Dark Secret

by Marina Anderson

Genres: Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

You've devoured The Fifty Shades Trilogy . . . Now prepare yourself for incredible sensual revelations in a... Dark Secret.

Harriet Radcliffe is bored with her life. At twenty-three, her steady job and safe engagement seem very dull. If she is to inject a little excitement into her life, she realises, now is the time to do it.

But the excitement lying in wait for Harriet is beyond even her wildest ambitions. Answering a job advertisement to assist a world-famous actress, Harriet finds herself plunged into an intense and secret world of sexual obsession - playing an unwitting part in a very private drama, but discovering in the process more about her own desires than she had ever dreamed possible . . .

The prequel to Forbidden Desires.

Release date: July 21, 2011

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

‘HARRIET, WHERE’S YOUR ring?’ asked Ella, her RADA trained voice carrying to every corner of the wine bar.


Harriet blushed and removed her left hand from the top of the table, sliding it out of sight beneath the tablecloth. ‘Keep
your voice down,’ she muttered.


‘But where is it?’ persisted Ella. ‘Surely the ever-efficient Miss Radcliffe hasn’t mislaid her impeccably tasteful and priceless
engagement ring? What on earth will James say?’ she added.


‘James won’t be worried. I’ve given it back to him,’ said Harriet.

Ella stared at her friend in astonishment and then drained her glass. It was her usual reaction to any kind of shock. ‘You
mean, you’re not going to marry James after all?’


Harriet nodded. ‘That’s what I mean.’

‘But why? You were the perfect couple, and with you at his side James would have gone right to the top. God, I wish I could
find a merchant banker to marry me, I can tell you.’


Despite her depression, Harriet laughed. ‘Ella, you could never marry anyone like James. You’d die of boredom on your honeymoon.’


‘Really?’ Ella leant forward eagerly. ‘You mean you’re finally going to confess the secrets of your sex life together? Wasn’t
he any good in bed?’


Harriet shrugged. ‘He was all right. I mean, he was always very considerate and made sure I was satisfied, it was just that
there was never any … I don’t know, excitement really. I suppose he loved me, but he lacked real passion. I was in bed with
him last Saturday and when he turned on his side and his hand went straight to the same place as it always did I suddenly
thought, I can’t stand this any more; if he touches me there one more time I shall scream. Well, he touched me and I did.’


‘You screamed?’ Ella was stunned.

Harriet laughed. ‘Yes! I actually screamed “Don’t do that” at him. I felt terrible afterwards. He was so hurt, and kept saying “but I thought you liked it”, which I did the first few
times. Anyway, that was it really. He said I must be having a breakdown and needed a rest. I said it wasn’t that at all; it
was simply that I’d finally come to my senses and realised he wasn’t the man for me. Then I gave him back his ring and he
left. End of story.’


‘But the wedding!’ exclaimed Ella. ‘All those guests, and the presents you’ve already had.’

Harriet nodded. ‘I know. Luckily since my parents are still abroad and weren’t even coming they won’t kick up a fuss. It’s
poor James who’ll have to cope with his family’s wrath.’


‘Have you told them at work?’ asked Ella.

‘There wasn’t any need. I went in to work on the Monday and handed in my notice.’


‘Get another bottle of wine,’ said Ella. ‘This is too much to cope with sober. I mean to say, Harriet, we’ve known each other
for over ten years and in all that time you’ve never done anything unexpected. You passed all your exams easily, got a wonderful
job in the City as PA to a top company director, became engaged to a handsome, wealthy merchant banker and were just about
to marry him and produce the requisite son and daughter – in the correct order no doubt – and then you decide to go totally
off the rails. That’s my prerogative. I’m the actress, I’m the one who does outrageous things and you always listen and give me good advice that I
ignore. How come our roles have been reversed?’


Harriet’s hands twisted together in her lap. ‘I don’t know. Like I say, it just happened out of the blue. I mean, there has
to be more to life, Ella, doesn’t there?’


‘More what?’ enquired Ella, pouring herself a glass of wine from the second bottle. ‘Money? Sex? Career? Which particular
rejected aspect of your wonderful life were you hoping to improve on?’


‘All of them,’ confessed Harriet.

Ella looked at her friend. At twenty-three she was a tall, slim, leggy brunette with grey eyes and a cool air of self-possession.
This evening, as always, she was dressed impeccably, in a suit with a long-line jacket that ended three inches above the hem
of her skirt and a knotted cream silk scarf at her throat. Her appearance suited her life, or the life she’d led until now.
Suddenly Ella wondered what hidden depths there were to her friend.


‘Right then,’ she said briskly. ‘If you want to improve them all, where do you intend to start?’


‘I want an interesting job; something really different,’ declared Harriet.

‘Any ideas?’

Harriet pulled a face. ‘That’s the trouble, I can’t think what I want to do, I only know that it has to be exciting and different.’

‘Try being an actress,’ suggested Ella. ‘There’s plenty of excitement there. Will I be working this time next week or not!’

Harriet sighed. ‘I know I’ve probably been stupid but I simply couldn’t stop myself. It was as though a voice in my head was
telling me that this was my last chance. If I didn’t stop now, change direction quickly, it would be too late.’


‘Stupid or not, you’ve done it,’ said Ella. ‘Have you looked for a job yet?’

‘I glanced through some adverts in the evening paper, but there wasn’t anything that appealed to me. There are several jobs
like the one that I had, but there’s no point in that.’


Ella dived into the large canvas bag that she always carried around with her. ‘Let’s see what I’ve got here. The Stage – well that’s no good to you, you haven’t got an Equity card! Evening Standard – you’ve seen that; The Times – let’s try that.’


‘That won’t have anything exciting,’ protested Harriet, but Ella was already scanning the situations vacant column, muttering
to herself as her eyes raced over the words.


‘Hey, this looks promising,’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Listen Harriet. “American actress on six-month stay in England needs
PA of sociable disposition who is willing to work unusual hours. CV and photograph essential.” Then there’s a box number for replies. What
do you think?’


‘It’s a PA job again,’ said Harriet doubtfully.

‘Hardly the same as working in the City,’ Ella pointed out. ‘It might be Meryl Streep or Sharon Stone. How fantastic to see
them at close quarters!’


‘Don’t be silly,’ aid Harriet. ‘They wouldn’t need to put an advert in The Times. Besides, why do I have to send a photograph?’


‘I don’t know. Perhaps the actress has a fragile ego and doesn’t want any competition. You could be too good-looking for the
job.’


Harriet laughed. ‘I doubt it. If anyone was likely to put a film star’s nose out of joint it would be you, not me.’

Ella studied her friend and silently disagreed. She knew that she was attractive, and with make-up could look beautiful, but
there was something special about Harriet, something that had always made people look twice. She was so immaculate, so apparently
assured and yet in her eyes, and her body language, there was quite often the suggestion that beneath this surface there lay
something more. A vulnerability certainly, but also the very quality that Harriet herself had said James lacked – passion.
An untapped passion, as Ella knew very well, was an irresistible aphrodisiac to a lot of men.


‘I think you should answer the advert,’ she said decisively. ‘You’ve nothing to lose.’

Harriet felt her stomach move with nervous excitement. It would be exciting, and different, but she also sensed something
more from the wording of the advertisement. Somehow she knew that if she sent off a photograph and was given an interview her whole life
would change, and she hesitated because if that happened there would be no going back.


‘Well?’ demanded Ella impatiently.

Harriet hesitated for only a second. ‘You’ve convinced me,’ she agreed with a nervous laugh. ‘I’ll send off a photo and my
CV tomorrow.’


‘No, tonight,’ said Ella firmly. ‘We’ll go back to your place and I’ll help you choose the best picture, then we’ll make sure
it goes first post tomorrow.’


That night, as Harriet prepared for bed, she thought for a moment about the letter, now lying in a pillar box awaiting the
postman in the morning. Would anything come of it? she thought to herself. Had her meeting with Ella and the fact that she’d
had a copy of The Times with her been part of some predestined plan? Or would she hear nothing more and spend the next few months wondering if she’d
been right to give up James and her job in the space of three days? She rather suspected it would be the latter, but couldn’t
help nurturing a hope that at least she’d manage to get an interview, if only in order to find out who the actress in question
was.


Two days later she returned from visiting a friend to find her telephone ringing. She ran to answer it.

‘Miss Radcliffe?’ asked an icily detached female voice at the other end.

‘Yes,’ replied Harriet, somewhat mystified as to who the called could be.

‘You replied to an advertisement in The Times recently.’


Harriet’s stomach lurched. ‘Yes, yes I did.’

‘Your CV and photograph were satisfactory. Would you be free to attend an interview tomorrow morning at eleven?’ asked the
voice.


Harriet felt flustered. ‘Tomorrow? Let me see, I…’

‘Tomorrow is the only time that our client has free.’

‘I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll just check my diary,’ replied Harriet, determined not to let the caller know that at this
particular moment she had nothing planned for the rest of her life. She waited a couple of minutes and then returned to the
phone. ‘Yes, I can manage that,’ she said, hoping she sounded as indifferent as the other woman.


‘Excellent, I’ll give you the address. Do you have a pen and paper to hand?’

She must think I’m six years old, thought Harriet to herself, but she kept the annoyance out of her voice and scribbled down
the address and directions as to how to get there. It was only when she replaced the receiver that her legs went weak and
she had to sit on the sofa to recover.


It was all so quick, she thought in astonishment. An advertisement like that must have attracted masses of applications, and
yet she’d been called by phone in less than forty-eight hours. The speed of the response made her nervous and later that evening
she rang Ella.


‘Why are you worrying?’ Ella demanded. ‘You should be grateful. Where do you have to go?’

‘Regent’s Park. I’ve looked it up on the map – I think it’s one of those large houses that overlook the park.’


‘Fantastic! You’ll probably have your own suite of rooms and use of a swimming pool – when the star isn’t keeping in trim,
of course. Did they say who she was?’


‘No, but no doubt I’ll find out early on in the interview.’

‘Make sure you let me know,’ said Ella. ‘I’m consumed with curiosity.’

‘So am I,’ responded Harriet.

By the time she actually arrived at the house the following morning she was consumed by nerves as well. She drove herself
there in her blue BMW which had to stop at the huge padlocked wrought-iron gates while a gateman came out, took her name and
phoned through to the house. Then he opened them with apparent reluctance and when she waved and smiled at him as she drove
in he simply stared blankly at her. ‘Let’s hope the rest of the household are more friendly,’ she muttered to herself.


The house was large and imposing. It was built of Portland stone and stood well back in what Harriet estimated to be about
two to three acres of parkland. When she halted her car outside the front door she looked down across an immaculate lawn with
green conifers and bushes on either side extended right back to the gates. As far as she could see, the garden at the side
was less well tended and comprised more shrubs than lawn, but the entire perimeter of the area was protected by tall trees
which successfully shut out the rest of the world.


A butler opened the front door to her, and she stepped into a long entrance hall, at the far end of which she could see a
modern open-plan winding staircase. The carpet was a deep coral colour, the walls and ceiling a textured white and on either
side of the hall there were numerous china and porcelain ornaments ranging from a life-size greyhound sitting to attention
to an exquisitely delicate ballerina which was little more than six inches in height and stood on an ornate glass table. The
ornaments had no apparent connection with each other and none of them matched in colour or design but Harriet suspected that
every one of them was priceless.


‘If you would wait here, Miss Radcliffe,’ said the butler politely, ushering her into a tiny ante-room. ‘Miss Farmer will
be with you in a moment.’


Harriet sat down on the nearest chair and wondered if she could possibly have heard him right. If Miss Farmer was her possible
future employer then there was only one person it could be. Rowena Farmer, who had shot to fame in two huge box office successes
as a sexy private investigator, becoming at the same time one of the greatest sex symbols since Marilyn Monroe. Harriet’s
heart began to beat more rapidly, but then she told herself firmly that Miss Farmer was probably a secretary whose job it
was to weed out unsuitable applicants. It was hardly likely that someone like Rowena Farmer would do her own interviewing.


Just as she’d calmed her nerves the door opened and Rowena Farmer made her entrance. There was no other expression that applied, thought Harriet to herself, as the petite titian-haired beauty stood framed in
the doorway. Dressed in a canary yellow cropped top and a bronze organdie skirt with a pale green sleeveless overtop that
reached to her ankles she stood directly in the light from the opposite window, her hair gleaming and her immaculately made-up
face glowing with health, and smiled a brilliant, professional smile at Harriet.


‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Radcliffe,’ she murmured in the famous low husky voice that Harriet recognised
from her films. ‘There’s so much to do at the moment. We only arrived three days ago and … well, you can imagine what it’s
like, I’m sure.’


Again she smiled, but Harriet knew that the smile wasn’t really for her. It was an automatic response to another person’s
presence, and as such meaningless, but at least she was being polite. Somehow Harriet had expected her to be spoilt and petulant
in private. Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t in private. Rowena Farmer was performing for a possible employee. The
real Miss Farmer was unlikely to emerge until you were actually in her employment.


‘Come this way,’ continued the film star, gliding smoothly out into the hall, and Harriet followed her to the far end and
then through a heavy oak door into a drawing-room.


The carpet here was pure white, while the walls were white with the faintest suggestion of apple green, a tone that was complimented
by the low green sofa and two winged chairs. In the middle of the room a large glass table top was supported by four green chinese dragons whose images were repeated in the draped and tied curtains that had been fastened in such a
way as to allow in only a very little light.


Rowena Farmer sank into one of the chairs and indicated that Harriet should sit on the sofa. It was lower than normal and
she wished that she’d worn a longer skirt as hers rose above her thighs and left her sitting with her knees tightly together
and angled to her left. She still had the suspicion that Rowena Farmer must be able to see right up her skirt if she wanted
to, but the film star’s eyes never left Harriet’s face until she picked up the application and read it through as though to
remind herself of its contents.


At the far end of the drawing-room, directly opposite Harriet, was an ornate mirror that took up half the wall. She smiled
to herself. Probably film stars liked mirrors everywhere, and certainly Rowena Farmer had every cause to be proud of her beauty,
which was as spectacular in the flesh as on the screen.


While Harriet tried to sit still and Rowena read her CV, a man sitting concealed behind the mirror glanced down at the written
. . .