If someone told me 20 years ago I’d become a published author, I would’ve laughed in their face. At that stage, I was dedicated to my job as a personal assistant to a high-ranking government official. Even though I’ve always loved reading, writing books was the furthest thing from my mind. Back then all I wrote were letters, memorandums and the occasional speech.
I was 35 and happily single with no prospects of ever finding love; I’d simply given up on it. But then I met my husband Calum. I never knew you could fall in love with someone so fast.
My husband still believes it was fate. Why else would an Afrikaans girl from Pretoria meet a Scot from Falkirk in a pub in Cape Town? Rough seas had delayed his plans to join an oil tanker in Saldanha Bay as a navigator, and a friend and I had to look for an alternative place when we couldn’t eat at our favourite coffee shop. Instead we went to a pub a block away and found space in the last two seats next to Calum and his friends. Over the course of the afternoon I ended up sitting next to my husband. He asked me to dinner and I immediately accepted, ditching my date with a French doctor. I only saw him twice more before I found myself on a flight to Scotland four months later. In hindsight, my own story inspired me to write romances. It made me believe in love and romance and happily-ever-afters again. I just never expected to write about them years later.
We returned to South Africa