Easy Connections

Liz Berry

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: eBook Versions
• Date de parution: 09 juillet 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9781843964940
• Langue: English

Extrait

Published by
Gallery 41 Books
3 Church End, London E17 9RJ
[e-mail]

Copyright © 2005, 2018 Liz Berry

All rights reserved

Liz Berry has asserted her right
under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988 to be identified as the author
of this work

ISBN 978-1-84396-494-0

Also available in paperback
ISBN 978-1-98121-451-8

No part of this book may be reproduced
in any material or electronic form, including
photocopying, without written permission
from the publisher, except for the
quotation of brief passages in criticism.

Ebook production
eBook Versions
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London WC1N 3AX
www.ebookversions.com
EASY
CONNECTIONS

Liz Berry


Gallery 41 Books
Contents


Cover
Copyright Credits
Synopsis
Praise for Easy Connections

Title Page

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20
Easy Connections


No more exams. No more boring holiday work. Just two blissful weeks painting in the country - then, art college at last. Just paint, paint, paint!

Cathy Harlow is a gifted painter. She is seventeen and three glorious years at art college stretch ahead of her. But when she meets Paul Devlin, lead guitarist of the famous rock band, Easy Connection and a millionaire superstar, her dreams are shattered. Dev is beautiful, brilliant, but with an explosive violence lurking just below his cool and easy charm. Cathy is attracted and repelled in equal measure, but Dev is determined to have her, and Dev usually gets what he wants...

Easy Connections is a powerful and compelling novel, a love story with a difference, set against a vivid background of art school and the larger-than-life world of successful rock stars, a world where you set your own limits, or live beyond them.

Liz Berry lives in London. She is a painter who exhibits her work regularly. She has been head of art in an East London high school, a careers guidance counsellor helping young people plan their futures, worked in politics, and for a well-known examination body. She also runs her own small art gallery.
Praise for
Easy Connections


Ms Berry knows the art world at first hand, and she understands the problems of young people today...She captures the atmosphere of the student world and the rock scene beautifully, and her description of a rock concert is a piece of virtuoso writing.
Junior Bookshelf

A very readable novel by an author who has successfully managed to create an authentic, imaginary pop-music world...but Liz Berry is careful to show the difficulties of this kind of success and Cath emerges as a character determined to live her own life and make her own career.
School Librarian

Sweeps the reader along at a breathless pace, but inside the coating of romance there lurks a kernel of unnerving realism.
Woman and Home
Chapter 1


The sky was apricot gold and the September shadows lengthened across the grass. At the edge of the field by the stream, Cathy continued to paint, unaware of the time passing or of the semi-circle of young cows behind her. It was only when one of the cows snorted close to her ear that she looked around and found the ring of moony eyes gazing at her. Giggling, she clapped her hands and shooed the cows away. Where had they come from? They hadn t been there when she started painting nearly three hours ago. Could they really be watching her paint?
Smiling, she went back to the painting on the easel. Yesterday she had made two pencil studies of the plants and trees, and today she had brought oils and a canvas to try to capture the purple brown of the tree and the weeds, dark in the water of the stream. Now the painting was almost finished and she was reasonably content with her afternoon s work. Mr. Arnold, at any rate, would like it.
She remembered then, feeling strange, that Mr. Arnold wouldn t see it. School was over forever.
The cows had retreated only a few steps, and soon they were back, close together, snorting and inching forward. She waved her arms to make them go away, but they looked so shy and wistful, like the boys at the end of term dance, that she threw back her head and laughed aloud.
Frightened by the unexpected noise, the cows lifted their heads, their eyes showing white. They turned about, jostling each other, and lumbered off up the field. The last one got a stray kick and galloped away panicking. Its tail, swinging wildly, caught one thin leg of her easel.
The easel toppled backwards. The painting, fixed insecurely, sailed over the top, made a leisurely somersault, and landed, smack, face up in the nearby stream. It began to float gaily downstream.
Cathy began to laugh helplessly. She kicked off her sandals and waded into midstream. The painting moved forward, just out of reach. She grabbed at it, unsuccessfully. and it floated forward another metre. She tried to move more quickly, stumbled, her feet slipping on the mossy pebbles, lost her balance and fell forward with a splash into the water.
She pulled herself up, soaked, and sat down on the largest stepping-stone in the middle of the stream. hysterical with laughter. Monty Python, she thought. Buster Keaton!
When she managed to get a grip on her hilarity, she saw that the painting had now lodged itself securely between two boulders. She waded downstream, still laughing, picked it up, and shook the water from it. She made her way to the bank and propped the painting against a bush to let the hot sun dry out the canvas. The oily surface seemed none the worse for its dipping, not even scratched, but she thought the stretchers would probably warp. The canvas would need restretching. And the sun was too hot.
In the end she put the painting against a tree trunk shadowed by a bush so that it would dry out more slowly. The final details could be done at the house later.
She began to clean her palette and brushes and packed them away with the easel and paints into her old straw bag. She threw the turps under a bush, wiped out the tin and put it into the bag. Finally, she rubbed her hands on a rag sniffing at them appreciatively. There was something about the smell of turpentine. Her hands were small, with thin fingers. They moved swiftly and deftly. Tomorrow she would start a painting of the greenhouses at the market garden.
Her chores finished, she became aware again of the water dribbling unpleasantly down her back. She took off her tee shirt, wrung it out and, hesitating, draped it over a bush to dry. She would have liked to take off her velour shorts too, which were clinging uncomfortably, but the cows had given her an odd feeling of being watched, even though they were at the far end of the field now.
Her hair, which had been neatly tied back, was curling in damp tendrils round her forehead and shoulders. She shook it back and sat down in a patch of sunlight to dry it, leaning back on her arms. The sun was warm on her body. She closed her eyes, feeling deeply peaceful and happy.
No more exams. No more boring holiday work in the packing factory. Just two more blissful weeks painting here in the country-then art college at last! On her own, in her own bedsit. Free. No more hassles with Aunt Cass about the light on a two o clock in the morning. Just paint, paint, paint!
She wondered how Aunt Cass was getting on in Edinburgh. After fifty years in London, she had decided to go back to her old home. Cathy thought, suddenly, that she would miss crusty old Aunt Cass, who wasn t a real aunt at all, just the lady who had lived next door. But when her mother had died suddenly two years ago, Aunt Cass had offered to look after her during term time, so that she could finish her exams without changing schools. There was no one else. Her father had disappeared to Australia years before and her only brother lived out in Nethercombe with his wife and baby son. She stayed with them during the holidays.
Cathy had taken her A-level Art with distinction, when she was only sixteen, and the last year she had spent a lot of time at the local polytechnic, following (unofficially, because she was too young) the art foundation course, and getting extra A-levels. She was sure that this was the reason they had offered her a place at the London College of Art, a year earlier than usual, plus, of course, her folder of work and the recommendations of her teachers. Her special home circumstances had counted too. She was very lucky. It was almost unheard of to get into College before you were actually eighteen. She might have had to wait another whole year! It seemed too good to be true.
She smiled and stretched out luxuriously. It was nearly time for the evening meal. Another few minutes and she would find her sandals...

The young man on the higher, opposite bank of the stream, half-hidden by the trees was enchanted.
He had been watching her for over half an hour now. He had seen the ring of animals around the oblivious girl, and he had stayed to see what happened. He had enjoyed the knock-about comedy act in the stream. Her laughter had delighted him-he had not met many girls who would laugh in that kind of situation-and he had even enjoyed watching her pack. The striptease was a surprise bonus.
He was so absorbed that he did not hear his friend come up behind him.
What are you looking at?
You nearly gave me a heart attack. He got up grinning and flipped his fingers. Nice.
They stood, staring across at the girl lying in the sunlit meadow. She was about seventeen, delicate and slender but with full breasts, her skin a clear creamy rose. Her hair dishevelled, shone golden in the sun. She was barefoot and there was a cut on her shin.
His friend stared blankly, taking in the state of the girl, and then weary disgust swept across his face. He swore explosively.
Not already! How did thi