Veering off down a narrower street about half a mile from the station, one young woman caught Nikki’s eye. She was skinny, with lank, thinning blond hair and striking high cheekbones beneath her sallow skin. She wore the prostitute’s uniform of frayed denim hot-pants, tank top and cheap plastic wedge sandals, but she didn’t seem to be looking for work. Slumped against a garage wall, she stared vacantly ahead of her, there but not there. In other circumstances, this girl would probably have been pretty. As it was, Nikki saw the tell-tale green, swollen forearms of the Krokodil addict. Her legs had not yet turned gangrenous, but the skin peeled from them like dried paper, or the bark from a eucalyptus tree.
There was a time, not so long ago, when Nikki would have tried to help this young woman. When she would have walked over and asked her name and tried to get her into some sort of rehab program. But not now. Now she knew better. Her compassion was still there. It was the hope that had gone. That, and her faith in her own judgment.
Who am I to try to help anyone? a voice in her head reminded her relentlessly. Most days I can’t even help myself.
She hurried on to the station, but she no longer felt any pleasure in the walk, not even in the sunshine on her back. Climbing into an Uber, still clutching her peonies like a talisman, she gave the driver the address of her hotel in Malibu – if she had to be back in LA, Nikki decided, she wanted to be by the ocean and as far away from all her old stomping grounds as possible – and gazed mindlessly out of the window.
Her depression came in waves, ebbing and flowing, and she’d learned to live with it, welcoming the sadness that was now a part of her like an old friend. She imagined her mental state as being something akin to the pains of childbirth – a powerful, all-consuming pain that you could feel coming, and peaking and then fading away. Like a contraction you could either try to resist it, which made the pain worse, or accept it. Breathe through it, as all the childbirth books said. Of course, Nikki would only ever know about the experience of childbirth from books, and from her imagination. It was too late for motherhood now, as it was too late for so many things.
Some days she felt a thousand years old.
‘Actually, could we make a quick stop first? Would you wait for me?’ She gave the driver a different address.
‘We’re not really supposed to make stops,’ the man said. ‘I’ll take you there and then you can call for a new ride when you’re done.’
‘I’ll only be a few moments,’ Nikki assured him. ‘In and out, I swear.’
The graveyard was small and perfectly manicured, with neatly trimmed box hedges lining winding gravel paths, enabling mourners to meander through the headstones. Doug’s stone was simple and understated, as he would have wanted it, a plain gray slab inscribed with his name and the dates of his birth and death.
Nikki laid her bunch of peonies down in front of it and brushed away a couple of stray dead leaves. Then she stared for a moment at all that was left of her old, happy life and the love that had once been her everything.
I’ll always love you, Doug.
But I don’t think I’ll ever forgive.
Turning around, Nikki Roberts walked to her waiting car without looking back.
She knew she would never return.
Acknowledgements
With sincere thanks to Alexandra Sheldon, and the whole Sheldon family, for their continued support and encouragement. Also to my marvelous editors, Kimberley Young and Charlotte Brabbin, and the whole team at HarperCollins in London, who have worked so tirelessly on this book. It’s been a joy to collaborate with all of you. Thanks also to my agents, Hellie Ogden in London and Luke Janklow in New York, for all that you do and for putting up with my nagging. And last but not least, to my family, especially my husband Robin and our four fantastic children, Sef, Zac, Theo and Summer. I love you all incredibly.
The Silent Widow is dedicated to my beautiful sister Alice. So much love to you Big Al, and I hope you enjoy the book. Tills xx
TB 2018.
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About the Author
Sidney Sheldon was the author of eighteen previous bestselling novels (which have sold over 300 million copies worldwide), over 200 television scripts, twenty-five major films and six Broadway plays, ranking him as one of the world’s most prolific writers. His first book, The Naked Face, was acclaimed by the New York Times as ‘the best first mystery novel of the year’ and subsequently each of his highly popular books hit No.1 on the New York Times bestseller list.
Tilly Bagshawe is the internationally bestselling author of sixteen previous novels. Tilly and her family divide their time between their home in Los Angeles and their beach house on Nantucket Island.
Also by Sidney Sheldon
The Naked Face
The Other Side of Midnight
A Stranger in the Mirror
Bloodline
Rage of Angels
Master of the Game
If Tomorrow Comes
Windmills of the Gods
The Sands of Time
Memories of Midnight
The Doomsday Conspiracy
The Stars Shine Down
Nothing Lasts Forever
Morning, Noon and Night
The Best Laid Plans
Tell Me Your Dreams
The Sky is Falling
Are You Afraid of the Dark?
Also by Tilly Bagshawe
Adored
Showdown
Do Not Disturb
Flawless
Scandalous
Fame
Friends & Rivals
The Inheritance
The Show
The Bachelor
Ebook novellas
One Christmas Morning
One Summer’s Afternoon
Sidney Sheldon’s Mistress of the Game
Sidney Sheldon’s After the Darkness
Sidney Sheldon’s Angel of the Dark
Sidney Sheldon’s The Tides of Memory
Sidney Sheldon’s Chasing Tomorrow
Sidney Sheldon’s Reckless
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
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http://www.harpercollins.com.au
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HarperCollins Canada
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India
HarperCollins India
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http://www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
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Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
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