Читать книгу The Seduction Project - Miranda Lee - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

TWENTY-FIVE today, Molly thought as she brushed her hair back from her high forehead and coiled its straight brown length on top of her head.

A quarter of a century.

Sighing, Molly inserted the first of six securing pins without having to look at what she was doing. She’d done her hair like this for the last few years. It was easy and practical and, above all, cheap. She needed every spare cent from her pay packet to make ends meet.

At last she glanced up into the vanity mirror and surveyed the finished product with a wry smile. There was no doubt she looked the stereotyped concept of a librarian through and through. Prim hairdo. Prissy blouse. Pleated skirt. All she needed was horn-rimmed glasses balancing on the end of her none too small nose to complete the staid image.

Molly had twenty-twenty vision, however. Which was unfortunate in some respects. How much kinder it would be, she imagined, to have a fuzzier reflection first thing every morning.

She suddenly saw herself looking in the bathroom mirror on her fiftieth birthday and nothing would have changed much, not even her hairstyle.

She would still be living at home with her mother.

She would still be plain.

And she would still be madly in love with Liam.

Her shudder was part despair, part self-disgust. For loving Liam was such a waste of time; such a waste of her life.

Molly knew he would never love her back.

She no longer clung to the teenage fantasy where Liam woke up one day and saw that his feelings for the girl next door had somehow miraculously changed overnight from platonic friendship to an all-consuming passion. By the time she turned twentyone, Molly had graduated from romantic to realist. Difficult to hold onto such a futile dream in the face of the type of girl Liam brought home with regular monotony.

‘Plain’ did not describe them. Neither did bluestocking, nor bookworm, as Molly had been labelled all her life. Liam’s girlfriends were better known for their bodies than their brains. He liked them tall and tanned, with long legs, lush breasts and hair which shimmered.

Molly told herself she had the right breasts, but nothing short of the rack was going to add four inches to her average height. And, while her hair was always clean and healthy, mousy brown just never seemed to shimmer.

So Molly had long since abandoned any romantic schoolgirl dreams when it came to Liam. Common sense told her he was a lost cause. Yet still she clung to the emotion of loving him, clung to it as a drowning man clung to the most tenuous lifeline. Why else was she living in this house which was far too big for just two people, and far too expensive?

Because Liam’s family lived next door, that was why. If Molly and her mother moved, she would never see him again. Never feel the joy—as bittersweet as it was—of having him drop in for a drink and a chat, as he did every once in a while.

Liam called her his best friend, but Molly knew she wasn’t really that. She was simply there, a convenience, a ready ear to listen and give him feedback on his latest computer game or graphic design idea.

A deep dismay momentarily filled her soul before it was abruptly banished by a surprising burst of anger. How could Liam be so blind? And so darned insensitive? And why did she have to go on wallowing in his lukewarm and highly one-sided version of their being ‘best friends’?

Best friends were supposed to share things, weren’t they? Where was the give and take in their relationship? Today was her birthday, damn it. But would he remember? Not on your nelly! The dynamic head of Ideas and Effects Pty Ltd couldn’t be expected to remember such trivia. He was far too busy running his excitingly successful business. Heck, he hardly had time to come home any more! She hadn’t sighted him since Christmas, a full two months back.

There would be no phone call. No card, let alone a present. Yet she’d shopped for hours to find him the right gift for his birthday last year. She’d even cooked him a cake!

‘Molly,’ her mother called out through the bathroom door. ‘What’s taking you so long in there? Your breakfast’s been on the table for a full five minutes.’

‘Coming!’

Breakfast that morning was a small glass of orange juice, one boiled egg, one thin slice of wholemeal toast, one teaspoon of margarine and black coffee. A big improvement on the minute bowl of cereal Molly usually ate.

Ever since her father had died of a heart attack two years before at the relatively young age of fifty-one, her mother had become obsessed with health and dietary matters. Nothing passed their lips these days that exceeded the strict fat and calorie limits which were now Ruth McCrae’s culinary bible.

This meant mealtimes held little joy for Molly, who had a chronically sweet tooth. She found it all a bit trying, yet could not deny that her once plump curves had benefited from this change of eating habits. She’d dropped two dress sizes and would now not shrink from going to the beach—if she hadn’t freckled like mad.

‘Wow!’ she exclaimed as she sat down at the kitchen table. ‘This looks really good.’

‘Well, it is your birthday, love,’ Ruth said. ‘I’m going to cook you a special dinner tonight as well.’

Molly could not help wondering what a ‘special’ dinner constituted these days. She’d bet it wasn’t baked pork with crackling and crispy roast potatoes, followed by a big chocolate cake and coffee with cream in it. ‘That’ll be nice, Mum,’ she said, and picked up her knife, ready to attack the boiled egg.

‘Aren’t you going to open your card?’ Ruth asked plaintively.

Molly could have kicked herself. She put down her knife and picked up the long white envelope propped against the fruit bowl. Inside was a sweetly sentimental card and a couple of lottery tickets which promised first prize of half a million dollars.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t afford more,’ her mother said apologetically.

Molly glanced up with a bright smile. ‘Don’t be silly. This is great. I might win a fortune and then we could both go for a trip around the world.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that. I like my home too much. But you could go, I suppose,’ she added hesitantly.

Molly could see that this idea did not sit well with her mother. Perhaps she was already regretting giving her daughter the chance—however slim—of becoming rich and possibly flying the nest.

Ruth McCrae was a naturally shy woman, who’d become even more reserved and reclusive since her husband’s death. She rarely left the house except to go shopping, and that was only down to the small local shopping centre which also housed the library branch where Molly worked. She had no close friends and lived for her house, her garden and her daughter.

Once in a while, Molly found her mother’s dependence on her stifling. But on the whole she accepted her fate without undue distress. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter, which meant she was a quiet, undemanding girl with few unsettling yearnings.

The only yearning which could disturb her dreams—as well as her equilibrium—was Liam. Even then, she’d learned to control her unrequited passion for him. Clearly, he’d never guessed what smouldered behind her cool green eyes whenever they looked upon his handsome face.

And he never would.

This realisation suddenly brought another stab of anger. But this time none of it was directed at Liam. All of it was channelled straight at herself.

You’re a fool, Molly! If it was one of your girlfriends pining after some man who was way out of their reach, you’d tell her to forget him and move on. It’s about time you took your own advice.

Forget Liam. Move on!

Molly picked her knife up again and sliced the top off her egg with one decisive stroke. That was going to be her from now on. Decisive.

And her first decision was to stop fantasising about Liam and move on!