The Observer: a novel

“Writer seeks assistant” — this is the ad that Leah, a young Englishwoman who has fled the grey London everyday life for Paris, sees in the newspaper. Famous writer Michael Young asks her to transcribe his diaries and invites her to spend the summer in the south of France with his family. On the seaside, Leah devotes herself with all the passion of youth to fun and new acquaintances, and enjoys complete freedom. But the deeper Leah delves into the memories of Young’s turbulent youth spent in 1960s Soho, the more the boundaries between past and present, truth and deception, blur for her. But one thought does not give Leah peace: why did Michael Young entrust the work to her?In the new provocative novel, Francesca Rhys explores the male and female perspectives on the nature of desire and ambition, and how far people are willing to go for them.Back then, I had probably developed the habit of wandering aimlessly around the city for long periods. As if on autopilot, I returned again and again to the same places — places I had been before, when I did not feel so endlessly useless. These places were scattered across Paris like a constellation, like anchors piercing the layers of time, to which I clung to the numerous milestones of my memory. They served as evidence to me that time is not some linear-kinetic monster, racing past me in an unstoppable race. Three years had already passed since I graduated from university, and I was flitting from side to side, not knowing where to settle. It seemed that the limit of my possibilities had long since been reached — as if my promising youth had turned into some kind of misunderstanding, nothing more than a reason for false hopes, for it had passed in the provinces (and despite my self-loathing, I was not without my snobbery).Designer paper, high-quality printing.He stepped away from the window, approached, and sat down next to me on the couch, so that our knees almost touched. Gazing intently at my features — for about five seconds, but it felt like an eternity to me — he placed his hand on my thigh and smiled. His expression (without the slightest hint of threat, as if deliberately trained to inspire trust) was strikingly dissonant with the unwanted touch. I convinced myself that it was merely an attempt to establish friendly contact — and as if to confirm it, his warm palm lifted in a friendly pat. It must have been my age to blame.For women aged 25 to 45.“Belle Lettre” is a new publishing house of contemporary foreign literature for women. We carefully select and publish the best foreign books for women and about women: psychological and historical novels, light feel-good, and romantic prose. Wherever our heroines may be — in modern Paris, swinging 1960s London, or a small Spanish village at the beginning of the last century — they move through life with ease, confront circumstances, and always remain true to themselves. And our readers — strong and brave, passionate and vulnerable, dreamy and sexy, devoted to their work and loyal to their families, in relationships and free. Our readers are you. Hurry to feel!