Sara Craven - Tower Of Shadows

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVENpublished her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

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TITLE PAGE Tower of Shadows Sara Craven www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

ENDPAGE Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

COPYRIGHT Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

SABINE opened the front door with her latch-key and walked into the hall. She stood for a moment, looking round her, waiting for the onrush of some emotion—nostalgia, maybe, or regret. But all she felt was a strange emptiness.

The house, she thought, was like a vacuum, waiting for the personalities of its new owners to fill it.

There’s nothing for me here, she told herself. But then, after Maman died, there never really was.

She wished she hadn’t come, but Mr Braybrooke had been most insistent.

‘You and Miss Russell must meet to discuss the division of the contents. There are still clothes, I understand, and personal items which will need to be disposed of.’

Something in Sabine recoiled from the idea.

She said, ‘I suppose—a charity shop.’

‘By all means. But surely there will be keepsakes—small pieces of furniture, perhaps, that you will wish to have?’

Sabine shrugged. ‘Just Maman’s jewellery. She stated in her own will it was to come to me when Dad died.’ She paused. ‘I’m not sure he would have wanted me to have anything else. There were times during these last couple of years when I felt he hated me. That’s why, in the end, I stayed away.’

Mr Braybrooke looked pained. ‘But you were Mr Russell’s only child, my dear, and you must not doubt that he loved you, even if he didn’t always make it perfectly apparent.’

Sabine sighed. ‘Be honest, Mr Braybrooke. He left the house, his only tangible asset, jointly to my aunt and myself. I imagine you had to fight like a tiger to secure me even that half of his estate.’ She looked at him, brows lifted. ‘That’s so, isn’t it?’

His expression changed to embarrassment. ‘I really cannot reveal private discussions with a client.’

Sabine nodded. ‘I knew I was right,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s all right, Mr Braybrooke. I’ve managed to come to terms with it all. I think Dad was the kind of person who could only love one person in his life. He loved Maman, and when she died she took everything. I must have been a constant reminder of her, and he couldn’t bear it.’

Mr Braybrooke looked at her for a long moment. Then he said gently, ‘I don’t think, my dear, that your father was always very wise.’

Standing silent in the hall now, Sabine let herself feel once more the pain of Hugh Russell’s rejection of her. Her hands curled slowly into fists, the nails scoring the soft palms until she winced, and let them relax again.

Then squaring her shoulders, she crossed to the drawing-room door, and threw it open.

‘So you came.’ Aunt Ruth was occupying the wing chair beside the empty grate, her hands busy with the inevitable piece of knitting. Across the room, Sabine could sense her hostility, and wondered how much influence she’d exerted over her brother in those last years.

She said quietly, ‘Not by choice, but the house has to be cleared. I see that. When is the sale due to be completed?’