The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,90

dim them, frightened of giving myself away.

A tap at the door. Just a branch, blown against it by the wind? Or a knuckle?

Was someone there?

I froze. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t call out. I just stood there, on my side of the door, my breath stopped in my mouth, and waited. My heart banged.

The silence buzzed. Nothing. Just the wind. I was being a fool, spooking myself over nothing.

I recovered enough to ease the handle of the front door and peer out.

Once I opened the door, light from behind me spilled out, drawing a fading cone across the ground. I shivered in the sudden chill. My eyes scanned the darkness, trying to read the moving patterns under the trees.

A night wind was blowing up, stirring the autumn leaves, setting them dancing in circles.

‘Hello?’ My voice sounded thin, vanishing on the breeze. ‘Is someone there?’

My heart raced. Was that a person, moving between the trees, or just the shifting shadow of a moving branch? I took several steps into the darkness, then paused, trembling.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself and carried on, further into the copse. Above my head, the branches, carrying the last dry leaves of the year, swished and rustled. Every time a twig cracked underfoot, I started.

Nothing. I shook my head, trying to reassure myself. I was being absurd, creeping around outside at night, terrifying myself. What was I thinking? I turned and began to head back.

The cone of light from the open door bled into the darkness. As I reached the blurred edge, I stopped abruptly and stared at the ground.

There was something there, in the mud. Marks. Something the girls had drawn, perhaps, playing in the earth with sticks. But why hadn’t I noticed them before?

I bent down to look, suddenly afraid. They weren’t random scratches. They looked too definite.

I ran my eye along the marks, following the lines through the gloom, tracing the shapes.

In the weak half-light, they seemed almost to form two words, words which the blowing dust and mulch were already starting to erase.

Miss me?

If you had your heart in your mouth while reading The Mistress, why not try Jill Childs' USA Today bestselling novel Gracie’s Secret – when five-year-old Gracie is involved in a terrible car crash, Jen learns that her daughter may have witnessed a long-buried secret in the moments before the accident.

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Gracie’s Secret

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My dearest daughter, I will never forget the day I nearly lost you. The day you learned the secrets that would tear our lives apart…

Time stops for Jen when her beloved daughter, Gracie, is involved in a terrible car crash. Pronounced dead at the scene, it’s a miracle when paramedics manage to then resuscitate the little girl.

The relief Jen feels at Gracie’s recovery is matched only by her fury at the driver of the car – her ex-husband’s new girlfriend Ella. Jen has never trusted Ella, and now her worst fears have been confirmed.

But then Gracie begins to tell strange stories about what she heard in the car that day, and what she saw in those moments near death. It’s clear that there’s something shocking hidden in Ella’s past… but exposing it could tear all their lives apart.

An emotional page-turner that will take your breath away. Perfect for fans of Jodi Picoult, Lisa Wingate and Kerry Fisher.

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Books by Jill Childs

The Mistress

The First Wife

Invisible Girl

Jessica’s Promise

Gracie’s Secret

AVAILABLE IN AUDIO

Jessica’s Promise (Available in the UK and US)

Gracie’s Secret (Available in the UK and US)

A Letter From Jill

I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read The Mistress. If you enjoyed it and want to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

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When I was a teenager, and prone to passionate, moralistic judgements about the world, an older friend told me how having children had changed her attitude to marriage. Before children, she said, if she’d ever found out that her husband was cheating on her, she would have packed her bags and left him.

Now, with children to consider, she thought it more likely she’d stay, however hurt and humiliated she might feel, and try to weather the crisis.

That conversation happened decades ago, but it’s stayed with me,