THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY GABRIELLA


From Liz...

Ben, Ben, Ben....

What do you want me to say? Your sister had better things to do than worry about your house. She has a career, too. (She’s in Samoa, by the way.)

And you didn’t expect Mrs Fuller to stick around and polish your knick-knacks when she could be putting her feet up in the sun for the first time in her life, did you?

And try to forget that unfortunate accident in the library which, by the way, was as much your fault as hers. Be honest. Admit that Ellie makes the place feel like home. How long is it since you could say that, hmm?

So, the answer to your question is yes, Ben, I expect you to be grateful. Very grateful.

Now stop whining and go and buy Ellie something warm and furry -- you know it makes sense!

And leave me to get on with writing Sylvie and Tom's story!

THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY GABRIELLA

From Ben Faulkner...

Just when you think life can’t get any worse you come home and find there’s this woman living in your house.

That was not the plan.

I did not need a house-sitter. I had a sister and a cleaner and between them they were supposed to be taking care of things while I was away. Then the cleaner won a fortune on the lottery, my sister decided to go bug-hunting in Sarawak, or Senegal, or Sumatra – Gabriella March seems a little hazy on the actual continent – and I get caught up in a civil war.

And when I finally get home, hoping for a little peace and quiet to get on with my work, there she is.

A gothic-novel reading, spectacle smashing, duster wielding danger to life and limb. Sitting. In my house.

And I’m supposed to be grateful?

THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY GABRIELLA

A protest from Ellie March....

Well there it is. There’s no hiding it now. Everyone will know exactly what I did, but honestly, Liz, that title is just so unfair!

Go on, just read the book and tell me – no, tell her – just how unfair it is!

That title will make everyone believe that I did it deliberately. That I set out to live a double life when it was all just a great big ... accident.

No, really!

If it hadn’t been for the howls of mirth at my Writers’ Circle at the very idea of me writing a column for Milady magazine it would never have happened. Okay. If it hadn’t been for that particularly pitying look from Diana Sutton, the Hon Sec, it would never have happened. I was getting really tired of being pitied.

All right. I admit that I should have stopped when I had that letter from the editor inviting me to go and see her. I’d proved my point. But, honestly, when would I ever get another chance like that? And who knew that I was exactly what Milady were looking for? Well, not me, obviously. They don’t take on cleaners as columnists at Milady magazine. That’s why I called it “Lady Gabriella’s Diary”. Ladies-who-lunch weren’t likely to be interested in anything written by plain old Ellie March, cleaner, waitress, house-sitter now, were they?

I still can’t believe I got away with it. That I have a contract...

But now, of course, I can’t tell anyone in case that scary editor finds out I’m a complete fraud. Not even my Mum, who’d tell her best friend, which would be like taking out an ad in the Courier. So Diana Sutton is still giving me pitying looks. And my Dad still gives me the regular lecture about going back to teaching so that I’ll get a pension.

A pension!

Life is too short, too fragile to waste on being careful; planning for a future that may never happen. You have to grab your chances when they come and always, always take the balloon ride...