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latest of everything. She would carry on typing out his work - he wouldn’t let anyone else near his masterpieces. She was his right-hand woman, his talisman, the one he couldn’t live without.
    And a baby! There would be a baby. Or maybe three. She dreamt of dear little babies that would fill the gaping hole left inside him by whoever the real Anita was. He had never recovered from the loss, that much she knew, but at least she could help him heal it a little bit. What would they be like, she wondered, her babies? A bit dense, like her? Or geniuses, like him? He would be for ever grateful to her, for giving him his dearest wish. And they would come down here, to Everdene, and he would build them the most magnificent sandcastles, round which he would weave the most wonderful stories . . .
    She never put any pressure on him. She never asked him about their future. She was far too sensible for that. But when he looked at her after they made love, when he smiled deep into her, and brushed his lips against hers, she knew that he needed her.
    She marvelled at how life had turned out. There she’d been on the beach, longing for glamour and nightlife and London, and the answer was there all along. The key to her happiness was only half a mile away, and it had been her mother who had found it.
    Prue was very smug about her transformation.
    ‘You just needed something to keep you busy,’ she told Jane. ‘The devil makes work for idle hands.’
    Jane smothered a smile when she thought of some of the things her hands had done over the past few weeks. Her mother would be horrified. And yet she would have to come clean eventually. When the time came for Terence to take her back to London. It wouldn’t happen until he had finished the book. She knew he could see no further into the future than that, and she wasn’t going to distract him. Patience was all she needed.
    In the meantime, she painstakingly typed out the words that were flowing from him faster and faster as he reached the climax. It was a masterpiece. She knew that. She didn’t need him to tell her. She was desperate to know the outcome, totally absorbed in the fates of the characters, swept along by their respective journeys, experiencing their joy and their despair. No one could fail to be riveted. As each chapter unfolded, she felt more and more proud.
    The day came when he delivered to her the last five pages. His eyes were feverishly bright as he brandished them, and she jumped up and hugged him. He pulled her to him and started kissing her, but for once she dragged herself away.
    ‘No. I want to finish typing. I want to find out what happens. Go away. I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’
    He went back down the stairs, grumbling. She laughed to herself, smoothing out the pages, inserting a fresh piece of paper for the home stretch.
    She was very nearly at the end when she heard a car in the drive.
    She looked out of the window. A Mini had pulled up at the front of the house. Bright yellow. And out of it jumped the most beautiful woman Jane had ever seen, in the shortest dress she had ever seen, with white knee-length boots, the absolute height of fashion. She could see her eyelashes from here, framing huge brown eyes in a pale face. She was holding a bottle of champagne.
    Jane could tell by the smile on her face exactly what she was here for.
    She drew away from the window, feeling her stomach curdle. She could never, in a million years, compete with a woman like that.
    She heard her knocking at the door.
    And the door open.
    ‘Surprise!’ A peal of laughter floated up the stairs. ‘Darling, you did it! Well done. You are a genius.’
    Jane bit her lip, looked down at the typewriter and typed The End.
     
    Ten minutes later, she went into the living room.
    The woman had unzipped her boots and was lying on the sofa, sipping a drink. She was even more ravishing up close. Jane could smell her perfume. It had changed the whole atmosphere in the house.
    She waved