happier times. Now, Joely had run away to carry out an assignment heaven only knew where and for an author who was as well known for being a recluse as she was for her peculiar books. Marianne hadn’t even known F.M. Donahoe was a woman until Joely had told her, and she might not have been particularly interested then had the postman not turned up this morning with a special delivery from F.M. Donahoe.
It was right there on the kitchen table, a large, neat brown envelope with her name and address handwritten on the front, seal broken, closely typed pages tucked back inside, out of sight.
Her mouth was dry as she looked at it. It had come out of the past like a karmic punch to the heart and all these hours later she still wasn’t breathing steadily.
She guessed Donahoe was Freda’s married name, unless it was a pen name – that was also possible.
Marianne had no idea what to do. There had been no note in the envelope, nothing to tell her what Freda wanted, or what she intended to do with these pages. And where was Joely?
Hearing the doorbell chime down the hall she pressed a hand to her heart to steady it. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but it could be Holly having lost her key again. Or the postman – please God not with another special delivery.
She walked along the hall aware of how dread was slowing her pace; the sudden and brutal thrust into the past was affecting her badly. For whole moments at a time it seemed to distort reality and make her uncertain of herself in a way she hadn’t felt in so long.
It had taken years to get over what had happened, and now it was as though she was being sucked back into the very worst of it.
Though she checked the spyhole the person in the porch had stepped aside so all she could see was the shoulder of someone wearing a grey coat. She knew she ought to call out to ask who it was, but she didn’t want to appear timid or pathetic. So she opened the door wide and stood tall, almost confrontational before the woman whose back was to her.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked tonelessly.
The woman turned around and as fear bloomed in Marianne’s heart she felt her senses swim.
‘Hello,’ Freda said smoothly. ‘We’ve never met, but I think you know who I am.’
‘What do you want?’ Marianne’s voice was clipped, too defensive, she needed to calm herself, handle this in a way that wouldn’t antagonize the woman; that made it clear she wasn’t afraid of her.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ Freda responded.
Battling with her conflicting instincts, Marianne stood aside and gestured for her to go into the sitting room. There was no point trying to avoid this, not while she couldn’t get hold of Joely.
The sitting room was large with a high corniced ceiling, two tall sash windows at the front, a white marble fireplace over the hearth displaying an assortment of family photos and three neatly arranged lemon striped sofas around a glass coffee table.
‘Is this where your children grew up?’ Freda asked, taking it all in and pulling a face that showed as much disdain as interest.
‘Where’s Joely?’ Marianne asked.
Freda sat down on one of the sofas and crossed her legs. ‘You’ll have read the memoir she’s been working on by now,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap. ‘I think …’
‘Where is she?’ Marianne repeated.
With a small sigh, Freda said, ‘We have some things to discuss, you and I …’
‘I am discussing nothing until you tell me where my daughter is.’
Freda waved a hand as though batting the words away. ‘She’s perfectly all right, and you’ll get her back as soon as you’ve done as I ask.’
Get her back? Marianne’s heart began to thud. Freda was holding Joely hostage? ‘Tell me where Joely is,’ she growled, ‘or I’m calling the police.’
Freda laughed. ‘To tell them what, exactly?’
Marianne opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Freda’s eyes became opaque, glassy, unreadable, as she said, ‘You must have known the day of reckoning would come, Linda.’
Marianne still couldn’t speak. Inside she was shaking, as much in anger as in fear. What did this woman want? Why couldn’t she have left the past where it was? What did she hope to gain from raking it all up again?
‘Yes, tea would be very nice, thank you,’ Freda smiled. ‘Milk, no sugar,’ and, as if