Kate Forster - The Perfect Location

AVON

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Kate Forster 2012

Kate Forster asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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.

Ebook Edition © May 2012 ISBN: 9780007452491

Version: 2014-07-23

For Nicole whose ‘deliberately vague’ directions steered me here.

Table of Contents

Title Page KATE FORSTER The Perfect Location

Copyright Copyright AVON An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 77–85 Fulham Palace Road Hammersmith, London W6 8JB www.harpercollins.co.uk Copyright © Kate Forster 2012 Kate Forster asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for 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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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. Ebook Edition © May 2012 ISBN: 9780007452491 Version: 2014-07-23

Dedication Dedication For Nicole whose ‘deliberately vague’ directions steered me here.

Part One: Pre-Production PART ONE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Part Two: Production

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

Part Three: Post-Production

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

Epilogue

Deleted Scenes

Read on for an exclusive interview with Kate Forster and a guide to the Perfect Locations in Italy.

In Conversation with Kate Forster

About the Author

About the Publisher

There is not a writer who is published who doesn’t owe somebody something at some point in their career. Writing books is collaborative, even though a few writers’ egos might argue otherwise.

Without the following people in my life, who knows where I would be and what I would be doing. I want to say thank you to them, it’s not nearly enough but it’s a start. Yes, I could drop them a bottle of wine and a thank you card but I would prefer to see their names in print for posterity and all that jazz. They put up with me; they deserve something more concrete than a Pinot Grigio and a scrawled note. Trust me, I can be hard work.

*Warning: gushing ahead. Look away if it offends.

To my mother Joan who never censored the books in our house and who has champagne taste and a song for everything.

To Emma and Fiona for being the first readers of everything I write. Thank you for telling me to keep writing. I am here now, because of you both. You are my ideal readers and ideal best girlfriends.

To my agent Tara Wynne at Curtis Brown for taking the call, seeing something in the first draft and taking me on, typos and all. Tara, you are a tigress, a patient teacher and always, extremely fabulous. I am blessed to have you in my corner.

To Domonique for her cheerleading across the pond and never-ending belief in me.

To Claire Bord and Sammia Rafique, thank you for your support, collaboration and sound advice. It has been a dream to work with you both and I am very thankful you took me on.

To Tansy for keeping me up to date with everything and telling me when something is really ‘lame’.

To Spike for having such faith in everything I do and not complaining (much) when dinner doesn’t always arrive on time.

And to David for understanding I didn’t have a choice and wanting me to be happy more than anything else.

Rose Nightingale walked into LAX, hiding behind large Dior sunglasses and ignoring the photographers that lurked at the international terminal, waiting for celebrities to come and go. They took their chance to harangue them, usually when they were holding travel-weary children and pushing a trolley full of luggage. It didn’t matter how fabulous you were, travel was travel and it was a bore.

As Rose approached the United Lounge, she was greeted by a flight attendant who ushered her inside a door to the sanctity of the private space.

‘Hello, Ms Nightingale. May I have your passport, please?’

Rose handed it over with a smile.

‘Can I offer you champagne and a light snack?’

‘No, thanks,’ said Rose as the attendant led her towards a private seating area.

Rose’s phone rang and she answered it as she sat down in a corner of the lounge, ignoring the flickers of recognition from other travellers.

‘Slapper,’ said Rose, seeing Kelly’s name appear on her phone.

‘Tosser, you all ready for Italia?’ Kelly’s thick Northern accent came down the line and Rose smiled at the sound of her oldest friend’s voice.

‘All sorted, babe. You and Chris there already?’

‘Yeah, we got here two days ago. Shit, it’s gorgeous, Rosie. You’re gonna flip when you see your villa, I checked it out yesterday, although the housekeeper is like something out of central casting. “Super Nonna”, I call her.’

Rose laughed. Kelly always had a way with words that summed up a person or a situation perfectly.

Rose and Kelly were from different parts of England, both geographically and economically but these differences were never remarked upon or noticed even by each other. The only acknowledgements they made to their upbringings were their nicknames referencing people’s perceptions of them, Rose being an upper class girl and Kelly being from Yorkshire.