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Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered
Kerry Barrett
A Kind of MagicPart-time witch, full-time glamorous high-flyer Esme Mcleod rubs shoulders with celebrities for a living, has a sort-of-boyfriend …and just enough magic in her fingertips to solve life’s little irritations; why shouldn’t she cast a little spell to catch the busy barman’s attention, or to summon a latte to aid her all-nighters?Called back to her small Scottish home town and meddling family, stiletto-clad Esme is way out of her comfort zone… But Esme must embrace her abilities as a witch, or watch her family lose their beloved café.Except Esme has never claimed to be a whizz at witchcraft, and her charms are starting to go awry – she certainly never meant to cast a love spell on her ex-boyfriend Jamie! It’s time for urgent lessons in magic as well as love – it seems there’s only so much that muttering a few words over cupcake batter will fix…Don't miss the Could It Be Magic series:1 – Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered2 – I Put a Spell on You3 – Baby It's Cold Outside4 – I’ll Be There For You5 – A Spoonful of Sugar (novella)What readers are saying about Kerry Barrett'I was absorbed from the first page' – Pass The Gin'It was just lovely! I loved the plot, I loved the spells and the magic, I loved the characters and I loved the writing. Kerry Barrett is a talented writer and I’m so pleased I got the chance to review her debut novel and here’s hoping there will be many more!' – Chick Lit Reviews and News'This is a story filled with heart-warming characters full of family loyalty, a little romance … sprinkled with magic and humour throughout which will leave you, like me wanting to find out what happen next for Esme and her family.’ – That Thing She Reads
A Kind of Magic
Part-time witch, full-time glamorous high-flyer Esme McLeod rubs shoulders with celebrities for a living, has a sort-of-boyfriend …and just enough magic in her fingertips to solve life’s little irritations; why shouldn’t she cast a little spell to catch the busy barman’s attention, or to summon a latte to aid her all-nighters?
Called back to her small Scottish home town and meddling family, stiletto-clad Esme is way out of her comfort zone… But Esme must embrace her abilities as a witch, or watch her family lose their beloved café.
Except Esme has never claimed to be a whizz at witchcraft, and her charms are starting to go awry - she certainly never meant to cast a love spell on her ex-boyfriend Jamie! It’s time for urgent lessons in magic as well as love – it seems there’s only so much that muttering a few words over cupcake batter will fix…
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
Kerry Barrett
Copyright (#ulink_9b258637-0d39-5243-9b95-63a5330589a1)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013
Copyright © Kerry Barrett 2013
Kerry Barrett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.
E-book Edition © October 2013 ISBN: 9781472054760
Version date: 2018-10-30
KERRY BARRETT was a bookworm from a very early age, devouring Enid Blyton and Noel Streatfeild, before moving on to Sweet Valley High and 1980s bonkbusters. She did a degree in English Literature, then trained as a journalist, writing about everything from pub grub to EastEnders. Her first novel, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, took six years to finish and was mostly written in longhand on her commute to work, giving her a very good reason to buy beautiful notebooks. Kerry lives in London with her husband and two sons, and Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes is still her favourite novel.
Thank you to my parents for giving me a love of books, and to Anna and Nicky for being so excited; I’m excited too! A big hug to Gerda, who has known Esme almost as long as I have; thank you for your constant encouragement and excellent advice. And to Darren, Tom and Sam – I love you very much. You’re awesome.
For my boys, big and small.
Contents
Cover (#u14bfb7d4-89b9-5283-8773-e1cc6902f3a0)
Blurb (#u68ecf095-5adc-5019-9eb1-32a8af30f514)
Title Page (#u3c04c104-c266-5a68-820f-ead9dfe66c4e)
Copyright (#uf2d6ab75-3931-5ea5-9092-ab95a790bed9)
Author Bio (#udda3249f-ee12-5d99-ab11-653802b3bd7e)
Acknowledgements (#u979bb5e4-bd8f-583d-aaba-770e570af8e5)
Dedication (#u29804ced-a1d6-5a24-934a-a79ec07887cf)
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u4d39c1ec-8672-574e-a3dd-0b6e34c34082)
I was completely out of my comfort zone. I perched on the high bar stool, legs swinging like a toddler in a high chair, and cursed Harry for insisting on meeting me here.
‘Seven o’clock, Esme, Cara Mia at Canary Wharf,’ she’d said in her message. ‘Don’t be late. It’s important.’
She was passing through town, she’d said, flying into Heathrow from the States and back to Scotland from City. Bad planning on her part. And even worse planning on mine to work spitting distance from the bar she’d chosen. I’d briefly considered changing jobs to get out of meeting her, but even I could see that was a bit extreme.
And so, here I was. With my legs uncomfortably wrapped around the chrome legs of a shiny stool, and my elbow in a puddle of something, in a bar full of the City types I spent a lot of time avoiding. And – I squinted at my watch in the dim light – it was now 7.25 and there was still no sign of Harry.
I shifted awkwardly on my perch and tried once more to get the barman’s attention. He’d been ignoring me since I arrived, despite my best attempts at eye contact.
Finally, I thought, as his gaze shifted in my direction. But no, instead he served the woman standing behind me, who had glossy hair and the kind of honey-coloured skin that comes from a lifetime of winters spent abroad.
That did it. I moved my arm out of the puddle, rested my wrist on the cold bar and waggled my fingers, gently, in the direction of the barman. A small shower of pink sparks – nothing anyone would notice – wafted from my fingertips. The barman looked puzzled for a moment, then he picked a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, dropped it into an ice bucket and presented it to me, along with two glasses, with a flourish.
‘Nice,’ said a voice in my ear. ‘And you didn’t even have to ask.’
‘Hello, Harry,’ I said. Of course she would choose that moment to arrive. She didn’t kiss me. Instead she leaned over, scooped up the wine bucket and tilted her head in the direction of a booth.
I was expected to follow, clearly. I picked up the glasses, then had to put them down again so I could slide off the barstool without mishap. I resisted the temptation to turn around and descend backwards, but only just. Then I picked up the glasses again and trotted after my cousin, just like I’d been trotting after her my whole life.
As I approached the table she’d chosen, I noticed her normally immaculately made-up face was pale, with dark rings under her eyes. And her slouchy cashmere sweater hung off her. She grabbed the glass I offered, glugged wine into it and drained it. I felt slightly uneasy. Harry being in control was one of the constants in my life.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked as I shuffled sideways along the seat into the booth.
Harry waited for me to sit, then pushed a glass in my direction.
‘It’s Mum,’ she said in her typically forthright way. ‘She’s got breast cancer.’
I put my hand to my mouth in shock.
‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘Poor Auntie Suky.’
Harry took another swig of her wine.
