Release date - 14th December 2017 (Paperback)
Book length - 448 pages Publisher - Transworld Publishers (Corgi) Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Anne Cater for providing me with a copy of this book for review and for the opportunity to take part in this blog tour. ABOUT THE BOOK When a paragraph in an evening newspaper reveals a decades-old tragedy, most readers barely give it a glance. But for three strangers it’s impossible to ignore. For one woman, it’s a reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to her. For another, it reveals the dangerous possibility that her darkest secret is about to be discovered. And for the third, a journalist, it’s the first clue in a hunt to uncover the truth. The Child’s story will be told. MY REVIEW Unlike most of the people in the book world I have never read The Widow, which was Fiona Barton's first successful novel, so when I started THE CHILD I was going in blind with no expectations or hype which worked really well for me. Brimming with suspense, plenty of twists, and an 'Wow' ending, THE CHILD by Fiona Barton is a gripping and complex story which will completely haunt you from the very first page. When the tiny remains of a little child are found it will change the lives of a group of women irrevocably. There is Angela whose baby was stolen from her years ago and who has never moved on in her own head, always wondering about her little girl Alice. Then there is Emma who suffers from anxiety and is worried about pushing away her beloved husband who has no idea about her past, and Jude who she has always had problems with. And finally Kate, who works as a journalist, who sees this snippet of a child's remains and is determined to dig up the truth at all costs. The story is told from each character's perspective which quickly pulls you into their lives and makes the drama that more intense in the process. While I had my ideas of which way this story may go, I was wrong (I love it when that happens!!) and I devoured this book in one sitting. THE CHILD by Fiona Barton is a dark and heartbreaking story that is riddled with secrets and lies throughout, and I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys a completely absorbing crime fiction novel. I'm off to buy The Widow now! Author Bio: Fiona Barton's debut, The Widow, was a Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller and has been published in thirty-five countries and optioned for television. Her second novel, The Child, was a Sunday Times bestseller. Born in Cambridge, Fiona currently lives in south-west France. Previously, she was a senior writer at the Daily Mail, news editor at the Daily Telegraph, and chief reporter at the Mail on Sunday, where she won Reporter of the Year at the British Press Awards. While working as a journalist, Fiona reported on many high-profile criminal cases and she developed a fascination with watching those involved, their body language and verbal tics. Fiona interviewed people at the heart of these crimes, from the guilty to their families, as well as those on the periphery, and found it was those just outside the spotlight who interested her most. For more information: Website - fionabartonauthor.com Twitter - twitter.com/figbarton Facebook - www.facebook.com/fionabartonauthor DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT ALL OF THE OTHER STOPS ALONG THE WAY!!
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Release date - 5th December 2017
Book length - 297 pages Publisher - St. Martin's Press Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Justine from St. Martin's Press for providing me with a copy of this book for review through Netgalley.com ABOUT THE BOOK COWBOY AND THE CAPTIVE Melina is one of two gorgeous twin daughters, the clever and considerate one who always spared her parents the humiliation of what her sister Maria had wrought. But now, Melina is finally ready to stand up for herself and seize control of her life—until she is kidnapped by a cowboy, named Jardin, who is dead-set on settling the score with her family. There’s only one catch: In capturing Melina, this tough, rough, hunk of a man has actually found a way to unleash her greatest fantasies, body and soul. . . COWBOY AND THE THIEF Beautiful, spirited Angel Manning has always longed to experience the power of her ancestors’ most precious heirloom. Her mother once told her that the legendary Irish torque would lead Angel to the one man worthy of possessing her heart. But when Angel learns that her father, now a widower, has sold the torque to the notorious two-timer Jack Riley, she is furious. Of course she plans to take back what is rightfully hers, by whatever means necessary. But the fate of the ancient Druids works in mysterious ways. . .Could it be that this slick, smooth-talking cowboy was destined to satisfy Angel’s deepest desires all along? MY REVIEW RUGGED TEXAS COWBOY by Lora Leigh is a fabulous bargain as you get two seductive stories in one great package and be prepared to get very hot under the collar. Both stories have very compelling female characters that are strong yet vulnerable, tough yet delicate, and both are really likeable, but I have to admit that Melina was that little bit extra special as she had gone through so much and been abandoned and abused by those who should care for her the most, that you cannot help but hope that she finds some happiness. The male characters are confident, powerful, and loveable rogues who are used to getting exactly what they want and struggle a little when they find themselves on the receiving end of some not-so-subtle put-downs from these women who have captured their attention. With danger, desire, and a magical connection, both of these erotic stories are sure to warm you up on these cold winter nights, but there are also some heartbreaking moments too that will pull on your heartstrings, and makes these stories well worth reading. Author Bio: Lora Leigh lives in the rolling hills of Kentucky, often found absorbing the ambience of this peaceful setting. She dreams in bright, vivid images of the characters intent on taking over her writing life, and fights a constant battle to put them on the hard drive of her computer before they can disappear as fast as they appeared. Lora’s family, and her writing life co-exist, if not in harmony, in relative peace with each other. Surrounded by a menagerie of pets, friends, and a teenage son who keeps her quick wit engaged, Lora’s life is filled with joys, aided by her fans whose hearts remind her daily why she writes. For more information: Website - www.loraleigh.com Twitter - twitter.com/LoraLeigh_1 Facebook - www.facebook.com/loraleighauthor Instagram - www.instagram.com/lora.leigh/?hl=en #Review: Christmas at the Candied Apple Cafè by Katherine Garbera @katheringarbera @HarperImpulse8/12/2017 Release date - 10th November 2017
Book length - 224 pages Publisher - Harper Impulse Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Katherine Garbera and Harper Impulse for providing me with a copy of this book for review through Netgalley.com ABOUT THE BOOK There’s nothing so magical as Christmas in New York… Santa is coming to New York! Snow is falling, excitement is high and the delicious scent of chocolate drifts along Fifth Avenue – the Candied Apple Café is ready for Christmas! And no one is busier than publicist Iona Summerlin. With so much to do, she doesn’t have time to think about men, dating, or the fact her last boyfriend ditched her for her brother… Relationships are off the menu! Hotel boss Mads Eriksson is not looking forward to the first Christmas since losing his wife. His six-year-old daughter Sofia has lost her belief in Christmas magic along with her mother, and he has no idea what to do. But an unusually festive business meeting at the Candied Apple – and meeting the beautiful Iona – starts to defrost Mads’ frozen heart, and suddenly life seems full of light and sparkle again. If only they dare to believe, maybe all their Christmas dreams will come true! MY REVIEW I have been lucky enough to read so many wonderful Christmas novels this winter but CHRISTMAS AT THE CANDIED APPLE CAFÈ by Katherine Garbera has got to be my favourite! With beautiful settings (I really wish a candied apple cafè existed here in Ireland) and engaging characters, I devoured this book within hours even though I never wanted it to end. Iona Summerlin and her best friends have worked really hard to make their exquisite cafè such a success but Iona isn't finished yet. Having lived under the shadow of her successful father who is now gone, Iona pushes herself hard looking for the praise that he could never give her even when he was alive. But the cafè is her baby and it makes her happy. But when sexy Mads Eriksson and his adorable little girl, Sofia, enter her life, Iona begins to realise that maybe there is so much more to life than business. But Mads is caught up in his own troubles as this will be their first Christmas since the death of his wife. He is determined to see his daughter happy this season even if he hates it but the last thing he expected to feel was a connection to a woman who is Christmas personified. As Mads and Iona struggle with what seems to be happening between them, they both agree that Sofia is precious and needs to find the spirit of the holidays. And who knows what magic the festive season may weave on those who need it most ... I LOVED THIS BOOK!!!! Mads and Sofia are so adorable and it broke my heart as we learned what they had been through and were still going through, with their grief. Iona is such a bubbly, caring person but as we see beneath the always-happy facade we get to see her insecurities and a longing for what she wants from her future. With wonderful festive detail and plenty of romance and misunderstandings to keep you hooked from start to finish, CHRISTMAS AT THE CANDIED APPLE CAFÈ by Katherine Garbera is sure to put you in the holiday mood and will warm your heart to the very last line. A stunning Christmas romance that is a must for fiction fans. Author Bio: Katherine Garbera is the USA Today best-selling author of more than 90 books. A Florida native who grew up to travel the globe, Katherine makes her home in the Midlands of the UK with her husband, two children and a very spoiled miniature Dachshund. Her latest release CHRISTMAS AT THE CANDIED APPLE CAFE is available Nov. 10, 2017. For more information: Website - www.katherinegarbera.com Twitter - twitter.com/katheringarbera Facebook - www.facebook.com/KatherineGarberaAuthor/ Instagram - www.instagram.com/katherinegarbera/ #Blogtour #Review #Extract: His Guilty Secret by Hèlene Fermont @helenefermont @BookPublicistUK7/12/2017 Release date - 27th November 2017
Book length - 268 pages Publisher - Fridhem Publishing Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Natali from www.thebookpublicist.co.uk for providing me with a copy of this book for review, the extract, and the opportunity to take part in this blog tour. ABOUT THE BOOK When Jacques’s body is discovered in a hotel room his wife, Patricia, suspects he has been hiding something from her. Why was he found naked and who is the woman that visited his grave on the day of the funeral? Significantly, who is the unnamed beneficiary Jacques left a large sum of money to in his will and what is the reason her best friend, also Jacques’s sister, Coco, refuses to tell her what he confided to her? Struggling to find out the truth, Patricia visits Malmö where her twin sister Jasmine lives and is married to her ex boyfriend. But the sisters relationship is toxic and when a family member dies shortly after, an old secret is revealed that shines a light on an event that took place on their tenth birthday. As one revelation after the other is revealed, Patricia is yet to discover her husband's biggest secret and what ultimately cost him his life. His Guilty Secret is an unafraid examination of the tangled bonds between siblings, the lengths we go to in protecting our wrongdoings, and the enduring psychological effects this has on the innocent...and the not so innocent. MY REVIEW HIS GUILTY SECRET by Hèlene Fermont is a layered and in-depth look at the complexities of relationships, secrets, and grief. While this book wasn't exactly what I had expected (there are no huge plot twists or fast-paced action), it was still a compelling and absorbing book and I read it in one sitting. When Patricia learns that her beloved husband, Jacques, has died of a heart attack in a nearby hotel, she is bereft and overcome with grief. But she is also suspicious. Why was he at that hotel and who was the woman who visited his grave? Determined to find out the truth she will stop at nothing to uncover just who exactly her husband was, and as she begins to realise that almost everyone she trusted has lied to her, Patricia tries to salvage her relationship with her twin sister Jasmine, who for reasons unknown to her, seems to despise her. But Jasmine has her own issues to solve and the last thing she wants is the perfect twin showing up in her life. As lies, secrets, and betrayals come to light, HIS GUILTY SECRET by Hèlene Fermont will take you on a journey through the selfish side of human nature and relationships. I felt sad at many points throughout this story as nobody seemed to value love and marriage but it did let you get a real insight into the character's personalities. If you enjoy a good drama, then HIS GUILTY SECRET will be right up your street, and is well worth reading! Author Bio: I was born in Malmö, Sweden’s third largest city and beautiful cultural hub where I enjoyed an idyllic childhood, surrounded by beaches, parks and commons. My parental home was filled with music and literature and I started to write short stories which I entered into competitions when I was eight years old. Writing is my passion. I moved to London in the mid-90s and the city has been my home for more than 20 years. Malmö is my native city and I regularly spend part of the year there surrounded by the beautiful landscape and tranquility which inspires my writing. My debut novel Because of You was published in August 2016. The novel is inspired by my own visits to London during the 80s. The eclectic club scene was something that I was too young to appreciate fully at the time but it is emblematic of an exciting era that is now gone forever. My second novel - We Never Said Goodbye - was published on the 6th April 2017 and my third - His Guilty Secret - is also out now in paperback and eBook. For more information: Website - helenefermont.com Twitter - twitter.com/helenefermont Facebook - www.facebook.com/helenefermontauthor/ Instagram - www.instagram.com/helenefermont/ READ ON FOR A COMPELLING EXTRACT ... EXTRACT Looking tired and exasperated, Rudy replied, “Coco’s been hooked on sleeping tablets and antidepressants for at least five years. I only found out about six months ago after I accidentally discovered them in a drawer in her bedside table. I knew something was wrong when she started slurring her words repeatedly and kept stumbling over things. I was terrified there was something wrong with her, something sinister. Coco confessed when I told her I knew she had a problem. I may as well tell you…She’s lost her job, Pat. She spends her entire life inside, drinking.” He had tears in his eyes. “But why? Why would she drink herself into oblivion and take tablets? I hope she’s not mixing them with alcohol, it’s a lethal combination…” But as she said it, the despair in Rudy’s eyes confirmed her worst fear. Her best friend was an addict. “Where is she?” Patricia asked, swallowing hard. “Coco’s upstairs, fast asleep, reeking of booze, hence the reason I’ve no wine to offer you. I’m sorry you found out about it like this, especially after everything you’ve been through. Coco’s devastated about Jacques but instead of sharing her feelings with me, she prefers to dwell in self-pity and to hell with our relationship! I know we won’t recover from this.” He sounded as if he’d already given up. “Is there anything I can do to help her?” Patricia volunteered, feeling drained of emotion. First Jacques, now this. When he didn’t respond, she took a step closer to him. “Rudy…were you aware of Jacques checking into hotels under a false name?” Her eyes searched his for an explanation. “No, Patricia. Until his death, I never knew Jacques stayed overnight in a hotel when he was in London. It sure beats me why he didn’t return to you as soon as his shift ended. But then again, nothing surprises me anymore. People don’t always live up to our expectations of them, I know that now.” DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT ALL OF THE OTHER STOPS ALONG THE WAY!! Release date - 5th December 2017
Book length - 299 pages Publisher - St. Martin's Press Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Meghan from St. Martin's Press for providing me with a copy of this book for review through Netgalley.com ABOUT THE BOOK Home--in the island village of Cloud Bay--is where the heart is. . . Leah Santelli always knew that Zach Harper, son of a rock legend and her best friend's brother, was painfully out of reach. Then, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, Leah shocked herself by asking for--and receiving--the gift she wanted: one night of passion with Zach before he left town to pursue his rock star dreams. Now, years later, Zach is back in Cloud Bay to record his first solo album. His return could also be Leah's big chance to step up her own music career. But getting the producing credit she needs means spending long hours with Zach in the recording studio...and falling back into the habit of longing for him, for better or worse. Zach used to believe that a man must put his past behind him. But coming back home for Cloud Bay's famed music festival has allowed him to finally make amends with his family and, much to his surprise, reunite with Leah. He might have left her once but now it seems he can't stay away. Trouble is, even though the heat between them burns hotter than ever, Leah has old wounds in need of healing before she can give Zach a real chance. Can he find a way to convince her that they can make more than just great music together--and that she's the one that he wants for all time? MY REVIEW Leah Santelli has never truly forgotten that one night all those years ago with her best friends brother, but she has changed in the last ten years and is no simpering girl with stars in her eyes. So when Zach Harper returns with plans to launch his own solo career, Leah is certain that she is the producer he needs to make him a huge success in his own right. And she can definitely ignore the spark of attraction that still seems to exist between them ... Zach hasn't been the best brother in the past few years and when he returns home to Cloud Bay he hopes to salvage some of the closeness that he used to share with his sisters. And after being left in the lurch by his current band, a solo career just feels like the right move. And when he sets his eyes on Leah again there is something about her that just seems to get under his skin. But Zach is used to things going his way and when it comes down to it will he make the biggest mistake of his life and walk away from Cloud Bay forever? NO PLACE LIKE YOU by Emma Douglas is the third book in this series but is easily read as a standalone. While I did find the pace a tad slow throughout, I really liked Leah, Faith, and Mina, and the community of Cloud Bay. Zach is handsome, charismatic, and sexy, but at times he got on my last damn nerve, and I wanted to shout at him to wake up!! NO PLACE LIKE YOU is a lovely romance about family, friendship, and finding your own place in a world where everyone compares you to someone else and is an enjoyable story. Author Bio: Emma Douglas has read like a wild thing since she was small. She discovered romance novels at an age that way probably way too young but she survived unscathed. When she realized you could make up stories as well as read them, she started taking notes about what the characters wandering through her head were telling her and then, eventually, books happened. Before the books happened she did the usual things (was a band geek (and a geek generally), had crushes on rock stars and fictional characters, spent chunks of her summers on an island beach, got a degree in something sensible that doesn’t involve writing about kissing, became a black belt in internet procrastination, fell down the rabbit-hole of craft, traveled a bit, indulged her love of baked goods, got bossed around by cats, began a quest for the perfect margarita, and napped to recover from all of the above. She still does most of that plus the writing thing from a tiny house which her feline overlords have kindly agreed to share with her. For more information: Website - www.emmadouglasbooks.com Twitter - twitter.com/Em_Douglas1 Facebook - www.facebook.com/writermelaniescott/ Instagram - www.instagram.com/melwrites/ Release date - 29th November 2017
Book length - 348 pages Publisher - Bookouture Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Kim Nash from Bookouture for providing me with a copy of this book for review via Netgalley.com, and for the opportunity to take part in this blog tour. ABOUT THE BOOK Just for a moment, I was young and invincible again, back before I made the decision that changed the rest of my life… Susie did something that she knows she will always regret: giving her baby son up for adoption, to keep her infidelity secret from her family. Louise, Susie’s daughter, feels the effects of that decision echoing down through the years – her mother has always been difficult, too strict with her but not strict enough with her sister Grace, who is wild and out-of-control. And Danny, Susie’s husband, adores her, but has always sensed something wrong at the heart of their marriage. When tragedy strikes the family, and a chance discovery threatens to bring the truth to light, the sisters’ relationship is put to the test as they are faced with an impossible choice… From the bestselling author of The Silent Wife, The Secret Child is a heartbreaking and unputdownable novel about family secrets and lies. Perfect for fans of Liane Moriarty, Jojo Moyes and Diane Chamberlain. MY REVIEW THE SECRET CHILD by Kerry Fisher is a powerful and emotional story of heartache, motherly love, and family, and I guarantee you will need tissues close by as you devour every word of this tale. Susie has loved her son, her second child, from the moment she laid eyes on him and even though she was only allowed to keep him for six weeks, he has lived in her mind and heart every day. Conceived at the end of the sixties when her beloved husband was away in the Navy, her mother and the Church soon forced Susie to give away her boy, and with that single decision, Susie's life is altered forever. Anxious, desperate, and heartbroken over a loss that she must hide for years, in the first part of this story we see how Susie's despair impacts her two daughters and her caring husband who cannot understand why she is the way she is. The second part of the story is years later and Gracie has discovered her mother's secret and embarks on a journey that will change the dynamics of their family forever. With beautiful, in-depth characters we get to know every part of their personalities and my heart broke for Susie while at times I desperately wanted her to be more present for her daughters, especially Louise. This book made me sad and angry because sadly we all now know what happened to so many women back then, and I really wanted Susie to find some peace in her life and be happy. THE SECRET CHILD by Kerry Fisher is a stunning story that you will not want to put down once you begin. It is compelling, it is raw, and it is beautifully written, and I highly recommend it to fiction fans that enjoy a dramatic family tale. Author Bio: Born in Peterborough, Kerry Fisher studied French and Italian at Bath University, followed by several years working as an English teacher in Corsica and Spain before topping the dizzying heights of holiday rep and grape picker in Tuscany. She eventually succumbed to 'getting a proper job' and returned to England to study Periodical Journalism at City University. After two years working in the features department at Essentials magazine in London, love carried her off to the wilds of the West Pennine moors near Bolton. She now lives in Surrey with her husband (of whisking off to Bolton fame), two teenagers and a very naughty lab/schnauzer called Poppy. Kerry can often be seen trailing across the Surrey Hills whistling and waving pieces of chicken while the dog practises her 'talk to the tail'. In her third book, After The Lie, Kerry shamelessly exploits every embarrassing dog misdemeanour to create her fictional hound, Mabel. Kerry has spent half her life talking about writing a novel, then several years at Candis magazine reviewing other people's but it wasn't until she took some online courses with the UCLA (University of California) that the dream started to morph into reality, culminating in the publishing of The Class Ceiling. The Avon imprint of HarperCollins picked it up and retitled it The School Gate Survival Guide, published summer 2014. For more information: Website - www.kerryfisherauthor.com Twitter - twitter.com/KerryFSwayne Facebook - www.facebook.com/kerryfisherauthor?fref=ts DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT ALL OF THE OTHER STOPS ALONG THE WAY!! #Review: The Glovemaker's Daughter by Leah Fleming @LeahleFleming @The5HundredClub @simonschusterUK4/12/2017 Release date - 5th October 2017 (Hardcover)
Book length - 432 pages Publisher - Simon & Schuster UK Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Leah Fleming and The 500 Club for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK FROM THE ACCLAIMED AUTHOR OF THE LAST PEARL AND DANCING AT THE VICTORY CAFE , this is a beautiful novel about dark family secrets, betrayal, love and redemption. 1666. A child is born in the farmhouse at Windebank, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. Named Rejoice (Joy) by her dying father, Joy grows up witness to the persecution of the farming community for following a banned faith. Defying the authority of the local priest, she joins a group of Yorkshire pioneers travelling to the New World to form a colony close to Philadelphia - a passionate, rebellious and courageous woman fighting against the constraints of the time. Will she find peace and love? 2014. A leather-bound book is found buried in the walls of the Meeting House in Good Hope, Pennsylvania. Its details trace the owner back to a Yorkshire farm in the Dales. And so a correspondence begins between Rachel Moorside and the man who found the journal, Sam Storer, as Rachel uncovers the tumultuous secrets of her family’s history. MY REVIEW I have to start by saying that the cover of this emotional story is absolutely stunning and it is one I find myself looking at often on my bookshelf. When I picked up THE GLOVEMAKER'S DAUGHTER by Leah Fleming I knew absolutely nothing about the Quakers or their history, but as this beautiful and at times harrowing story flowed effortlessly from the very first page, I was captivated by this compelling historical tale. In 1666, Rejoice who is known as Joy embarks on a dangerous journey to the New World in the hopes of finding peace and spreading the word of her faith. Having never known her parents, she is stronger than many women of her time and as she faces so many hardships head on and which such spirit, we are completely caught up in her life. In 2014 Rachel Moorside is contacted by Sam Storer about an old book that has been found in Pennsylvania. As Sam and Rachel try to place together the pieces from the past, they will both uncover so much more than they planned as a time in history comes alive in the here and now. THE GLOVEMAKER'S DAUGHTER by Leah Fleming is richly detailed and will paint a picture of a ruthless time in history, but it is also an emotional tale of a young woman who yearns for love and to find the inner peace that has eluded her for some time. This story will set your senses alight as you read each page and I thoroughly enjoyed this historical tale. Author Bio: Leah Fleming was born in Lancashire and is married with three sons and a daughter. She writes from an old farmhouse in the Yorkshire Dales and an olive grove in Crete. For more information: Website - www.leahfleming.co.uk Twitter - twitter.com/LeahleFleming Facebook - www.facebook.com/Leah-Fleming-260078160703379/ Release date - 5th September 2017
Book length - 400 pages Publisher - Poolbeg Press Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I'm delighted to shine a spotlight on THE TIDE BETWEEN US by Olive Collins and I want to thank Olive and Poolbeg Books for providing me with an extract for you all to read. Here is everything you need to know about this novel and don't forget to check out the extract!! ABOUT THE BOOK 1821: After the landlord of Lugdale Estate in Kerry is assassinated, young Art O’Neill’s innocent father is hanged and Art is deported to the cane fields of Jamaica as an indentured servant. On Mangrove Plantation he gradually acclimatises to the exotic country and unfamiliar customs of the African slaves, and achieves a kind of contentment. Then the new heirs to the plantation arrive. His new owner is Colonel Stratford-Rice from Lugdale Estate, the man who hanged his father. Art must overcome his hatred to survive the harsh life of a slave and live to see the eventual emancipation which liberates his coloured children. Eventually he is promised seven gold coins when he finishes his service, but he doubts his master will part with the coins. One hundred years later in Ireland, a skeleton is discovered beneath a fallen tree on the grounds of Lugdale Estate. By its side is a gold coin minted in 1870. Yseult, the owner of the estate, watches as events unfold, fearful of the long-buried truths that may emerge about her family’s past and its links to the slave trade. As the body gives up its secrets, Yseult realises she too can no longer hide. Author Bio: Olive Collins grew up in Thurles, Tipperary, and now lives in Kildare. For the last sixteen years, she has worked in advertising in print media and radio. She has always loved the diversity of books and people. She has travelled extensively and still enjoys exploring other cultures and countries. Her inspiration is the ordinary everyday people who feed her little snippets of their lives. It’s the unsaid and gaps in conversation that she finds most valuable. Her debut novel, The Memory of Music, was an Irish bestseller. For more information: Twitter - twitter.com/olivecollins Facebook - www.facebook.com/olivecollinsauthor READ ON FOR AN EXTRACT ... Prologue 13th January 1991 Yseult kept her back to the man as he relayed the news. The time for decorum and manners had passed – it belonged to a younger woman from a different era. She stared out the window into the dark night. The man spoke hesitatingly. “It was the storm on Tuesday night.” Yseult didn’t turn to face him. It allowed her some strange privacy to absorb the details. “The strongest winds in a decade were recorded,” he continued. In the window she saw their reflections. The man who spoke was a few feet behind her. He was wearing a uniform and, even in the distorted reflection of the window, it was imposing, the right attire to bring sombre news. “We can only assume the tree toppled during the storm ...” his voice trailed off. Yseult remained still as she listened. “When the tree fell it dragged the roots and earth with it.” Yseult moved her eyes from his reflection to her own. Apart from her white hair, she was indistinguishable. She could have been anybody standing in the drawing room, listening to a strange account from a man of the law who was growing uncomfortable with her silence. Yseult remained perfectly still, allowing him to continue and getting some perverse pleasure from his awkwardness. “The bones were beneath the tree.” She imagined the skeleton, the skull, empty eye sockets and teeth, the long bones of the legs and arms entwined with the dirtied clay from the earth. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news ... we need to establish a few facts.” As he spoke he was looking to his left at the portrait of Alfred Stratford-Rice. It was painted almost 300 years ago. “I don’t believe it’s a murder mystery from today or even the last ten years,” he continued. “It all depends on the age of the tree.” “Where is it?” Yseult broke her silence. “The skeleton?” “It’s beneath the tree,” he said as if she had not been listening. Yseult’s voice rose impatiently. “On whose land? My land or my neighbour’s land?” He tilted his head sideways. “I don’t know,” he said as if he was surprised by his lack of information. “I haven’t seen the tree myself.” She saw him quickly glance around the drawing room again. To a visitor, her stately home appeared ostentatious and eloquent. One of the rare estates that remained, it carried tradition and history on its sturdy ancient shoulders. She was not surprised this day had come. She couldn’t help thinking how the grace and elegance had slipped through the crevices of her home long before the gust of wind blew a tree down to reveal a skeleton on a wild patch of her kingdom. PART 1  Chapter 1 1891, Jamaica Long ago I learned to stop questioning my beginnings ... until my youngest son was born. A slave who spends fourteen hours a day working on a sugar plantation has little time for anything apart from servitude. Now I am old, my daily chores are light. I have time to sit on the fringes of the old plantation and gaze at the sun as it sinks into the Caribbean Sea. I notice my friends, the years etched on their faces, and suddenly realise I too am as aged as they are, although few are as old as I am. I notice children, I see how they mimic the adults with their games. They play at cutting sugar cane and then standing straight, flexing their backs as if they too endured the pain of hard labour. I notice resemblances in my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I have a number of children. Some I know and others I was only briefly acquainted with. Some live a short distance from me and others are lost in the barbaric haze of slavery. But one ten-year-old boy in particular has spiralled me into the brutal abyss of recollection. At the sight of his lighter skin and aquatic green eyes in this land of darkies, I am assaulted with memory. I fathered my youngest son Leon sixty-nine years after my own birth, yet I feel he has journeyed with me for my whole life. He has been blessed with better luck than most of my other children. Born in a time when the black man here was liberated, his back is not crisscrossed with scars and his children will bear his name, not that of his owners. He is able to read and write. He is an eager student and hardworking with his chores. He reminds me of myself when I was his age before I was transported across the great seas to serve a master in the cane fields of the Caribbean. There was a time when I was a happy boy immersed in a culture so vastly different to the plantations of Jamaica. Recently I find myself sitting too long in the quagmire of recollection. Faces and smells return. My mother’s features become as vivid as my own in a mirror. In my dreams I see her wide alert eyes and round face framed with dark hair. I see my father and recall the beat of the music he preferred. Last night I dreamed I was sitting with him on the bank of the river fishing. I could see his long lean body stretched out on the grass waiting for the fish to tug the bait. I could feel the wet blades of grass beneath my feet as I returned through the field to our home. On awakening, I called my father’s name and woke disappointed to find my wife standing over me with her hands on her hips. In recent months my wife has noticed my strange mood. “Wat de matter?” she asks in her usual abrupt manner. “Yuh goin’ mad wid dat sadness.” How could I begin to tell her that I was lost in memories of my old home? What became of those I left behind? Did they seek me out? Did they mourn for me for the rest of their lives? We exiled servants learn to fight recall. It is as fierce as our deadly hurricanes, except it kills us more slowly. It drains us of our remaining sanity and eventually takes us into the sea. Yet I defiantly sit in the shade of the redundant cotton trees remembering the months of voyage across the seas. We were two hundred Irish boys and girls, taken from our country to cut sugar cane in the sweltering heat of Jamaica, this exotic little island. My home? My mulatto son’s home? During our six-week voyage we were fed on strange food. I thought the devil had stolen me. It was my captor’s job to deliver me to Satan where I would burn in the fires of hell. Then, when my eyes first saw the beauty of the island, in my childish mind I thought the devil had changed his mind and sent me to God instead. An awed silence descended as we gaped at the exotic splendour before us. It was like a colourful mystical land that burst from the quivering liquidated earth, inviting and magical. If it had been described to me as a boy, they would have called it paradise. The beaches of golden sand in the middle of a clear blue sea, and trees bearing fruit with as many colours as the rainbow. I remember my surprise at how sweet and succulent the watery melons were. The warm sun and trees that stretched to the clouds on long stems astonished me. As I was escorted from the boat, I remember the surprisingly warm sea as it splashed against my legs. It was further validation that God would appear and welcome me through the gates of heaven for all eternity. It was not heaven – however, the fact I believed it might be was a small piece of luck on my side that stopped me from rushing into the ocean to allow the mystic exotic sea quench my terror and take my ghost back to Ireland. It is not yet bright. I walk up the hill and follow a path to a secluded river. I swim in the water and afterwards follow the path, taking the long route home. These past few months I have returned to prayer. The prayers in the Irish language came tumbling back to me. Paidir an Tiarna – The Lord’s Prayer – flowed as if I had been reciting it as Gaeilge my whole life. Quietly I recite a decade of the rosary, still surprised I can recall each line of the prayers in a language I have not spoken in seventy years. The first morning it happened to me, I thought my mind had receded to my childhood. It happened to a man I knew many years ago. Elijah began to play like a child and hoist the seats in his cabin onto the table as if he was loading a boat. He called to the children to raise the anchor. Then he stood gazing solemnly at the wall as if waiting for the boat trip to end. After a while he told the children to drop anchor and he removed the seats from the table. Initially we thought it was the after-effects of too much rum. Then we held him down and checked him for cuts or marks, thinking he might have hit his head. When we found nothing, we kept it quiet, fearing he would be sold to another master who would flog him to death. I say The Lord’s Prayer as Gaeilge for Elijah who abandoned manhood to return to the wild antics of his childhood. I say another prayer for the Irishmen I’ve witnessed arriving on the piers of Jamaica. Some arrived in shackles and others came with the promise of land and a country far removed from the oppression of England. I would watch them step off the great ships after weeks at sea. The men carried one suitcase and wore their temperance medals with pride. Quickly they discarded their Irish clothes and, within a short time, life in Jamaica took the shine from their temperance medals. I return to my cabin and sit outside, waiting for my wife to bring my breakfast. Over the breadfruit trees, I see the roof of the Big House. Blair Stratford-Rice lives there with his third wife. His great house is perched high on the hill overlooking his crumbling plantation. Since the abolition of slavery in Jamaica over fifty years ago, the great plantations and fortunes of the plantocracy have almost gone. Blair Stratford-Rice is not deserving even of the dwindling lands or the slaves he now must pay. I am pleased to say he is afraid of me yet he cannot do anything to hurt me. There was a time when his father could have sold me or strung me up from the hanging tree that adorned every plantation in Jamaica. Now the hanging tree has been felled, the stump a reminder of the sea of change. He is afraid I will turn the remaining workers against him, afraid of the rumour that I killed one of his kind – and those who seek answers only find silence. His fear pleases me but I do not lose sight of the fact that I am now an old man, easily overpowered by a snarling foe who wants retribution. The bad blood that flows between us is almost visible to the naked eye. Our hostility did not begin on this pretty island of Jamaica but many years before in a townland called Mein on the coast of Ireland. Yet for years when Blair Stratford-Rice and I met we slotted into a charade of master and servant, each disguising his fear and loathing of the other man. Only yesterday I and my wife chanced to meet him by the empty slave cabins in the bleakest part of his estate. The rotting wood and overgrowth is a reminder of what they had and what they lost. The monsoon rain tumbled down, adding to the desolation of the area. He was riding his black mare and he demanded to know how I chanced to buy the land on which the old cabins stood. “I thought James Inglott was the buyer – I only learned this morning it is you who bought it,” he said, clearly annoyed I had got a third party to buy the four acres. I waved my hand at the rotting wood. “Master, it was my good fortune to serve you, and your father the Colonel, and your grand- uncle Major Beaufort. I learned to farm this wonderful land from your good kin.” Although his mare moved restlessly he continued to look at me, aware of my hidden irony and contempt. He visibly gathered himself together. “I’m glad you know it, O’Neill,” he said with a forced voice. “I’ll be up to you for my gold at the end of the month,” I added, just to irritate him, referring to a payment of seven gold coins due to me after my seven decades of service. The bit in the horse’s mouth was poorly lodged. She moved her head irritably. He couldn’t even saddle his mare properly. He had trouble steadying her. “Of course, the end of the month,” he said loudly before riding away. “One dese days him gonna kill yuh,” my wife whispered as we watched him gallop off. Nobody alive knows the truth. It goes back to the days in Ireland when his father was a Colonel in the English army. I will never forget the day I first saw Colonel Stratford-Rice and his wife land on Jamaica’s shores, armed with trunks of belongings and imperial ideas. I placed his luggage on the carriage and scrutinised his features to see if my eyes deceived me. When I heard him speak and saw his wife’s small body next to his, it was confirmation he was the man who signed my father’s death warrant in Ireland. For many years I was invisible to them. By the time the old Colonel Stratford-Rice recognised me it was too late. On the table beside me are my paper and inkwell. Five years ago, I began to learn to read and write. Each evening when my son Leon and grandson Akeem returned from their hours of schooling they would write their new words in the clay. The other children would copy their squiggles. Like two little tutors, they would create words from the letters and explain their new lesson for the day. Gradually the neighbouring children grew bored with the game. However, I could not stop. I copied the curvy squiggles, marvelling how when put together they made words. I learned the alphabet, the small words and gradually the bigger words. During quiet times of the day I practised with charcoal on the bark of a tree. I spent a few hours a day reading and writing words, testing and retesting my knowledge. As time passed, not only did I learn to read new words but I began to read stories. I learned that each sentence has a reason, the paragraph has a wider explanation and each chapter a purpose until eventually each book has a meaning. “A beginning, a middle and an ending. Like life,” I said, thinking aloud. “Maybe that is why we continue to live. We want to see how our life ends.” I bought my first book in Black River. I tried to read the words. For weeks Akeem and Leon and I followed the words with our fingers. It took us so long to read the book we had forgotten what the story was about when we came to the last page. The Moorland Cottage it was called. There were plenty of words in The Moorland Cottage that we didn’t know. We asked the teacher in the school, but neither did he know all the words. Each month I go to Black River where I sell a book and buy another one. The only book I do not sell is The Mooreland Cottage. Now in a time of my life when there is little to do but grieve for my missing grandson, Akeem, I read. I escape to the foreign countries in the books and leave my porch to mingle with the characters for several hours each day. My wife brings me my breakfast. She places her hand on my shoulder as she passes and sits beside me. “Me man is good?” she cautiously asks. “Not too bad.” The dead I see in my dreams do not trouble me so much. I have not dreamed of my family in Jamaica. It is Ireland I dream of – green, damp, sad and ever-present. As usual she frowns with disapproval when she sees the book, paper and quill on the table. My wife thinks reading and writing is bad for my health. “Is no surprise yuh shoutin’ to yuh mama and papa wen yuh are fillin’ yuh old head wid words,” she chides. “It can’t fit.” She points at her head irritably. “Of course it can fit,” I reply, as I always do when she tackles me on this subject. “Some men know every word ever spoken in the world and they are not dead from packed heads.” “Me poor man!” She laughs as if I am an idiot. “Anyway, who gonna read yuh words? Nobody knows how.” “Enough,” I say. I know she is thinking only of my good. A stoic, hardworking, simple woman. She does not share that awful sadness that afflicts me and so many of my sons. Sometimes I think the sadness is more prevalent in the Irish. I don’t discuss these thoughts with my wife. She does not see the world as I see it. “Maybe it is Akeem?” She looks at me cautiously. Akeem, my grandson, the child I could not save. I am unable to say his name aloud. “Maybe him is safe.” Her voice grows quieter. “Or Okeke? Maybe him is sorry?” Clearly she does not want to mention this but feels compelled for my betterment. I close my eyes against the memory of that most unspeakable act of treachery. There is only the sound of the birds breaking our silence. I wait for them to quieten and flee as they sense my seething rage that I failed Akeem and am grandfather also to a monster like Okeke. Ngozi inclines away from me, afraid of my response. She suddenly appears vulnerable. I take my breakfast bowl in my hand and eat slowly. She gets up from the table and leaves me alone to eat. Although Ngozi is thirty years my junior, somewhere in her early fifties, she remains a striking figure of beauty. She has light-brown skin and a gloriously curvy body. She has a large handsome face dotted with small black spidery freckles. Ngozi’s father was Irish. She says she got her freckles and her singing voice from the Kirwans of Galway. She loves to sing. When she walks she sways as if moving to music. She is soft, soothing and generous. Equally she can be abrupt and angry. Many years ago I taught her grandmother how to speak English when she came from Africa in her slave ship. Ngozi is not legally my wife but the woman who came to my cabin over a decade ago and never left. She gave me one son, my youngest child. He came into my life at a time when my responsibilities were almost gone. The anger and Irish temper had abated over the decades. He got me at my best. “Bring the coffee,” I tell Ngozi. I want her to sit with me and hear her noisily sip coffee and sigh with satisfaction when she finishes the first cup. She has an air of contentment in the morning when she gently sways on the rocking chair, her sandals scratching the wood as she rocks hypnotically. There is something comforting about the early-morning sounds and sight of my Ngozi as she sways and hums. In silence we drink. My son is slow in the morning. He joins me on the veranda. He will go to school for two hours and work with my mulatto son on the acres I own in the hills. Lazily he leans in close to me, and I sink into his large green eyes and forget the ailments of old age. He eats his breakfast at a leisurely pace. He places his hand beside mine and spreads his fingers on the table. He is comparing the size of our hands. My son is ten years of age and cannot wait to grow to a man’s full height. He is impressed with size: big hands, strong men, big ships, wild storms. “Will we go to de Blue Lagoon today?” he says, referring to our favourite fishing post. After living for eighty years, I thought I had felt every sensation known to man. Then my little Leon arrived and he gave me something so unexpected I thought I was growing younger. Like Oisín in the ancient Irish tale who finds his way to Tír na nÓg, the Land of Youth, my son has been my guide to bring me to my own Tír na nÓg. “Yes, we will,” I reply. He rests his hand on mine, his clean pale fingers a contrast to my withered scarred hands. It is a reminder of our age difference. He taps my arm in a friendly manner as he gets up to leave us for the day. “I will find de best oyster wid de most pearls,” he tries to tease me. “Your oyster will not have as many pearls as mine,” I say. “No, Papa,” he wiggles his finger mischievously, “me oyster will have a hundred round white pearls.” Ngozi and I smile. I have been given one last chance to redeem myself. I am thankful his mother is comfortable enough to challenge me. I come from a time when this little island annihilated the meagre men, persecuted the brave and defiled the pretty. Propelled by fear for my children I tried to teach them. Once, I opened the back of one of my sons with a whip. He robbed from our community to buy rum. I have many regrets. Ngozi bends over me to refill my coffee. Her breast rubs off my shoulder. It distracts from harsh regrets and bitter remembrances. “Thank you,” I say. “You’re a good woman.” She looks at me pensively, her head tilted to one side. Seldom do I give her a compliment. “Big month for yuh, Art – yuh gonna be rich,” she says, looking down at me. “I was always rich with a woman like you,” I reply. She laughs and returns to her chair to rock and scratch the wood with her sandals. I close my eyes, fighting the sense of foreboding. At the end of this month, in twenty days’ time, I will collect seven gold coins from Blair Stratford-Rice. A gold coin to represent each decade I have been of service to the Stratford-Rices. It was promised to me by Blair’s mother for my loyalty when most ex-slaves were lynching their masters. At last I am a free man and will have the money to enact a promise I made to myself five years ago. “Wat yuh gonna do wid de money?” “I will give you money to buy whatever you want,” I say. “Yuh joke, old man, I don’t need nothin’,” she says, yet I can see she is flattered. With the remaining coins I will find and buy my grandson Akeem who was sold to Morocco as a slave by my grandson Okeke. If my health continues, I will find Okeke and, if forgiveness does not find me first, I will kill him. I will buy more land and make my sons proud masters of their lives. Each year we will cherish the distance between slavery and freedom until memory is no more. The gold coins will replenish my dignity and hopefully take me from this crippling melancholy. Those coins will give me hope, like the promise of land gave me hope when I was a gangly eleven-year- old boy arriving on these shores. That is, if Blair Stratford-Rice will give me my due. I will also take the time to leave my sons something more than land. In order to help them understand, I must take them back. I will leave an account of the events that shaped my life and, in turn, shaped their lives. Someday when they are old men, possibly gripped by melancholy or cornered by life, they will understand humanity and accept my achievements and understand my wrongdoings. I will begin at the start and take them back to the rolling hills and green valleys of Ireland with my quill and my paper. DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE OTHER STOPS ALONG THE WAY!! |
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