Читать онлайн «Heartbeat»

Автор Даниэла Стил

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST!”—Los Angeles Times“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UNFOLD TO THE GLEE AND DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC. ”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!”—The New York Times Book Review“Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions. ”—Publishers Weekly“One of the world's most popular authors. ”—The Baton Rouge SunA MAIN SELECTION OF

THE LITERARY GUILD AND

THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

PRAISE FOR

HEARTBEAT“Steel has made her reputation with her storytelling…. She has created characters readers care about, with whom they could identify. ”—The Indianapolis Star“A reader slips easily into Danielle Steel's Heart beat”—New York Daily News“Steel's loyal army of readers will welcome Heart beat. ”—Baton Rouge Advocate“A surefire winner! …Steel weaves the lives of these unlikely lovers with warmth and tenderness, giving her legions of fans just what they want. ”—Swanton (Ohio) Enterprise“A poignant, gently humorous novel. ”—Norton (Virginia) Coalfield Progress“Danielle Steel's readers have come to expect her finely crafted portraits and rich writing style. Heart-beat, a certain best-seller and her 27th novel, easily continues this tradition. ”—Lamar (Colorado) News“A combination of humor and tenderness, this story of good people struggling through modern American life is sure to be another winner for Danielle Steel. ”—Pratt (Kansas) Tribune

a cognizant original v5 release october 31 2010

To Zara,

sweet heartbeat

of my life,

may your life be ever

full of love and joy…

and to your daddy, who has

filled my life to the brim

with love and joy and heartbeats

with all my heart and love,

d. s.

HEARTBEAT

THE SOUND OF AN ANCIENT TYPEWRITER SANG OUT staccato in the silence of the room, as a cloud of blue smoke hung over the corner where Bill Thigpen was working. Glasses shoved up high on his head, coffee in styrofoam cups hovering dangerously near the edge of the desk, ashtrays brimming, his face intense, blue eyes squinting at what he was writing.

Faster, faster, a glance over his shoulder at the clock ticking relentlessly behind him. He typed as though demons were lurking somewhere near him. His graying brown hair looked as though he had slept and woken several times and never remembered to comb it. The face was clean-shaven and kind, the lines strong, and yet something about him very gentle. He was not a man clearly defined by handsome, yet he seemed strong, appealing, worth more than a second glance, a man one would have liked to spend time with. But not now, not as he groaned, glanced at the clock again, and let his fingers fly at the typewriter still harder. Then finally, silence, a quick fix with a pen as he leapt to his feet,and grabbed handfuls of what he had been working on for the past seven hours, since five o'clock in the morning. Nearly one now …nearly air time … as he flew across the room, yanked open the door, and exploded past his secretary's desk like an Olympic runner, heading down the hall as quickly as he could, darting around people, avoiding collisions, ignoring surprised stares and friendly greetings, as he pounded on doors that opened only inches as he shoved a hand inside clutching a sheaf of the freshly written changes. It was a familiar procedure. It happened once, twice, sometimes three or four times a month when Bill decided he didn't like the way the show was going. As the originator of the most successful daytime soap on TV, whenever he was worried about the show, he stopped, wrote a segment or two, turned everything upside down, and then he was happy. His agent called him the most neurotic mother on TV, but he also knew he was the best. Bill Thigpen had an unfailing instinct for what made his show work, and he had never been wrong. Not so far.