together, they could face anything, even the press. And Cousin Louise.

  ePILOGUE

  A blood-curdling scream echoed through the house and Margaret hurried down the corridor as fast as she could in her condition. What on earth had happened this time? The neighbor’s little boy ran past her, shouting blue murder. By the time she reached the room, Graham was already there.

  “What happened?” she asked resignedly.

  “Well, as far as I can make out, our daughter is saving the world from creatures from outer space. She has a very bloodthirsty way of getting rid of them...seems the only way to annihilate them is to chop off their heads,” he said smugly and patted three-year-old Maggie’s blond head.

  “Mmmm, I wonder where she g
ets her bloodthirsty ideas from?”

  Graham crouched down and touched his daughter’s hair. “It’s in the genes, my dear, in the genes. Isn’t it amazing she’d have this in her?” he asked in awe and looked up at Margaret.

  She laughed exasperatedly. “Graham, you shouldn’t encourage her. Jason is the only friend who is still willing to play with her. All the little girls avoid her. Their mothers tell me she’s not a good influence. Apparently she dismembered Alice’s Barbie doll the other day.”

  Graham picked up his daughter. “Well, good for her. Barbie dolls are ridiculous anyway. You should be really proud of her, she’s definitely a feminist.” He smiled and kissed the little girl. She cuddled up to him and Graham held his hand out to Margaret.

  When she came closer, he put his hand on her round tummy. “Perhaps this one will play with dolls and like stories with happy endings.” He laughed and bent down to kiss her.

  Margaret slipped her arms around her two favorite people. Her life was perfect. During the week they lived in her house in Kommetjie, but Jen now managed the bookshop; Margaret only went there when her help was needed.

  Weekends were spent on the farm. Maggie loved these times, although she claimed not to like Drew very much. Yvonne and Andrew’s little boy was the only friend she couldn’t get to do things her way. Despite her complaints, though, she was the first out of the car every time they stopped in front of their house on the farm. And Drew was usually there to greet her. Margaret, always the incurable romantic, couldn’t help wondering how this particular story would end.

  Maggie wiggled out of her father’s arms and grabbed the wooden play-sword closest to her. With another blood-curdling scream, she stormed out of the room, the sword held high. Graham chuckled and Margaret nestled her head on his shoulder. Romance still had some time to wait. For now, there were aliens to destroy.

  Margaret smiled and hugged Graham. She was so glad the fairy tale hadn’t materialized.

  The real thing was so much better.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Melissa Keir and Inkspell Publishing for publishing this story, I am so thrilled.

  Also thanks to all the readers for your continued support – I treassure every message and email from you.

  And as always, thanks to my husband, Theo for his constant support and love.

  About the Author

  Elsa has been reading love stories for as long as she can remember and when she ‘met’ the classic authors like Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Henry James The Brontë sisters, etc. during her English Honours studies, she was hooked for life.

  She married her college boyfriend and soul mate and after 44 years, 3 interesting and wonderful children and 3 beautiful grandchildren, they are now fortunate to live in the picturesque little seaside village of Betty's Bay, South Africa.

  She likes the heroines in her stories to be beautiful, feisty, independent and headstrong. And the heroes must be strong but possess a generous amount of sensitivity. They are of course, also gorgeous! Her stories typically incorporate the family background of the characters to better understand where they come from and who they are when we meet them in the story.

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