Kitty Neale - A Father’s Revenge

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2011 as A Father’s Revenge

This edition published 2021

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2011

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollins Publishers 2020

Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb/Alison Eldred (main figure), © Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (boy), Shutterstock.com(street, left), © Claire Ward (street, right), Heritage Image Partnership Ltd/Alamy Stock Photo (Battersea Power Station)

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847562432

Ebook Edition © July 2020 ISBN: 9781847563040

Version: 2020-10-19

To a truly inspirational woman and dear friend, Ann Jones.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Wandsworth Prison, 1970

If he torched the place, how long would it take for their bodies to burn?

He wanted them to suffer a prolonged, painful death, and now, as Kevin Dolby imagined his parents’ screams, he chuckled. While serving his sentence, he’d had years to brood, his hate festering until it had become an obsession. It was his mother’s fault that he was serving time and to top that he’d been cut out of their will. Him, their only son and heir!

He would punish them. They’d suffer. He’d see to that.

In his dismal cell, Kevin had fantasised about the many ways he could end their lives, but twice so far the parole board had denied him early release. He’d been a mug, played the hard man, had time added on after attacking his cellmate, but at last he had begun playing the game. Now, after serving thirteen years of a fifteen-year sentence, Kevin had ‘found’ religion – or so they thought. He’d become a consummate actor with his meek and mild manner, a ‘reformed’ character.

He was sure that he’d be granted parole this time – that he’d soon be free and ready to exact his revenge. Another scenario began to form in Kevin’s mind, this time taking into account that it couldn’t reach its finale until his parents had changed their will in his favour again. To make that happen he’d have to lull them into a false sense of security … play the part of a loving son.

A scowl marred his handsome face. Love! It wasn’t love he felt for them. It was hate!

Dolly Dolby smiled at her secret. For so long she had been woolly-minded, medicated after her mental breakdown, but just lately she had surreptitiously stopped taking the pills that Bernie, her husband, fed her. She felt that her mind had come alive again, that she was in control and thinking clearly for the first time in years.

It was a lovely spring day in March and Dolly was looking forward to seeing John, her grandson. He was the image of his handsome and dark-haired father, so like Kevin that every time she saw him her heart jolted.

Kevin was in prison, serving a fifteen-year sentence for robbery with violence, and had refused to allow her to visit him. She had no idea why, but then, to her joy, he had at last replied to one of her letters. The first thing she’d noticed when she went to see him was that Kevin’s eyes now burned with religious fervour and it was as though her son had been reborn. He wrote regularly now, his letters full of his plans to help others when he was released, and though until then she hadn’t had much time for religion, Dolly had gone down on her knees and thanked God for her son’s religious conversion.

At last Dolly heard the sound of a car pulling up outside their cottage which sat on a quiet lane on the outskirts of a village near Southsea in Hampshire. They had no close neighbours, though that didn’t bother Dolly. Nowadays she preferred seclusion. She had once owned a café in Battersea, London, and ruled the roost. No one had dared to cross her, but her world collapsed when Kevin had been arrested. There had been so much gossip, the story reaching the newspapers, and she’d been brought low with shame.

However, many long years had passed since then and pushing the memories to one side, Dolly flung open the street door. Her husband Bernie had taken to gardening with a passion and some of the daffodils were in bloom, but Dolly only had eyes for her grandson as he walked up the path.

‘Hello, Gran,’ John said, briefly accepting a cuddle before pulling away.

Dolly flinched, upset that he wasn’t more affectionate with her. Kevin had once rejected her too, and now his son was doing the same. No, stop it, stop being silly, she told herself. John was nearly thirteen years old now, no longer a little boy who wanted hugs. She had to control herself, had to stop imagining slights where none was intended. Briefly touching John’s shoulder, Dolly ushered him inside.

‘You took your time,’ she said huffily to Bernie.

Bernie frowned and for a moment he looked at her intently. ‘You seem to forget it’s a two-hour round trip to Winchester and back.’

Dolly didn’t want Bernie to realise that she hadn’t been taking her pills. ‘Sorry, love,’ she said meekly. ‘It’s just that I couldn’t wait to see John and the time seemed to drag. I expect you could do with a cup of tea?’