Text copyright © 2011 by De-ann Black

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written consent of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Toffee Apple Publishing 2011

Smashwords Edition

The Cure For Love

ISBN-13: 978-1-908072-74-0

Toffee Apple Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

1 - In the heart of a London park

2 - Whisky and a pork pie

3 - Love me forever

4 - Gossip-free zone

5 - The dinner date deal

6 - Tea cups and tittle-tattle

7 - Drink, dancing and scandalous gossip

8 - The party at the castle

9 - Champagne and false promises

10 - Would you take it?

More books by De-ann Black (sample chapters)

About De-ann Black

Chapter One

In the heart of a London park

Art and Sebastian were Daisy’s greatest passions. In the heart of a London park she was enjoying both — sitting on the grass painting watercolour flowers and daydreaming about Sebastian. It was the perfect blend of work and pleasure on a bright, sunny day. She worked as a freelance botanical artist, mainly for Franklin’s publishing company, painting floral illustrations for books. That’s where she’d met Sebastian. He worked in editorial. She’d been dating him for two years and he’d been hinting recently that he wanted to get married. If he asked her, she’d say . . .

While she considered the perfect response, a car drove up and parked illegally, ignoring the disapproving stares of people nearby. The driver got out of the car and hurried towards her. Sebastian was devilishly handsome, tall, with light brown hair, and had the appearance of a successful young businessman. At thirty, he was one year older than Daisy.

She was too busy with her watercolours and daydreaming about the engagement to notice him approach.

When he asked her to marry him she’d say . . .

‘Daisy,’ Sebastian said, causing her to make a wild brush mark across her painting.

‘Hell’s bells, Sebastian — what are you doing here?’

He bent down, swept her blonde hair back from her face and kissed her. Daisy was naturally pretty, with a slender but curvy figure, and soft, pale skin that Sebastian said he adored. According to his circle of acquaintances, she was completely not his type, and judging by his history of entanglements with tall, leggy brunettes they were probably right. Daisy admitted she didn’t have a type. Three and a half boyfriends were the sum total of her relationships, in four different categories — loud, quiet, stupid and vain. Mr vain only counted as half because he’d dumped her while he was working abroad and it was weeks before she realised as he’d forgotten to tell her.

She went to kiss Sebastian, but he’d already focussed on her work, casting a critical eye over the ruined painting. ‘Call it an abstract,’ he said. ‘A bad clash of colours there anyway.’

She frowned at her artwork.

‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘I had to see you before I left.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I’m going to the publishers’ convention in Italy. Franklin’s tied up with the book packagers’ deal, so I’m going instead. I’ll be back in a month.’

‘A month?’

‘I wanted to see you before I caught the next flight.’

‘How did you know where to find me?’

He pulled her close and looked into her clear green eyes. ‘I always know where to find you.’

Before she could open her mouth to complain, sob or shout, he kissed her passionately, and then glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I have to run. I’ll miss you.’

For a moment he became quiet and looked at her lovingly. He touched her cheek and a flicker of guilt crossed his face.

‘What’s wrong?’

Sebastian smiled. ‘Nothing.’

He kissed her again, long and hard, before making a dash for his car.

As he ran off he called back to her. ‘Don’t let Phillip near your artwork. I don’t want him making any stupid alterations. And ignore any suggestions from editorial. Leave them to me. Oh, and keep an eye on Franklin for me. He listens to you.’

Daisy smiled and called after him. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’

‘Yes, love me forever,’ he shouted.

The sky darkened and clouds shielded the sunlight as she watched him hurry away.

In the distance, Sebastian paused, spun around and looked at Daisy. She waved at him. He waved back, got into his car and drove off.

The breeze picked up speed, blowing her sketch paper away and spilling water on her other paintings, ruining them. The sky darkened further, threatening a storm, causing her to shiver. She collected her artwork and managed to streak her clothes with watercolour paint in the process.

It was raining. Daisy ran across the crowded London street towards Franklin’s publishing company using an umbrella to cover her artwork portfolio. She’d been working like a demon all week to take her mind off Sebastian. He hadn’t contacted her, which was usual. He hated anything interrupting business. There was something familiar in his actions that she was strangely comfortable with. It reminded her of when she was a child, how her parents would drop everything, including her at a friend’s house, and fly off to exotic locations. They were an adventurous pair, which she admired, but she’d happily have settled for slightly boring but more available parents.

Leaving her wet umbrella at reception, Daisy made a beeline for Franklin’s office. He was pleased to see her. Franklin was a tall, dashing figure in his fifties. He had a penchant for immaculate light grey suits and white shirts, worn with silk bow ties, his only indulgence in colour.

Daisy handed him a selection of floral artwork from her portfolio. ‘Poppies, pansies and, I think you’ll love this — wild flowers at night. I used a pair of night–sight binoculars so I could see to paint them in the dark. The things you can buy on the Internet are brilliant — and I got these earrings too — impulse buy.’

Franklin glanced at the artwork but seemed contemplative.

‘Don’t you like them?’ she said.

Franklin looked at her. ‘The earrings look great.’

‘No, the artwork.’

‘It’s splendid.’

‘Splendid? I know you well enough to decipher that splendid really means you like the artwork but your mind is on something else, something you don’t want to ask me.’

‘I need a favour, Daisy. You know the artist I commissioned to do a portrait of Celeste for her twenty–seventh birthday?’

‘I heard he’s recovering nicely.’

‘He’s agreed not to sue,’ Franklin said. ‘We’re settling out of court.’

‘Quite a temper your daughter’s got.’

‘She didn’t like what he did with her nose. It was a bit skew–whiff.’

‘What’s the favour?’ she said, biting back any remarks about Celeste’s nose.

Franklin took a photograph of his beautiful but aloof daughter, Celeste, from his desk drawer.

‘No, no, I can’t paint Celeste. You know I don’t paint people.’

‘I’d like to give her the portrait when she gets back from Italy,’ he said.

‘Celeste’s at the book convention?’

‘Yes, so you’d have time to finish it.’

‘I can’t paint people,’ she said.

‘What about that bumblebee you did? His little face was so cute.’

‘His stripes were the wrong way round.’

‘Everyone thought you were being surreal.’

Daisy raised her eyes in mock surprise. ‘Whatever gave them that idea?’

‘And the cat, don’t forget the cat,’ Franklin reminded her.

‘I’m not proud of that piece. We cheated.’

‘We had a tight deadline to meet. Using the photocopier was sheer genius.’

She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t right.’

‘The cat was fine. She’s had kittens since.’

‘No doubt.’

Franklin pushed the photograph across the desk towards her.

Daisy pushed it back. ‘Bumblebees and cats aren’t people. I can’t paint faces.’

‘The bee and the cat had faces — eyes, nose, mouth —’

‘Fur and whiskers,’ she said.

A man with a bushy moustache popped his head round the door of the office. He spoke directly to Franklin. ‘The printers are shitting shoe horns.’

Franklin gave the man the thumbs–up. The man hurried off.

‘I’ll need to sort out the printers,’ said Franklin. ‘Will you please do the painting?’

Daisy looked at the photograph. ‘Celeste hates me. She won’t want the portrait if I painted it.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She’s just envious of your talent. I thought you could possibly scribble some obscure pseudonym on the painting. Pretend it was created by a mysterious fellow from Europe. Celeste would love that.’

Daisy smiled. ‘For a nice man you’re terribly devious.’

‘All men are. We just like to pretend that women are the ones of unfathomable depths.’

He handed her the photograph.

‘No promises,’ she said, putting it in her portfolio.

Daisy was working at night in her apartment in London, trying out various styles of sketches of Celeste, including unflattering cartoon drawings depicting her as a sly looking cat. Her artist’s studio was set within a normally tidy lounge, though tonight numerous crumpled roughs of Celeste were scattered around.

Drawing faces wasn’t her forte, and besides, her heart just wasn’t in it. She missed Sebastian. And why of all people did Celeste have to be in Italy with him? 

‘I wish I was in Italy, and Celeste was in London,’ she said, studying her latest sketch. ‘And I wish I could get her blasted nose right.’

It took three weeks to get her nose right and finally finish the painting. With a huge sigh of relief, she zipped it safely inside her portfolio. It had been another long night. Never again would she paint a person, especially snooty Celeste.

Casting a weary glance out the window at the glittering lights of London, she got ready for bed. She was tired, irritable and felt lost without Sebastian. He hadn’t answered any of the messages she’d sent to his hotel. Men! Men! Bloody men! But she still missed him terribly. Tomorrow she’d give Franklin the painting and then treat herself to lunch at her favourite restaurant.