Moth to the Flame Read Online Free PDF Page B

till dinner time, when everyone dined in Hall at six sharp, and Alicia for one, resigned herself to the inevitable.
    â€˜I don’t know yet. I was hoping to get one specially written, but so far no-one I’ve asked has seemed too keen,’ Jared admitted ruefully. ‘But the library’s stocked to the gills with Elizabethan dramas, so . . .’
    Emily wrinkled her nose. ‘Boring!’ she interrupted, then shot up. ‘I know! Alicia can write us one. Her brother must have taught her a thing or two about what makes for a good play. And didn’t you tell me that you always wanted to write murder mysteries?’ she shot at her friend, who was gaping at her, open-mouthed and appalled.
    â€˜Emily!’ she squeaked. ‘I can’t write a play.’
    Jared found his heart sinking at Alicia’s protest, then he told himself it was probably for the best. What, after all, did he have in common with a woman like her?
    According to the gossip in the Junior Common Room, Alicia Norman was proving to be surprisingly elusive. Even the more upper-crust amongst them had met with little success when it came to bedding her. She’d turned down every date and overture she’d been offered. It had surprised a lot of the male contingent at St Bede’s. Now, here he was, in the same room with her, and he could see why no man could possibly be good enough for her. She had it all—wealth, a powerful family, and her entry into the literary world she seemed to crave so much. What could a man who wanted to build bridges and dams in all the remote corners of the world possibly offer her?
    â€˜Of course you can write a play!’ Emily scoffed. ‘What’s to stop you?’
    Alicia wished that Emily wouldn’t do this. To Emily, nothing was impossible. To Alicia, the world felt like a minefield, to be negotiated with care and caution, so that she didn’t get blown up. ‘I’ve never written a play before in my life!’ Alicia tried to explain. She glanced nervously at Jared Cowan, who was watching her with a slightly puzzled expression in his deep, compelling, dark brown eyes. She blinked, wondering if she was imagining the sensation of being pulled into those dark, dreamy depths.
    â€˜If you want to be a thriller writer, you’re going to have write a novel for the first time at some point,’ Emily pointed out with unerring logic.
    Alicia sighed. ‘But Emily, that’s just a dream. I might love reading them, and solving the puzzle of the whodunit, taking in the atmosphere of classic country-house murders, but I could no more write one than fly to the moon.’ Her frustration was palpable.
    Emily’s face took on a bull-dog like expression. ‘Oh? And why not? You’ve certainly got the talent for it. I’ve read those short-stories of yours, remember?’
    Alicia felt as if she could strangle her. It wasn’t like Emily to be so dense. ‘And what do you think my aunt would say? Or Dad? Or Neville? They’d have a fit! A Norman, writing something so commercial as a whodunit! See sense, Emily.’
    Jared, who’d been listening avidly, suddenly realised what her problem was. Neville Norman was a famous drama critic, an expert on George Bernard Shaw, Joe Orton, and Bacon. Her father owned a big literary magazine dedicated to fostering English Literature, and her aunt . . . ? Hadn’t he overheard some disgruntled Theologian talking about a feminist writer whose surname was Norman? No wonder Alicia would feel a bit wary, coming from that august family, of penning something so plebeian as a murder mystery. But Jared loved murder mysteries. And his favourites, too, were the old classics.
    â€˜Alicia! For pity’s sake! We’re in a new millennium now!’ Emily said scornfully, and Alicia blushed, feeling utterly humiliated. She knew that, compared to someone like Emily, she must seem like a veritable rabbit. But Emily