Louisa George – The Secret Art of Forgiveness: A feel good romance about coming home and moving on (страница 1)
Living in a big city, means you can escape your past…
Until Emily Forrester is called back to Little Duxbury, the chocolate-box English village where she grew up - though it was anything but idyllic for the tearaway teenager. Her estranged step-father, a former high-court judge, is unwell and her step-sisters need her help.
It’s just a week, Emily tells herself, but faced with the lies – and hard truths – that drove her to leave in the first place is difficult enough. Having to cope with a step-father (and the only parent she has left) who is so unlike the man she remembers pushes Emily’s emotions in ways she hasn’t been tested in years – since her mother’s death.
They say
A beautiful and unforgettable novel that will have you laughing and crying.
The Secret Art of Forgiveness
Louisa George
Award-winning author LOUISA GEORGE has been an avid reader her whole life. In between chapters she managed to fit in a degree in Communication Studies, trained as a nurse, married her doctor hero and had two sons. Now, she spends her days writing chapters of her own in the medical romance, contemporary romance and women’s fiction genres.
Louisa’s books have variously been nominated for the coveted RITA® Award and won the NZ Koru Award and translated into twelve languages. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand and, when not writing or reading, likes to travel, drink mojitos and do Zumba®- preferably all at the same time.
To the editorial team at Carina UK, particularly Lucy Gilmour and Victoria Oundjian, who have been so very patient and supportive to a writer who couldn’t always find her way; thank you so very much for steering me in the right direction and keeping me on track. To the Carina UK art department, I’m so thrilled with the gorgeous cover, you’re amazing!
To Flo Nicoll, editor extraordinaire, I owe you so, so much, I can’t even begin… thank you, thank you, a zillion times over.
To my writing friends; the wonderful Blenheim girls, Writers In The Wild and the North Shore lunch ladies—you’re all amazing and supportive and kind, and without you I’d be a basket-case by now. I’m honoured to be surrounded by such brilliant women.
To Mum, even though you’ve forgotten so much, I’ll never ever forget. You’re my inspiration in so many ways.
Last, but far from least, to Warren, Sam and James—I hope you guys know how important you are to me. I love you so much.
For all those people who somehow manage to juggle the needs of others without complaining, who put themselves at the bottom of the list and put their dreams on hold, this is for you with heartfelt thanks. Now, go get some ‘me’ time, you deserve it.
Contents
Emily Forrester knew it was going to be a special day when she walked into the office to a round of applause.
‘She’s here! She’s here! Okay… Donuts! Check. Coffee… check. Champagne… who’s got the champagne?’ Frankie, Baddermans’ Director of Strategy, her friend and the most sorted woman Emily knew, bundled her back out through the glass doors and into reception calling back, ‘And glasses, too! Come on, heroine of the hour, of the whole damned week… let’s get going. You know the score.’
Not that this wasn’t a regular occurrence. Baddermans Advertising Agency always greeted a successful pitch with cheers, coffee and donuts on the house; a winner’s breakfast which they took into the elevator from the eleventh floor, down to the ground, across busy West 59th Street and into Central Park. On a rainy day they would drag bright, primary-coloured beanbags across the office and sit in a semicircle, pretending to picnic and watching raindrops pepper the floor-to-ceiling glass while they celebrated in comfort.
But today there was something extra fizzing in the air. After a cloudy week the sun blazed down on the early spring Thursday morning, she’d snagged her second contract in as many days, found a seat on the subway during rush hour, and her saving-for-when-I’m-thin trousers had actually really, truly fastened this morning. Although there had still been a lot of breathing in involved…
Emily made sure she counted every blessing she had these days, because there’d been a time when she hadn’t had many at all.
‘Way to go, Em! You nabbed that contract right out of VPM’s hands. Word is, Haute Couture Hounds were this close to signing with them…’ Frankie pinched her thumb and forefinger
‘Obviously the bribes worked well… joking! Maybe it’s just a fluke? Luck?’ Emily took a glass of bubbles.
Being here was still nothing short of a miracle for a girl who’d run away from sleepy Little Duxbury with barely ten quid to her name. Winning a lucrative contract with the nation’s foremost dog-clothing company was icing, but beating the city’s top advertising agency for the account was the absolute cherry on top.
Yesterday it was puppy bling, Wednesday’s hard-fought-for account had been for a tech start-up, and later today she had a meeting with a children’s charity. What she loved most about her job was that no two days were the same, every project an interesting challenge she embraced wholeheartedly.
She slipped off her shoes and let her feet sink into the slightly damp grass. Heaven. There was something magical about New York in the springtime, a feeling of possibility in the air, the fresh scent of early blossom.
Or maybe it was just the champagne…
Surrounding her in a tight circle, her colleagues were all grinning and waiting intently for her to speak. This was the kind of debrief she enjoyed. ‘Okay, gather round my lovelies… so, it’s all thanks to last month’s doggy speed-dating event, to be honest. Haute Couture Hounds were impressed we did that promotion pro bono. So a big thank you to Frankie for setting that whole crazy day up. It’s paid dividends. Even if I was lint-rolling hairs off my clothes for days afterwards.’
More cheers for Frankie. One of Emily’s initiatives when she started at the company had been to make sure they recognised the importance of giving out praise and credit where it was due. And to celebrate the small things. Because who knew what was around the corner? At least then, if unexpected roadblocks did turn up, there had already been champagne drunk!
A bit like not saving best clothes for best, Emily believed in making the most of now. Mainly, because it was something she wished she’d done while she’d still had her mum around.
‘Oh, my God, this is the best salted caramel donut in the whole world,’ she continued, pushing back the painful memories of her mum. This really wasn’t the time or the place. ‘Anyway… They loved the ideas we came up with. They chose to go with the basset hound on the posters, so we need to organise that photo shoot for two weeks’ time. Gez, can you get on to the pet model agency? I’ll email all the specs to you. And we need to book some studio time for the thirty-second TV ad – please order more lint rolls. Lots more. I get the feeling we’re going to need them.’ There was a collective smile at that. ‘They want a fall roll-out nationwide, leading up to Christmas, and they have some especially cute festive outfits – am I really saying this? Dog Santa outfits? Sometimes I cannot believe I have this job.’ She laughed along with the team. ‘No, seriously, they’re gorgeous. Red velvet coats and little matching accessories. It’s going to be a fun account and I’m looking forward to working with them. And the very tidy fee that comes with it is very welcome. It just goes to show that if you’re willing to help a small community event for nothing, you do reap heaps in other ways. Plus, I guess they like our ethics.’