This is an excerpt from one of my short contemporary stories:

The following Monday, Melanie was sitting at one of the tables in the dining room with a sales rep examining new wedding table-decorations when one of the waitresses brought her a business card.

Melanie turned the square of velum into the light and read, ‘Ms. Stephanie Curtis: Solicitor.’ She held it out to the waitress with a smile. ‘I think this is meant for Jack. He’s out to lunch. Why don’t you suggest she rings him later.’

The waitress shook her head, blond curls bouncing. ‘The lady asked for you.’

Melanie frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ When the young woman nodded, Melanie apologized to the sales rep and told him she’d consider his products and be in touch. With a hint of trepidation, she walked out to the reception area. She couldn’t imagine what Stephanie Curtis wanted with her. She’d only met the woman a few times. Mostly, she saw her from a distance as she came and went from Jack’s house. The last thing she wanted was to get caught up in the middle of their lovers’ squabble.

Stephanie Curtis rose elegantly from a floral settee by the huge stone fireplace in the entrance hall and offered her hand as Melanie approached. ‘May we talk?’

Melanie could hardly say no, so she led her visitor into the manager’s office and closed the door. ‘Please take a seat.’ Not sure if this call should be classed as business or personal, Melanie opted to take the second guest chair rather than sit on the other side of the desk. As soon as she sat and noticed Stephanie’s chilly expression, she wished she’d put the barrier of the desk between them. ‘How can I help you?’

Stephanie glanced around the room, her glossy, pink lips taut, her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you do it in here?’ She gave Melanie a derisive glance and laughed coldly. ‘No, you don’t look the sort to be risqué. I bet you’re an “in bed with the lights out” type of gal, aren’t you. What the hell did Jack see in you?’

For long moments Melanie couldn’t think. The quiet tick of the clock marked off the seconds as she stared at Stephanie, her mouth open and her brain frozen in shock. ‘I don’t—’

‘Please spare me the pointless denials.’ Stephanie jumped up and paced around the room, examining the furnishings as if she were picturing Melanie and Jack together in various places.

‘You really have got this wrong.’ Melanie stood and followed Stephanie. ‘There’s nothing between Jack and me. Nothing. Heavens…’ Melanie put her hand to her throat and flushed at the thought of Jack getting close to her, touching her…. ‘Whoever told you this is just causing trouble, I promise. There’s no truth in it. None. I’ve never touched Jack. He’s never touched me. How can you even imagine he’d be interested in me?’ She stopped, realizing she was babbling and needed to calm down.

Stephanie stared at her through narrowed eyes, her expression dangerous. ‘Don’t lie to me. Jack told me he’s in love with you himself.’

‘Jack? In love with me?’ Melanie stumbled back and caught hold of the edge of the desk. ‘Why would Jack say…?’

Stephanie stared at her. ‘Don’t think you’re going to get away with this you two-faced little bitch. Everyone thinks you’re such a nice person. And isn’t Jack lucky to have found someone he can trust to take care of his precious hotel. Looks like Jack got lucky in more ways than one. I’m going to make sure everyone knows exactly what sort of woman you really are.’

‘But I’m not…’ Melanie started, but one look at Stephanie’s face told her she was wasting her breath.

Stephanie paced toward the door. ‘Tell Jack I said hi when you see him.’ Then she slammed the door behind her.

Melanie stared blankly at the fireplace for a long time trying to absorb what had just happened. Gradually her shock turned to anger. Nothing had happened between her and Jack, which meant for some reason he’d lied and used her as an excuse to break off his engagement with Stephanie. When he got back from his lunch appointment, he was damn well going to explain why.

For information on my stories visit http://www.helenscotttaylor.com/

I’m delighted to announce my paranormal romance THE MAGIC KNOT is a finalist in the Romantic Times Book Review Magazine’s forth American Title contest. (For any of you not familiar with the contest, it’s like American Idol, only for books!)

The first round of voting starts on October 15th and closes on October 28th. Voting takes place on the Romantic Times website at www.romantictimes.com. There are ten finalists, and first round voting is for the best first sentence. Please take a look when the time comes, and if you like my first line, I’d love your vote.
As today’s blog is supposed to be about history, I thought you’d be interested to hear a little about the place that inspired my vision of the Irish fairy queen’s mansion that features in The Magic Knot.

The beautiful Palladian mansion Powerscourt (pictured above) is found within the Wicklow Mountains near Enniskerry, a few miles from Dublin. When you stand on the elevated terrace behind the building, forty-seven acres of lush gardens roll out before you. The jewel-bright colors of beautifully manicured flowerbeds are set against the backdrop of waves of multicolored shrubs and acres of mixed woodland. The gardens surrounding the mansion, contrast with the stark beauty of the mountains in the distance.

A castle has stood on the site since 1300. The current structure was refurbished in 1974 in preparation for opening to the public. Tragically, on completion of the work, the house was gutted by fire before it could open. The owners didn’t have the heart to start again, and the structure now houses a mixture of quality boutiques and shops for tourists. There is a display documenting the refurbishment and fire. Luckily, some of the original internal building survived, and is open to be viewed.

If you would like more information on my story The Magic Knot, please visit my website at http://www.helenscotttaylor.com/

An except of The Magic Knot is posted on this blog here: http://pinkfuzzyslipperwriters.blogspot.com/2007/09/magic-knot.html

Novel excerpt.

Rosenwyn Tremain stared through her BMW’s windshield at the towering gray struts of the road bridge spanning the River Tamar. The gateway to Cornwall. She swallowed anxiously as the line of traffic edged closer to the bridge. In a few minutes, she’d be over, on Cornish soil—or more precisely Cornish asphalt.

A slash of lightning cut across the leaden sky, briefly relieving the dull afternoon. She shuddered then nervously fluffed her short hair.

Never set foot in Cornwall. Her mother’s plea whispered in her memory as her car crawled forward.

Rose passed beneath the Cornish coat of arms marking the center point of the Tamar Bridge. Tension clenched her belly. She snatched a breath, held it, half expecting to be smote down by a thunderbolt.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” She slapped her palms against the steering wheel. “Pull yourself together, woman, and get over it.” What was the worst that could happen? She’d get a hostile reception from the business she was due to investigate. That wouldn’t be a first. No one liked being told they were insolvent.

Just over an hour later, Rose maneuvered her car along a narrow Cornish lane. She glanced at her satellite navigation system and gnawed her lip. Either the satellite was faulty, or the Elephant’s Nest Public House was in the middle of nowhere. She had a nasty suspicion it was the latter.

She crawled until the road opened out at the head of an estuary. Stopping on a small humpback bridge, she stared at the pretty scatter of lighted cottage windows glowing in the curve of the valley. Living in London, it was easy to forget places like this existed.

The satellite system directed her along a narrow track beside the estuary for another half a mile. Finally, an ancient building with white-washed walls intersected by black beams shone in her headlights. She swung her car around and parked near the front door. Her watch read five thirty, nearly opening time.

The plan had been to make a start on the financial assessment this afternoon, but the drive had taken longer than expected. As she was late, the best she could do was get the preliminaries out of the way so she could make a quick start in the morning. A small review job like this should only take two days. Then she could spend the rest of the week tracing her father.

Climbing out, she slung her purse strap over her shoulder and grabbed her briefcase. A cool breeze flowed up the estuary with the incoming tide. Salty air tingled in her lungs. So, this was Cornwall—the county of her birth.

Checking out the parking lot, she noticed a red Porsche Boxster, spotless and gleaming beneath a street light. The license plate read MICK. She grimaced. Maybe the problem with the business’s finances was an owner who spent the working capital. She’d met a few of those in her years as an accountant. Mr. Michael O’Connor’s private spending would be her first target—and he wouldn’t like that. Those she investigated never did.

As she walked toward the front door, she paused and stared at the incongruous sight of a fat pink elephant with a wicked grin perched on a nest of plastic twigs. Lucky the guy who owned this place clearly had a sense of humor. He would probably need it when he received her report.

When she reached the entrance porch, the low drone of a powerful motorcycle engine rolled through the darkness behind her. Its headlight flickered between the trees on the riverbank as it approached. Rose suppressed a strange compulsion to go inside before it arrived. The air vibrated with the thud of the engine as the machine slowed and, with a crunch of gravel, swung into the parking lot.

The man halted beside the Porsche, dropped a brown booted foot to the ground and turned his head toward her. The lamplight gleamed off the visor of his helmet like an insect’s eye. When he looked at her, the three linked stones on her necklace tingled warmly against her skin. She clasped them through her shirt to stop the weird sensation.

He twisted his hand on the throttle, and the roar of the engine snapped her out of her trance. Rose shivered as she took in his green combat pants and battered leather flight jacket. Hopefully he wasn’t the owner of the pub.

Dragging her attention back to the pub, she cleared her throat, then strode through the door into the lounge bar. The gentle lilt of traditional Irish music and the smell of wood smoke welcomed her in. After the plastic elephant out front, she was pleasantly surprised by the old fashioned interior with a beamed ceiling, brass ornaments and a polished oak bar.

A middle-aged woman, with a mass of fair hair secured atop her head with an orange flower, looked up from where she restocked the shelves behind the bar.

“We’re not open till six, m’ lover.” She poked her thumb behind her. “Boss is still out back working his magic.”

Rose suspected the magic had something to do with the delicious smell of food emanating from the back. So Michael O’Connor cooked. He probably couldn’t afford to pay a chef.

Rose slipped a business card from the leather case in her pocket and held it out. “Sorry to call so late. Mr. O’Connor is expecting me. I just want to introduce myself tonight and get the lay of the land. I’ll be back to start work in the morning.”

The woman took the card and read out loud. “Rose Tremain. Francis Marchant Partnership. You got yourself an impressive list of letters after your name, but it don’t tell me what you’re here for.”

Rose kept her face blank. Keeping the reason for her presence secret from the staff while investigating a business facing bankruptcy was always difficult.

She gave the woman a reassuring smile. “Mr. O’Connor is expecting me. If you’d just give him my card, I’m sure he can spare me a few minutes tonight.”

The woman flicked the card between her fingers thoughtfully. “Now which Mr. O’Connor would you be wanting?”

There were two?

Find out more about Helen Scott Taylor's paranormal romance at http://www.helenscotttaylor.com/