Katie Fforde - Love Letters

Table of Contents

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Version 1.0

Epub ISBN 9781409062646

www.randomhouse.co.uk

Published by Century in 2009

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Copyright Katie Fforde Ltd 2009

Katie Fforde has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Century

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ISBN 9781846057342

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About the Author

Katie Fforde lives in Gloucestershire with her husband and some of her three children. Recently her old hobbies of ironing and housework have given way to singing, Flamenco dancing and husky racing. She claims this keeps her fit. Love Letters is her fifteenth novel.

Also by Katie Fforde

Living Dangerously

The Rose Revived

Wild Designs

Stately Pursuits

Life Skills

Thyme Out

Artistic Licence

Highland Fling

Paradise Fields

Restoring Grace

Floras Lot

Practically Perfect

Going Dutch

Wedding Season

To Ireland and Irishmen, this is for you!

Acknowledgements

To the lovely Laura Flemming, who really did organise a literary festival while a toddler, and was so inspiring.

To fellow writer Lesley Cookman for introducing me to the golden voiced Louise Cookman and incidentally, Lindy Hop.

To the wonderful Irish writers I met while doing an event over there, including Sarah Webb whose beautiful boots I also borrowed for this book.

To all the people who have unintentionally inspired me during the writing of this book. Some of you cant be mentioned for legal and embarrassment reasons, but if you read this, and are in it, thank you!

To all my wonderful agents! In no particular order, Sarah Molloy, Sara Fisher and Bill Hamilton. Thank you! Only you know how much I owe you!

To everyone at Random House. Kate Elton and Georgina Hawtrey-Woore for their wonderful editing, inspiring suggestions and infinite patience. Thank you!

To the behind the scenes people who do the work, but dont get the glory.

To Charlotte Bush and Amelia Harvell who are the best fun to go out with and give me wonderful treats (and parties!).

To the shameless marketing and sales departments who force people to buy my books, Claire Round, Louise Gibbs, Rob Waddington, Oliver Malcolm, Jay Cochrane and Trish Slattery.

To lovely Mike Morgan who took me on road trips for many years. So sad we wont be going again.

To Richenda Todd, who has protected me from myself for so many years, I am so grateful!

To the creators of my brilliant covers which I love!

None of it could happen without you all, Im so lucky to have such a brilliant team behind me.

Chapter One

Someone murmured into Lauras ear, making her jump. So, what do you think of him?

The bookshop was crowded: the area they had cleared for the reading was full; the queue to the desk of people clutching recently bought books was long and chattering enthusiastically. Laura had felt a post-Christmas event was a bit of a risk but now she was watching the people with a combination of relief and satisfaction. However carefully you prepared for a bookshop event you could never really tell until they turned up how many people would come. Nor could you be sure whether the author would perform well. Writing was a very private occupation and Laura often thought it was cruel to make them stand up on their hind legs before an audience. But even by her high standards this event was a success.

With all this in her mind, however, she hadnt noticed anyone coming up behind her. She turned round swiftly and saw a short, late middle-aged woman dressed in clothes designed to attract attention. Laura instantly remembered seeing her when she came through the shop door with the rest of the authors party. Her jacket looked as if it were made of tapestry and her jewellery could have been home-made by a grandchild with a welding kit, or by a hot new designer, it was hard to tell. The most startling thing about her close up was her intense, penetrating stare. She had eyes like green agate.

Very good, of course, said Laura, startled, but polite as ever, feeling drab in her ubiquitous black trousers and white shirt.

This answer didnt seem entirely to satisfy the green eyes boring into her. And have you read the book?

Of course. Laura was firmer now, indignant at the womans combative tone. She worked in a bookshop. It was her job to know the stock.

A pencilled-in eyebrow was raised. No of course about it. What did you think?

Laura opened her mouth to say wonderful and then decided to tell the truth instead. She had nothing to lose now, after all: her beloved job was going to be taken from her she might as well put aside her habitual tact and say what she really thought. I didnt think it was quite as good as his first but I will be really interested to see his next one. She was an avid, enthusiastic but critical reader; she could tell when a writer wasnt on top form. Then pennies tumbled in her brain, like coins from a fruit machine when someone wins the jackpot. Oh my goodness, youre his agent, arent you? Embarrassment turned her from hot to cold and back to hot again.

The woman narrowed her gaze in acknowledgement of this fact, but Laura couldnt tell if she was smiling, or expressing disapproval her mouth didnt move. I do have that pleasure, yes.

Still blushing, Laura tucked a stray curl behind her ear and looked across at the young man who was now signing books for a long queue of fans. Every book-buyer, she noted, got the charming smile, each book a little personal message as well as a dedication. Not one but two publicists had come with him from his publishers, and not just for crowd control, but because they adored him. Writers like him were rare.