Page 4 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

I felt myself pink up. ‘Yes, it’s true. My husband does act as the inspiration for my heroes.’ My latest protagonist, the steely, sexy critic Nathan, was no exception.

The books I’d written before I met Joe hadn’t carried the same vivacious joy and vivid heroes. They’d sold well, but it was only after falling in love with him, that my writing had become infused with real energy. Even then, it’d taken a few more years before my career as an author really took off, my sales went into the stratosphere and I found my books swooping into the top five.

I never took for granted how fortunate I was.

A sumptuous array of festive-inspired finger foods appeared next and were circulated on shiny platters among the guests. There were reindeer mince pies with twiglet antlers, mini-Christmas crackers stuffed with goats’ cheese, Christmas devilled eggs with fresh herbs, mincemeat Christmas trees, snowmen cheese balls, and lemon, garlic and herb baubles. It was Christmas kitsch at its best and I loved it!

While we were taking great delight in savouring the cuisine, a trio of musicians appeared and set up in the far-right corner. Armed with a violin, cello and harp, they struck up classy renditions of traditional Christmas carols and even threw in some Mariah Carey.

If anybody here didn’t feel Christmassy by now, even though it was twenty-one degrees outside and the middle of summer, there was no hope for them! I could feel my face breaking into a huge smile, as I tapped my foot along to their version of Sir Elton John’s ‘Step into Christmas’.

My heart lifted in my chest.

I never realised I could feel this happy and content. Not after losing Mum. But with my next book eagerly anticipated, a brand new, two-book deal rumoured to be on the way and Joe by my side, the future was taking on a much rosier hue.

While Mia and Lola chatted to me, bringing famous and not-so-famous faces up to talk to me, my mind kept wandering to the book I’d just started writing. I liked to have my book delivery deadlines in my diary, so I had a date to work towards.

This one was about a grumpy, widowed romance writer who has to recruit a PA when he’s left to bring up his orphan nephew on his own. A ripple of satisfaction took over. I’d been so lucky. I was doing what I loved most in the world. Writing romance. People wanted to read my books and I never got tired of it.

Our gorgeous apartment in Hampstead, with its polished, tiled floors, panoramic windows, wet room and balconies, was Joe’s and my haven. Never in a million years did I think that I, Rosie Ellenor Ward, from a single-parent family council house in Ealing, would end up where I was: bestselling author Rosie Winters.

I plucked a second glass of champagne from a passing waitress. The warmth hit me, making me feel fuzzy and comfortable. Joe would be here soon, I was sure, and then I could show him the massive photograph of my big, red, curly head. I let out a small laugh into my champagne flute.

The John Madejski Gardens outside the V&A at the rear of the museum shone out from under the amber architecture. The large, oval pond shimmered under the evening sunshine.

I glanced down at my watch again. Where was Joe, I thought with a stab of irritation. This was getting ridiculous now.

I drained the rest of my champagne and set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, before fetching my mobile out of my bag again.

I pulled up his number and after a few rings, I heard his breathless voice rasp down the line. ‘I’m so sorry, darling. I’m just across the road. Honestly.’

I could just about hear his voice over a cacophony of parping horns, voices and the buzz of traffic.

‘I got caught by Charles while heading out the door.’

I could feel frustration tugging at my insides. ‘Joe, I appreciate you’re busy, but you know what these events mean to me and having you by my side. Can you please hurry up?’

Maybe it was a godsend that at that moment, Mia beckoned me over to speak to a magazine book reviewer.

It meant I didn’t hear a sudden, sharp screech of brakes and horrified screams.