Blair
McDowell
Blair
McDowell wrote her first short story when she was eleven and hasn’t stopped
writing
since.
After many years producing non-fiction professional books in her field, Blair
decided to
exercise her
rich imagination and write novels of mystery and romance set in places she
knows and loves, peopled with characters drawn from her experiences in those
locales.
One
of her favorite places in the world is Greece, the setting for ‘The Memory of
Roses’, Blair McDowell’s latest novel. While in Greece Blair was inspired by
the ancient culture, friendly people and the picturesque settings, and the plot
for the ‘Memory of Roses’ was born.
Blair
has a home on a remote island in the Caribbean where the local lore of the
‘Jumbie’ (‘the dead who walk’) formed the basis for her novel ‘Delighting In
Your Company’.
The
setting for Blair McDowell’s book, ‘Sonata’, is the spectacular city of
Vancouver with its
vibrant
multicultural population and its rich musical life. In ‘Sonata’, Blair
McDowell’s love of
music
comes into play, and is intricately woven into this story of mystery and
romance.
Blair
is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Romance Writers of America
(Greater
Vancouver
Chapter), and the Romance Writers of America (Women's Fiction).
Buy Links: Amazon
/ Nook
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The Memory of
Rose
The
Greek island of Corfu unearths the enduring love stories of two generations of
the
McQuaid
family. First, renowned archaeologist Ian McQuaid meets the love of his life
while
recuperating
from an illness contracted during a dig in Crete. Even though he is married,
his wife had not been a passionate partner for many years, and the appearance
of the stunning Maria Calbrese was a miracle sent to him at the lowest point in
his life.
Then
a generation later, Ian’s daughter Brit travels to Corfu after his death. He
left Brit a note
disclosing
that he owned a villa on Corfu, and that when he was there he had fallen in
love with a
woman
named Maria while still married to Brit’s mother. He asked Brit to deliver a
package to Maria, who he thought lived somewhere in Venice. Determined to
fulfill her father’s requests and return quickly to the US, Brit’s plan is soon
derailed. She meets archaeologist Dr. Andreas Leandros who looks like the Greek
gods of ancient times, and her own damaged heart begins to come alive.
What
does the mysterious package contain, and how will Brit find Maria as requested
by her
father?
Will finding her change Brit’s life? Will she manage to preserve her bond with Andreas,
or will she return to the US to live out her life without him?
Excerpt:
It
was on June eleventh that he met her. He had gone to Adriatika for his evening
meal. It was a
week
night and he had lingered over his late afternoon swim. By the time he arrived,
the few other diners were well into their meals.
“What
have you for me tonight, my friend?” he asked.
“Ah!
You are in luck. We have Rabbit Steffado and I’ve kept a portion back for you.”
Ian
settled into his chair at his regular table and opened his book. He’d long had
the habit of
reading
in restaurants until his food arrived. It kept him from feeling lonely.
He
heard a commotion at the door and glanced up from his book to see a stunning
young woman in conversation with Yiannis.
“Of
course you are not too late, Signorina,” Yiannis was saying as he showed her to
a table. “We
always
look forward to your return in June. Did you have a pleasant journey from
Venice?”
“Pleasant
enough, Yiannis. I hope you have some of your Rabbit Steffado for me tonight.
I’ve been looking forward to it for months.”
“Alas,
I am afraid the last portion was just ordered by someone else,” he said,
nodding in the
general
direction of Ian’s table. “But I have a very nice fish if you’re interested.”
“Hmm.
I’ll think about it. Meanwhile, if you could bring me a pitcher of your good
house wine…”
“Of
course.”
Ian
went back to reading his book. Suddenly he sensed that he wasn’t alone. He
looked up to see
the
woman who’d just entered the restaurant standing at his table, a brimming
pitcher of wine in her hand. She was tall and full breasted, her long ebony
hair swung loosely to her shoulders and her eyes were dark and lively. Her face
could have come from a Botticelli painting, beautifully oval, classically
Italian. She wore a low necked blouse that seemed to fall off one shoulder and
a full skirt that emphasized her small waist.
He
realized with a shock that she was speaking to him in English and that he
hadn’t heard a word
she
had said.
“I
beg your pardon?”
“I
said I assume you speak English since you’re reading a book in that language.
If you’d rather, we could speak in Italian. My Greek is a bit primitive.”
Confused,
Ian managed to stutter, “English will be fine.”
“Good.
I have a proposition for you.” She smiled.
Ian
thought whatever it is the answer is yes. He merely nodded.
“You,”
she resumed accusingly, “you have ordered the last portion of Rabbit Steffado.
I’ve been
looking
forward to Rabbit Steffado for months. I propose that we should enjoy that
rabbit together. There is always enough for two in Yiannis’ portions. Meanwhile
we can order some of Catarina’s eggplant and a salad to start and,” here she
held up the pitcher, “I already have the wine.” She waited expectantly.
Ian
threw back his head and laughed for the first time in months. “Please,” he
said, getting up
quickly
and pulling out a chair for her, “Be my guest. I’m Ian McQuaid.”
Over
the eggplant she told him she was from Venice and that her name was Maria. “I
always spend six weeks here at this time of the year. And this is my favorite
restaurant on Corfu. I always came here on my first night back.”
They
worked their way through the appetizers laughing and chatting about their
experiences on
Corfu
as if they were old friends.
The
rabbit arrived at the table, steaming and aromatic in its rich sauce. Maria
ladled it on to their
plates.
“So what brings you to Corfu?”
Ian
somehow didn’t want to admit his recent illness to this young woman who was the
picture of
health
and vitality. “I was working on Crete and I decided to take some time off. A
friend suggested Corfu.”
“What
do you do on Crete?”
“I’m
an archaeologist. My special area is Bronze-Age societies, the Minoans in
particular. Knossos, on Crete, is one of the best preserved Minoan sites in the
world. I’ve been working there off and on for some years.”
“You’re
an American aren’t you? Your accent isn’t British.”
“Yes.
I’m a professor at Stanford University in California. But I spend half of every
year in Greece.”
They
continued to chat and laugh their way through the rest of meal.
Ian
could hardly take his eyes off of her. She was so utterly alive. Her mobile
face telegraphed her every thought and mood. When she laughed at his stories
her whole face lit up. When she was serious,her eyes held the reflective calm
of a mountain lake. He found her utterly entrancing. By the time they’d finished
dessert he was wondering how he could prolong the evening, how he could arrange
to see her again.
Then
he reminded himself that he was still married, that he’d no right to become
involved with
this
young vibrant creature sitting at his table. And that surely she would have no
interest in him, a middle-aged man graying at the temples and many years her
senior. Regretfully, when Catarina began closing the shutters, he moved to pay
the bill. “Please allow me,” he said. “You’ve given me so much pleasure
tonight.”
She
nodded and rose to leave.
Outside
the restaurant, she paused confused, and looked around. “Where’s your car?”
“Actually,
I don’t have one. I haven’t found much need for one here. I walk everyplace.
The house I’m renting is just up the hill a mile or so.”
“Please
let me drive you home,” she said. “I insist. It is small payment for that
lovely dinner.”
Ten
minutes longer with her, Ian thought. Ten minutes more of her lovely voice and
beautiful
face.
“Of course,” he responded.
She
drove efficiently and competently. He watched the shadows and light fall on her
face as she
navigated
the curves of the narrow, winding country road.
“Turn
here,” he instructed as they reached the open gates to the property. She came
to a stop at
the
circle in front of the villa. The fountain was splashing, its dolphins alive in
the moonlight.
“What
a beautiful spot.” She said. They sat in silence for a moment, neither quite willing
to end the evening.
“You
could come in for a brandy,” he suggested.
They
got as far as the front door. Later they could neither of them remember who
moved first.
They
were in each other’s arms, tearing at their clothing, stumbling up the steps
toward the bedroom. Frustrated with their slow progress Ian swept her up into
his arms and carried her to his bed, covering her with his body. They made love
wordlessly, frantically, as if their very lives depended on their being
together in this way at this moment.
When
the storm had passed, Ian tried to speak. “I had no right to do this,” he said.
“I’m married.”
“Of
course you are,” she replied. “No man as attractive as you could be single. Not
at your age. I
came
to you willingly, I asked for no commitment. We have here and now. We have
tonight. Let’s not ask for more.”
He
buried his face in her fragrant hair.
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