Kat French - The Stained Glass Heart - A Love…Maybe Valentine eShort

Avon

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

Copyright © Kat French 2015

Kat French asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780008136277

Version: 2015–01–23

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page KAT FRENCH The Stained Glass Heart Part of the Love…Maybe Eshort Collection: The Enchanting One

Copyright Copyright Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Epilogue Keep Reading About the Author Also by the Author About the Publisher Avon An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015 Copyright © Kat French 2015 Kat French asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780008136277 Version: 2015–01–23

Chapter One Chapter One ‘No way. It’s this house or me, Helen. I’m not even joking.’ Ian looked around the old house in disgust, his eyes lingering on the old-fashioned wiring, the yesteryear decor, the dusty light fittings. Helen watched him, taking in the brow that furrowed too often, the eyes that mocked more than they loved, and the spiteful curl of his lip, which now she came to really look at it, was a little on the thin side. Ian had mean features. They really ought to have served as more of an early warning system. How could he not look at this place and see potential in its high ceilings, its deep skirting boards, and that grand sweeping staircase in the centre of the chequer-board tiled hall? How could he not yearn to paint the peeling walls, wax the unloved boards, flood the place with light and warmth from those huge picture windows? Ian turned his irritated blue eyes to her, and she met his gaze head on. ‘I choose the house, Ian. And I’m not even joking.’ * The moment she said the words, a weight drifted off Helen’s shoulders. She felt it go, floating up through the three floors of the house and out through the long unused chimney in the small attic bedroom. Well goodbye, and good riddance. She’d buy this house alone, thank you very much. Helen didn’t know it at the time, but she wasn’t the first woman to be relieved of a lover by number seventeen Delaney Street. There hadn’t been a man living successfully under that roof in the last hundred and thirty-eight years. As she left, she stroked a hand over the doorframe, admiring the way the sun caught the old stained glass inlaid above the entrance. Squinting at it, she tried to make out what lay beneath the dust … words of some kind, maybe? Cleaning that would be one of the first things she’d do. She’d love to see what lay beneath the dirt. * The sale went through like a dream, and with almost indecent haste the house belonged to Helen. Her friends and family thought she’d lost her mind buying the big old house on Delaney Street alone, but she held firm. Never in her life had she been so sure of anything.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Epilogue

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

For my lovely mum and fellow book lover,with lots of love xx

‘No way. It’s this house or me, Helen. I’m not even joking.’

Ian looked around the old house in disgust, his eyes lingering on the old-fashioned wiring, the yesteryear decor, the dusty light fittings. Helen watched him, taking in the brow that furrowed too often, the eyes that mocked more than they loved, and the spiteful curl of his lip, which now she came to really look at it, was a little on the thin side. Ian had mean features. They really ought to have served as more of an early warning system.

How could he not look at this place and see potential in its high ceilings, its deep skirting boards, and that grand sweeping staircase in the centre of the chequer-board tiled hall? How could he not yearn to paint the peeling walls, wax the unloved boards, flood the place with light and warmth from those huge picture windows?

Ian turned his irritated blue eyes to her, and she met his gaze head on.

‘I choose the house, Ian. And I’m not even joking.’

*

The moment she said the words, a weight drifted off Helen’s shoulders. She felt it go, floating up through the three floors of the house and out through the long unused chimney in the small attic bedroom. Well goodbye, and good riddance. She’d buy this house alone, thank you very much.

Helen didn’t know it at the time, but she wasn’t the first woman to be relieved of a lover by number seventeen Delaney Street. There hadn’t been a man living successfully under that roof in the last hundred and thirty-eight years.

As she left, she stroked a hand over the doorframe, admiring the way the sun caught the old stained glass inlaid above the entrance. Squinting at it, she tried to make out what lay beneath the dust … words of some kind, maybe? Cleaning that would be one of the first things she’d do. She’d love to see what lay beneath the dirt.

*

The sale went through like a dream, and with almost indecent haste the house belonged to Helen. Her friends and family thought she’d lost her mind buying the big old house on Delaney Street alone, but she held firm. Never in her life had she been so sure of anything.