by Joanna Rees
Don’t think about it. It’s gone. It’s over, she thought, forcing herself to keep moving.
5.
EROS
She crossed the road and went right up to the statue of Eros. Perhaps if she touched it, it would bring her luck. Perhaps it would make Matilda Casey real. She willed it to be true as she walked up the steps and reached out her trembling hand to the curved, blackened brass. The fish-heads in the intricate design eyed her coldly.
She walked around the statue, trailing her hand along the smooth edge of the trough, reading its inscription: The strong sympathies of his heart. And the great powers of his mind . . .
Clement’s strong heart had stopped now. And his mind was dead, too. Caught by the enormity of these granite-like facts, she stared up at Eros’s bow against the grey clouds. She’d done that to him. Her brother was gone for ever, because of her.
A light drizzle had started to fall. People were hurrying along the pavement putting up their umbrellas. From her vantage point, each black disc seemed like a personal rebuff, a reminder of her guilt and hopelessness.
Suddenly all her heady euphoria popped, and the reality of her situation hit her. Matilda Casey was just made up. She wasn’t real. This was real, and what on earth was she – Anna Darton – going to do, now that she’d made it here?
The facts seemed to slap her. She was on the run from everything and everyone she knew. A lone fugitive in this huge metropolis, with only three pounds to her name and not a friend in the world. Terrible things could happen to a girl like her. She’d assumed that she’d land on her feet, but what if she now fell flat? She may be able to stay another night or two in a cheap hotel, but what then? The word ‘destitute’ sprang to her mind. Her father believed anyone who lost their home to be degenerate and feeble-minded, and thoroughly deserving of the fate that befell them. And perhaps he was right. Perhaps she would be thoroughly deserving of her fate, too.
She felt hot tears pricking her eyes, her earlier bravado gone. The impulsive decisions she’d made – one after the other in the last forty-eight hours – suddenly felt overwhelming. And foolish, too.
There’d been no plan. There still wasn’t a plan. She could work, of course. She had no qualms about getting her hands dirty. After devouring all the reports of the young society women who’d worked at Guy’s Hospital during the war, she wouldn’t have a problem with ‘mixing with the masses’, as her mother would say. But how?
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to try and stay calm. Sixty seconds, she reminded herself. She just had to concentrate on the next sixty seconds. She mustn’t panic, not now that she’d come this far.
Even so, she stared up at the tip of Eros’s bow, her face angled into the rain, and made a wish. Someone . . . please save me . . .
6.
THE GIRL IN A GREEN COAT
Nothing happened.
She waited for a full five minutes, feeling the drizzle getting heavier and waiting for it to soak through the wool of her coat, willing it on like a punishment. She knew she should find somewhere to shelter, but somehow she felt rooted to the statue. At least standing here in the centre of London she could imagine, at least momentarily, that she was the calm in the middle of a storm. Were she to step away, the whirlwind of trouble and indecision would surely sweep her up.
She hummed a tune, trying to keep herself steady. She loved music, but her mother had always told her that singing was vulgar. Even to hum quietly in public felt like an act of defiance.
It was only now that she noticed a girl running through the traffic, dodging through the umbrellas as she held onto her green felt cloche hat. Anna didn’t want to stare, but she looked impossibly glamorous, as if she had stepped right off the cover of one of the fashion magazines she’d seen on the newsstand.
She was wearing a long coat embroidered with what looked like Chinese figures, with a fur trim that grazed her emerald suede shoes which were adorned with sparkling rhinestone buckles. She’d never seen anything so extravagant, but the girl seemed to be wearing this outfit as easily as if it were a factory tunic.
She was still gorging her eyes on every detail as the girl came right up the steps of Eros to just along from where she was standing, and she had to rip her eyes away before she seemed rude. But as she sneaked another glance, she saw the girl looking at the silver watch on her wrist and then over in her direction, as if she was looking for someone. Her eyes were heavily lined in kohl, her lips an alluring glossy red, her pink cheeks bright from the rain.
Anna stared ahead, banging her carpet bag against her knees, feeling dull by comparison, her humming fizzling out. She felt ridiculous standing here, pretending to have a purpose when she had anything but. And she’d been caught staring, so she had to go on pretending.
But it was so hard not to stare. Goodness, she was lovely. How did you get to be like that? How did one get to look so carefree and yet so styled?
‘I say, you’re not waiting for anyone?’ the girl called over to her, as if she’d suddenly been struck by a thought. It took a moment for Anna to realize she was addressing her. ‘Are you Edith’s friend, by any chance?’
The young woman suddenly darted forward and put her hand out, grabbed her arm, and, without waiting for a reply, gasped and laughed. ‘Because what if you are? Wouldn’t that be a hoot? And so typical of naughty old Edith to stand you up, but then after last night I doubt she’s even been to bed,’ she added in a confidential comedic aside, then she laughed and it sounded like the tinkle of a chandelier.
The girl’s eyes searched out Anna’s and she understood that this was her moment – her moment to cut her off and deny any knowledge of what she was talking about; the moment to become Matilda Casey. Do it. A voice inside her spurred her on, stronger than her fear. Go on. Do it.
‘You know Edith?’ Anna said. She’d never told such an audacious lie before, but she couldn’t bear for the girl to go. Just being near her was like being lit up by starlight.
‘Ha! I knew it. I just knew it. The moment I saw you. She said you were pretty in that, well, understated way. But she’s quite wrong, of course. You’re simply lovely,’ she said, before pulling Anna’s arm and heading off down the steps. ‘Come, come on. You don’t want to know what a beast Mr Connelly is if we’re one moment late. Edie will just have to meet us there. Taxi!’
7.
TAXI
‘Hot diggity dog. It’s turning into quite a squall,’ the young woman exclaimed as she sat back on the maroon leather seat in the taxi cab and sighed with satisfaction, after giving instruction to the driver to go to the Savoy Hotel. Wasn’t that where rich, society people went? The Savoy! Was she on her way to the Savoy with this amazing, sophisticated young woman?
Spellbound, Anna watched as the girl opened the clip of her snakeskin handbag, pulled out an embossed gold compact and checked her perfect make-up, dabbing pressed powder onto her shining cheeks. She was tempted to tell the girl that this light London drizzle was nothing like a squall. The horizontal rain up on the moors at the back of Darton Hall that could drench you in seconds – now that was a squall. This was . . . well, this was . . .
Well, nothing short of a miracle.
But this had to stop! Right now, Anna told herself, but with each passing second she was tumbling deeper and deeper into this wonderful young creature’s misguided assumption. But when she’d had nothing at all but possible destitution facing her, this had felt like a lifeline, one that she couldn’t bring herself to snap with the truth.
‘Oh! That’s so funny,’ the girl said. ‘I can’t remember your name. I’m Nancy, but you probably knew that already,’ she said, followed by that tinkling laugh of hers.
‘Oh, I’m Matilda. Matilda Casey,’ Anna lied, deliberately trying out an accent, one that she hoped seemed modern and didn’t given even a hint of her Northern roots. She wanted Nancy to think the best of her.
‘Matilda? Oh. I thought Edie said it was something else.’ Nancy’s perfectly arched eye
brows puckered together for a minute, and then the thought was gone. She looked up from the compact and Anna noticed that her eyes were green, her nose slightly turned up. She was younger than her chic clothes had implied. ‘Hmm, well I shall call you Tilda. No, no, that’s quite wrong. You can be Mattie. Yes, that’s much better.’
‘Mattie,’ Anna said. ‘I like that.’
She rolled the innovation around her mind as she looked out of the window, smiling to herself as they drove down Haymarket towards Trafalgar Square. Mattie. She could be Mattie. Couldn’t she?
If Nancy believed it was possible, then surely it was. She pressed her lips together hard, a heady feeling rushing up in her chest that suddenly made her want to laugh and then to blurt everything out. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t, not ever.
Nancy snapped the compact shut. ‘So tell me, dear Mattie, how many auditions have you been to before?’
Auditions? She felt her throat constricting.
‘Um . . .’ she began, bracing herself to speak up, but Nancy immediately interrupted.
‘Well, don’t worry, this is a shoo-in. It’s more to do with whether your face fits than how fast you can dance. Since Lorna ran off with that ghastly little man, our troupe has been quite up the swannie. And Edith has vouched for you,’ she added. ‘Although I don’t know why Mr Connelly has such a soft spot for Edith. I suppose you might know better than me . . . ’
Her voice was loaded with insinuation and in the confusing monologue that followed, the only thing that became clear was that Nancy had taken it for granted that ‘Mattie’ knew all about Edith, who sounded – as far as Anna could make out – like some sort of lapsed society girl. The implication was that Edith’s relationship with this Mr Connelly was more personal than was strictly professional, and that this wasn’t the first time that ‘wicked’ Edith had used her ‘considerable charms’ to get ahead.
Anna listened, awestruck. It was like she was suddenly part of a thrilling game. How wonderful to be embroiled in such trivial gossip when her mind had been so occupied with much darker thoughts.
She glanced out of the window to hide her blushing cheeks as Nancy continued, chattering on about Mr Connelly. There was Nelson’s Column sliding by beside her, and she craned her neck to look out of the cab window to the top. It was huge – almost as huge as the deception she was creating. But now she became aware that Nancy had paused and it was her turn to respond. Amazed at herself – that she was really doing this – she cocked her head conspiratorially towards Nancy’s.
‘Well, Edith has mentioned a few things about him,’ she ventured, letting her comment hang. Nancy’s eyes widened with the heavy hint of gossip. ‘But I can’t really say more. It wouldn’t be right.’
Nancy raised her eyebrows, clearly intent on finding out the ‘more’ Mattie might be hiding. She felt giddy with the boldness of the lie. Its decisiveness. Its unknowable consequences.
‘Stop here,’ Nancy said suddenly, and the driver pulled over in the traffic. Mattie craned her neck and saw the Savoy on the other side of the road. ‘It’ll take ages to turn.’
‘Right-ho, miss,’ the driver said. Anna could tell he’d been listening in to the conversation. He caught her eye in the rear-view mirror and smiled.
She stood on the pavement as Nancy paid for the cab, watching a smart car turning into the driveway of the hotel. That was a Rolls-Royce Phantom, she was sure of it. Her father had said that he was going to order one.
She should run. Just run. This was her moment to bolt, but it was already too late. Nancy grabbed her arm and linked hers through it then, holding onto her hat with her other hand, she sashayed through the traffic. There were a few appreciative honks from the cab drivers.
‘Oh goodness,’ Anna murmured under her breath. It felt as if she was on a helter-skelter going far too fast. And she knew with absolute certainty that sooner or later she was going to crash.
IN THE SHADE OF THE BLOSSOM TREE
(previously published as Forbidden Pleasures)
By Joanna Rees
In the high-stakes world of international gambling, where success is measured by the roll of a dice or the spin of a roulette wheel, the lives of two women will become entwined in ways neither could have imagined.
Privileged party-girl Savannah Hudson has everything she’s ever wanted – apart from the love of her cold and distant father, Michael. A self-made casino mogul in Las Vegas, he has little time for his daughter when competing with the other empires that line the famous strip.
Lois, a tough, ruthlessly ambitious ex-cop, runs the security business of Michael’s greatest rival. She’s fought hard for everything she has in life and no one has been able to halt her rise through the glamour and wealth of the casinos . . . not even her young daughter.
As the lines between their lives become ever more blurred, will the two women realize what truly matters before the morally corrupt world of gambling consumes them for ever?
THE GIRL FROM LACE ISLAND
By Joanna Rees
1989
When happy-go-lucky fifteen-year-old Leila is exiled from her exotic home on Lace Island to a cold English boarding school, it is just the beginning of her woes. Feeling that she’s just too foreign to ever fit in, she’s desperate to get back to her family and friends. But in her absence, her paradise island has changed beyond all recognition and the life she once loved is now just a memory. Worse still, everyone and everything she loves is now in terrible danger.
2016
Jess dreams of far-off places, white sandy beaches and warm tropical seas. When she gets her longed-for job as cabin crew, those dreams are suddenly realized – especially when she’s swept off her feet by the handsome and charismatic Blaise. But Jess has a troubled past and her present is about to become complicated and dangerous . . .
Two women, decades apart, their lives submerged in disaster and betrayal. Both are on a mission to find out the truth about Lace Island, but what if their search for paradise comes at too high a price?
Praise for Joanna Rees
‘It’s freakin’ ace. Pack it in your hand luggage and expect to spend a day of your summer hols reading . . . and refusing all food, drink and conversation’
Heat
‘A gripping tale’
Glamour
‘If you like losing yourself in epic tales by the likes of Penny Vincenzi and Lesley Pearse, you’ll love this’
Woman
‘Genuinely exciting, extremely well crafted and long enough to be perfect beach reading’
Daily Express
‘A riveting rollercoaster of a tale, full of intrigue, high-stakes drama and compelling characters that will keep you hooked from beginning to end’
Hello!
‘An ideal beach read’
Books Monthly
THE TIDES
OF CHANGE
Joanna Rees is the bestselling writer of thirteen novels, including rom-coms, blockbusters and the kind of escapist, addictive books she hopes her readers can’t put down. She’s married to the author Emlyn Rees, with whom she has co-written seven novels under her maiden name of Josie Lloyd, including the Sunday Times number one bestseller Come Together, and also a number of bestselling parodies, including We’re Going On A Bar Hunt. They live in Brighton with their three daughters and superstar collie dog, Ziggy. Jo is a keen traveller, cook, explorer, walker and talker. As well as contributing regularly to national media, appearing at festivals and teaching creative writing, she’s a presenter for the online radio station www.radiogorgeous.com. Jo is always delighted to hear from readers, so please visit her website www.joannareesbooks.com, or get in touch via Twitter @joannareesbooks.
BY JOANNA REES
As Josie Lloyd
It Could Be You
As Josie Lloyd, with Emlyn Rees
Come Together
Come Again
The Boy Next Door
Love Lives
We Are Family
The Three Day Ru
le
The Seven Year Itch
We’re Going On A Bar Hunt
The Very Hungover Caterpillar
The Teenager Who Came To Tea
Switch It Off
’Twas The Flight Before Christmas
The Joy of Socks
As Joanna Rees
A Twist of Fate
The Key to It All
The Girl From Lace Island
In the Shade of the Blossom Tree (previously published as Forbidden Pleasures)
The Tides of Change (previously published as Platinum)
First published 2008 by Bantam Press as Platinum
This electronic edition published 2017 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-3064-0
Copyright © Unomas Productions Ltd 2008
Cover design © Anne Glenn
Cover Images © Anne Glenn and Shutterstock
The right of Joanna Rees to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
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