Master of Her Virtue - By Miranda Lee Page 0,2
covered in pimples and scars at a time when there’d been no miracle pill or miracle lasers.
But it wasn’t just in looks that Violet was different from the rest of her family. Her brain was different as well. Measured with an IQ of one hundred and forty, she had a brilliant memory, as well as an analytical mind and a talent for writing—though not creative writing so much, she was beginning to suspect. She’d finally abandoned her attempt to write her first novel this past year when she hadn’t been able to get past the third chapter.
Her writing ability, she’d concluded, lay more in being able to put her analytical thoughts and opinions into words which were original and thought-provoking. Her English essays in high school had been so good that her teachers had been stunned. They’d encouraged her to enter an essay competition on the subject of Jane Austen’s books, first prize being a scholarship to study for an arts degree at Sydney University, where all her fees and books would be paid for.
She’d won it before she’d also noted the scholarship included two thousand dollars a semester towards her living expenses. It was not quite enough for her to live on, but she’d been fortunate to find board with a widow named Joy who’d charged her only a nominal rent provided Violet did some of the heavy cleaning and helped her with the shopping.
Another plus had been the location of Joy’s terraced house. It was in Newtown, an inner-city suburb within walking distance of Sydney University. Even so, her father had still had to give her some money so that she could make ends meet. That was till she had landed the job as one of Henry’s readers, after which she’d been able to survive without outside help.
Violet had quickly found she liked not being beholden to anyone for anything; had liked the feeling of being responsible for herself. As much as she still lacked confidence in her appearance, she did not lack confidence in other areas of her life.
She knew she was good at her job as well as quite a lot of other things. She’d learned to cook well, thanks to helping Joy in the kitchen. She was a good driver, again thanks to Joy, who’d lent her a car and bravely gone with her whilst she clocked up the numbers of hours driving that she needed to secure her licence. She would have bought herself a car, if she’d needed one, but Henry worked out of an apartment in the CBD and it was much easier to catch a bus than drive into the city and find parking.
Violet supposed that, if she had a social life with lots of friends dotted all over Sydney, she would definitely have to buy herself a car. But she didn’t. Occasionally, this bothered her, but she’d grown used to not having friends; grown used to her own company. Not that she stayed home alone all the time. She often went out with Joy, who was still a real live-wire, despite being seventy-five now with two arthritic hips, which gave her hell in the winter. Every Saturday night the two of them would go out for a bite to eat—usually at an Asian restaurant—before going on to see a movie.
Violet could honestly say that she was content with her life, on the whole. She wasn’t unhappy or depressed, as she’d once been. It was a big plus to be able to look in the mirror each morning and not shudder with revulsion. Of course, if she were brutally honest, she did secretly wish that she could find the courage to enter the dating world and eventually do something about her virginal status. She hated to think that next Christmas would eventually come around and she’d make the same tired old excuse over her lack of a love life.
A wry smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she thought of the book in her bag. What she needed was a wickedly sexy pirate to kidnap her and not give her time to think or to worry before he ravaged her silly.
Unfortunately, that was highly unlikely to happen in this day and age. It was an exciting thought, though.
Suddenly, Violet couldn’t wait to get to the airport where she could start reading.
‘Don’t get out, Dad,’ she said once they arrived at the departure drop-off point.
‘Okay. Give us a kiss.’
Violet leant over and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Bye, Dad. Keep