Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (Extract)

Chapter 3

Every January, Marina Theodopoulou made three New Year resolutions. (1) To save money, (2) To lose weight, and (3) To get laid. By December 31st she would have failed each one. But at least it saved having to think up three more.

This year, Marina vowed, would be different. By supreme effort, in the two and a half months since Christmas, she had lost over a stone. Last year she had sold the rights to her latest Regency romance to a film production company and, to the amazement of her bank manager, still had most of the money left. And tonight, tonight she was most definitely going to get her man.

She hauled her compact from the depths of her handbag and flicked it open. The battery-operated lights inside were too dim to do anything other than touch up her make-up and Marina had no intention of asking the chauffeur to switch on the interior lights of the borrowed Jag. She did not want him to think her vain.

Even in twilight she thought she looked pretty good. Tumbling black curls, held firmly onto the top of her head by two antique jewelled combs, and large brown eyes, heavily outlined in kohl. Observing that she had eaten her crimson lipstick, Marina hastily touched it up as the chauffeur manoeuvred the Jaguar through the crumbling gateway to Kirkwood Manor Hotel and down the long drive.

The chauffeur swung expertly around a large stone fountain and glided smoothly to a halt outside the imposing entrance. Marina snapped her compact shut and hastily shoved both it and the lipstick into her handbag as he opened her door.

She smiled happily at him. With his chiselled jaw, sultry brown eyes and smooth olive skin, he could have stepped straight from the pages of one of her books, Love in the Sun, or maybe Desert Lover (which had had to be pulped following a minor title misprint, causing a flood of furious telephone calls from cookery shops - but lots of lovely publicity and, eventually, quadruple sales).

Although Marina earned an absolute fortune from her writing, and spent it just as quickly, she had actually 'borrowed' both the chauffeur and the car from her neighbour, Lady Richmond. He came highly recommended by Lady Richmond's seventeen-year-old daughter, Belinda, who had assured Marina that he was brilliant in bed. Anyway, Marina had decided to have him lined up as first reserve in case tonight's date failed to show. Marina, being of Greek descent, believed in giving fate a helping hand - if not a downright shove.

After several minutes of exchanging steamy eye-meets with the chauffeur, Marina eventually alighted from the car and tugged her short, tight, crimson dress over her rather chubby bottom. Her unfamiliar high heels scrunched the short distance across the gravel and wobbled up the steps to the front door. Before she could raise one elegantly manicured hand to the wrought-iron bell-pull, the heavy oak door creaked open like a scene from Hammer House of Horror.

At the other side stood a beautiful young man, trussed up in a suit that did not belong to him. His dark-blond hair was brushed back from his face and gathered at the back of his neck by a thin velvet ribbon. He towered over Marina but his haughty expression deteriorated into a wide smile as he recognised her.

"Hullo Marina - I mean, good evening, Miss Grey. May I take your coat?"

Marina grinned. "I'm not wearing one, Fabian."

"Eh? Oh yeah ... " He laughed self-depreciatingly. "You can see I'm no butler."

"Butler?" Marina regarded his ponytail in awe. "You look like a highwayman."

"It was Mr Kirkwood's idea," Fabian grimaced. "You know, grand country house, servants, butler. It's all to impress Princess Victoria."

"I thought you were an aerobics instructor? You ought to look at your job description."