Bring Me Back (B.A. Paris)(71)

It’s time for me to go now. I don’t know how all this is going to end, if you’ll find me, if you’ll bring me back. But in case you don’t, there’s one thing I want you to know. I always loved you, Finn.





We both did.





EPILOGUE

Finn

I did bring Layla back. I brought her back to St Mary’s, to be buried in the little churchyard there. I was handcuffed to a police officer at the time but at least I was present, thanks to Harry, who once again pulled strings for me. He wanted to try and get me off the manslaughter charge but I wouldn’t let him. Anyway, the bruises were there on Layla’s shoulders, proof that I had gripped her, shaken her, pushed her.

I’m kept alone in a cell, on suicide watch, with plenty of time to dwell on what might have been, if only I’d understood. I deserve my life of solitude. I shun all visits, from Harry, from Ruby, from Tony. My only comfort is knowing that Peggy is loved and cared for at The Jackdaw.

I used to think it was the not knowing which was the worst; not knowing what had happened to Layla, not knowing where she was, if she was alive or dead. But the knowing is so much worse; knowing how much she must have suffered, knowing that I failed her, knowing that in the end, I killed her. Yet there’s one thing that plagues me above all else, and it’s this: if I had truly loved Layla, surely I would have known her anywhere.





Acknowledgements

It seems that the more books I write, the more people there are to thank. As always, at the top of my list are the hugely talented Camilla Wray and Sally Williamson, my agent and editor respectively. Without their enthusiasm, encouragement, and endless patience, I wouldn’t be living my dream of becoming an author. I’ll never be able to thank them enough. They really are the best. Grateful thanks also to the amazing Lisa Milton and Kate Mills.

I’m indebted to the rest of the teams at Darley Anderson and HQ, who work tirelessly to ensure that my books reach the widest possible audience, both in the UK and abroad. I’m only sorry that I can’t name each of you in person, because the list would be too long. But you know who you are!

It has been a pleasure this year to meet some of my editors in other countries, and to have participated in book festivals around the globe. Thank you not only for inviting me, but also for making my time with you so enjoyable. Special thanks to my publishers in the US, St Martin’s Press, notably Sally Richardson, Jennifer Weis and Liza Senz, and to Bertrand Pirel and Marie Dêcreme from Hugo et Cie, my publishers in France.

Huge thanks to the unsung heroes of the book industry - the bloggers and readers, retailers and librarians, whose support is so vital. Thank you for buying my books, for reading them, for recommending them, for your reviews. I couldn’t do it without you.

Thank you to my fellow authors, many of whom I’ve been able to meet this year, and who have become such wonderful friends. It’s a real pleasure to be able to talk all things book-related over lunch or tea! And to my friends outside the book-world, both in the UK and in France, for always being interested and supportive.

I owe special thanks to Nina Phipps, from the isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, who kindly suggested the Pentland Road as a possible location for the house where Layla grew up. Also to Dominique Oddon, who shared her expertise in Psychology to give me insight into personality disorders.

Last but not least, I’m indebted to my family. First of all, to my truly lovely daughters, Sophie, Chloe, Celine, Eloise and Margaux for being my first readers, and for letting me talk ad nauseum about my books. To Calum, for his unfailing support and for still making me laugh every day, no mean feat after thirty-five years of marriage! To my parents, for still being here, at 94 and 87 years old, to read another of my books – keep eating that porridge, Dad! To Christine, the best sister in the world, and my best friend. To my brothers Kevin, Francis, Philip and Dominic, for always asking about my writing, with a special mention to Francis for giving me that best and most satisfying thing in the world – the last laugh. Thanks, Frank!





Read on for an extract from the million-copy bestseller

Behind Closed Doors

Sometimes the perfect marriage is the perfect lie.





PRESENT

The champagne bottle knocks against the marble kitchen counter, making me jump. I glance at Jack, hoping he won’t have noticed how nervous I am. He catches me looking and smiles.

‘Perfect,’ he says softly.

Taking my hand, he leads me to where our guests are waiting. As we go through the hall, I see the flowering lily Diane and Adam brought us for our garden. It’s such a beautiful pink that I hope Jack will plant it where I’ll be able to see it from the bedroom window. Just thinking of the garden makes tears well up from deep inside me and I swallow them down quickly. With so much at stake tonight, I need to concentrate on the here and now.

In the sitting room, a fire burns steadily in the antique grate. We’re well into March but there’s still a nip in the air and Jack likes our guests to be as comfortable as possible.

‘Your house is really something, Jack,’ Rufus says admiringly.‘Don’t you think so, Esther?’

I don’t know Rufus or Esther. They are new to the area and tonight is the first time we’ve met, which makes me feel more nervous than I already am. But I can’t afford to let Jack down, so I fix a smile on my face, praying that they’ll like me. Esther doesn’t smile back, so I guess she’s reserving judgement. But I can’t blame her. Since joining our circle of friends a month ago, I’m sure she’s been told over and over again that Grace Angel, wife of brilliant lawyer Jack Angel, is a perfect example of a woman who has it all – the perfect house, the perfect husband, the perfect life. If I were Esther, I’d be wary of me too.