Forced by crippling RSI to give up the love of her life, music, professional cellist Libby McNeill returns to Australia unemployed and in despair. She needs a home and a job, but is fit for nothing.

As the neglected only child of two world famous artistes Charles has learned to detest musicians. His English childhood was a misery of Nannies and boarding schools. The only relative he loves, Greataunt Gloria, lives with him, but he worries as she is alone all day.

When Gloria hires Libby as her companion, Charles is stunned. She is the woman of his dreams -- and nightmares. A girl he fell for eight years ago, an obsessed musician who didn't notice he existed.

Libby is stunned. Charles was that obnoxious man in the flat beneath hers who complained about her music. How will they ever share a house?

Betty sniffed suspiciously, opened the oven to peer inside and a cloud of smoke billowed out making them both cough.

       "Bob will insist on heating up pizzas without a drip tray. The cheese melts everywhere and he never wipes up," she confided cheerfully, flapping a tea towel about. "Don't worry, dinner's looking marvelous. A lovely hunk of beef. I do so love a roast and I thought you'd like one now you're home again. And you living on your own. Singles don't tend to cook proper dinners, do they? Slap some mushy frozen thing in the microwave. Tasteless muck, that's all I can say."

       A piercing beep-beeping made Libby wince and slap her hands to her ears, and also saved her from replying to the question which had Lame Duck crawling all over it. A crowd of people rushed in, filling the kitchen with shouts and exclamations and bodies. The two portly, grey-haired figures had to be Selina and Joe, same age, same shape, same volume level.

       "She's set the place on fire again," roared Bob. "All hands to the buckets."         

       He grabbed a chair, stood on it and fiddled with the smoke alarm on the ceiling while Betty waved her tea towel about vigorously. Someone turned the exhaust fan on over the stove top, and suddenly the brain penetrating cacophony ceased.

       "Here's Charles," cried Betty. Libby caught a glimpse of a head of dark brown hair in the kitchen doorway before the new arrival was mobbed.

He said, in a cultivated English accent, "The door was on the latch so I came in. No-one seemed to hear the bell."         

       "We've just averted a near disaster. Betty tried to torch the place," yelled Bob. "But dinner is safe. Have a drink, Charles. Let me introduce you. Here are Selina and Joe from next door- that's over that side." He pointed while Selina and Joe shook hands with Charles. "And Libby. Friend of Cressie's from way back. Libby's a world famous cellist just flitting in for a breather in Sydney before she takes the world by storm again."         

       Libby stepped forward ready to set the record straight, but the man smiling at her over the heads of the two neighbors snatched the very words from her mouth by saying, "We've met. Hello, Libby, what a surprise! Marvelous to see you again."

Marvelous? What a surprise? He was surprised?

He leaned forward and kissed both her cheeks in a very familiar manner just before both his arms wrapped around her and held her firmly against a very broad and totally unfamiliar chest.

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Rose’s enchanting tale of unexpected love.

— Maria Hatton. Book List