The Terms of Their Affair

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So my new book came out today, hurrah! I started plotting THE TERMS OF THEIR AFFAIR about ten months ago, when I read this really interesting article about a big Wall Street tycoon who manages a self-made multi-billion dollar hedge fund. According to the article I read, this guy has a reputation of steel; he is ruthless and dynamic with a power that makes his adversaries tremble.

Perfect.

Instantly, the story began to weave and form in my mind. For surely someone so determinedly self-sufficient must have an achilles’ heel. … and a beautiful one with her own vulnerabilities and weaknesses, at that… Enter CARADOC MOORE, born into old, British establishment money (his father is GOWER MOORE, the fifth in a line of construction millionaires), he was estranged from that lifestyle as a young man and taken to live in New York by his stunning but psychologically damaged mother. The only way to survive his childhood was to develop the kind of tough exterior that couldn’t be penetrated by anybody.

Until, that is, he meets Seraphina James, a woman employed as his driver over the time of his father’s funeral. At first, he thinks she’s just a very lovely, timely distraction to his grief, but when the time comes for him to leave England and return to his life in New York, he finds it harder than he’d expected to say goodbye.

I am particularly drawn to this type of hero: strong, powerful, intelligent, charismatic but flawed in a way that shows them to be weak beneath the strength. It’s a classic dichotomy, and Caradoc Moore fits it beautifully.

Usually, when I publish a new book, I’m so excited to share it with my readers. Here? I felt a long, slow tug of pain to be sharing these characters I have nurtured and tweaked and come to think of as friends. I loved their story so much, I’m waiting with baited breath to be sure you do too!

Happy reading as always, lovely ones. CC. x

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International Women’s Day. A post for my mum.

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vintage mum

I’m sitting here thinking about International Women’s Day. More specifically, what it means to me.

Thanks to the nifty invention of Facebook memories (which has a generally unfortunate habit of showing me thoughts I had several years ago that I would gratefully see relegated to the very back drawer of history) I can tell you that, for the last three years, I’ve posted photos of my mum on International Womens’ Day. That isn’t laziness on my part. It’s because I don’t find anyone more inspirational to me on days like this. Perhaps even more than Mothers’ Day I think this is a great opportunity to give thanks to my mum — for she is not only a seriously awesome mama (and now much loved grandma to five little people) but she is also an example of how I would like to be.

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Sunday lunch 

My mum is fiercely smart and must have read at least half of the words that have ever been written. My sisters and I credit her for our love of books (and what a gift that is to bestow upon your children). She is creative, artistic, humble, kind, thoughtful and considerate, funny and loving. But one of the qualities I have most come to admire in my mum, as a grown woman, is that she is determinedly happy.

No one has a life that offers only good. All of us face trials on a daily basis; my mum included. But I have seen, now, through my adult eyes, that mum makes a choice in each and every situation to wade through the bad and find her smile. I love this about her and I aspire to build this quality in myself.

My sisters and I were indeed fortunate to have mum as our role model, and for the childhood we were given. Looking back, I feel almost that my life was unfairly idyllic. It truly was. I was raised in a small town paradise, where neighbours would go out of their way to help one another, children were allowed to run free in a way that would give us 21st century parents an apoplexy, and the days seemed to stretch endlessly with time, sunshine and laughter.

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wild and free

We weren’t spoiled with toys, but we were such lucky kids. I view my childhood through a filter of beauty. I remember the road trips to the snow, I remember “helping” Dad restore furniture for mum’s antique shop, I remember making up silly games with my sisters, and jumping for hours on our trampoline. I remember climbing our avocado trees until I was so high that I couldn’t look down, I remember dancing with my sisters to Kylie Minogue (I can still Walk Like an Egyptian, thank you very much) and teasing and hairspraying my hair to within an inch of its life. I remember parties with my parents’ friends where we would stay up late and watch the grown ups and their mysterious grown up ways from behind the slatted doors. And I remember mum being a part of all of that. Creating it, watching it, listening to my stories about it, and being there in all the ways a little girl needs most. I’m blessed and I’m grateful.

I hope that on IWD ’16, you have a similarly inspirational lady in your life, and that you find time to think kindly of yourself.

CC.x