The Bookseller
fast-paced, sexy… excellent escapist stuff
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Susan Lewis strikes gold again
The Daily Mail
Mystery and romance par excellence
Sunderland Echo
A fast-moving, romantic thriller from Britain's answer to Danielle Steel. Ideal for the beach this summer.
Book Description
From the Sunday Times bestselling author of A French Affair and Missing.
--This text refers to an alternate
Paperback
edition.
Product Description
Secrets can be deadly...When journalist Laurie Forbes turns up on Beth Ashby's doorstep, minutes after Beth's husband, political high-flier Colin Ashby, has been arrested for murder, neither can even begin to guess the shocking repercussions that have just been triggered in both their lives. Beth attempts to escape from her shattered life by throwing herself into the kind of reckless high-living that seems destined for disaster, while Laurie finds herself being threatened, terrorised and even taken prisoner for what she knows. As the dangerous truth draws closer, Laurie realises that if she is to save Beth from those already preparing to destroy her, she must put her trust in hated rival journalist Elliot Russell and face up to a ghost from the past. "Silent Truths" takes us on a compelling journey along the dark, decadent halls of power, to the glittering shores of seduction and intrigue, and finally to the terrifying truths behind the silence.
From the Back Cover
When journalist Laurie Forbes turns up on Beth Ashby's doorstep, minutes after Beth's husband, political high-flier Colin Ashby, has been arrested for murder, neither can even begin to guess the shocking repercussions that have just been triggered in both their lives.
Beth attempts to escape from her shattered life by throwing herself into the kind of reckless high-living that seems destined for disaster, while Laurie finds herself being threatened, terrorised and even taken prisoner for what she knows.
As the dangerous truth draws closer, Laurie realises that if she is to save Beth from those already preparing to destroy her, she must put her trust in hated rival journalist Elliot Russell and face up to a ghost from the past...
Praise for Susan Lewis
'Spellbinding! ... you just keep turning the pages' Daily Mail
'An irresistible blend of intrigue and passion, and the consequences of secrets and betrayal' Woman
'Mystery and romance par excellence' Sun
Fiction
--This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.About the Author
Susan Lewis is the bestselling author of A Class Apart, Dance While You Can, Stolen Beginnings, Darkest Longings, Obsession, Vengeance, Summer Madness, Last Resort, Wildfire, Chasing Dreams, Taking Chances, Cruel Venus and, most recently, Strange Allure. She divides her time between her homes in Los Angeles and London.
Excerpted from Silent Truths by Susan Lewis. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
‘Mrs Ashby? Uh, I’ve come about your husband.’
Beth Ashby looked at the slight, scruffy blonde whose anxious eyes and half-flushing cheeks made her seem younger than she probably was. Twenty-six, twenty-seven, Beth guessed. Certainly not yet thirty. By comparison, at thirty-eight, Beth felt depressingly overcooked. She also felt too tall, gangly, like a scarecrow whose limbs were longer than its body, and immediately envious of the girl’s natural femininity. However, despite the display of nerves and embarrassed hesitation, this was no fey miss, Beth thought, or she wouldn’t be here, would she?
What was the girl thinking of her, Beth wondered. Would she like to swap that flimsy blonde topknot for Beth’s copious brunette curls? Some said Beth’s hair was her best feature. Others preferred her almond-shaped eyes, while a number of men had commented on her wide, shapely mouth, seeming especially to admire the pointed twin peaks of the full upper lip. No prizes for guessing the thoughts behind those particular compliments - male subtext might be unspoken, but it still managed to deafen most women. Personally, Beth favoured her nose, simply for being unremarkable. She didn’t like to stand out, which was why she dressed in dark, shapeless clothes, like the olive baggy pants she’d just dragged on, and oversized brown linen shirt, but now, confronted by this phosphorescent blonde, she felt like the afterburn of a forty-watt light bulb.
So, who was she - this girl standing on the doorstep in a shiny blue raincoat and frayed denim jeans? The embodiment of Beth’s unending nightmares? The long-term mistress? The HIV carrier? The flighty little trollop with oversized tits and a firm, but fleshy bum? Why had she chosen now, today, to come? Was she pregnant? Is that what she wanted to discuss? Or had Colin chucked her and, in a fit of seething vengeance, she’d rushed over here to expose everything from his infidelity to his secret embezzlement of government funds?
The thudding of Beth’s heart was silent but hard. She knew this was going to hurt and had no idea yet how she would handle it. In a sudden bid for survival her mind swerved from the obvious and seized the doubt of this girl being a mistress at all. She wasn’t exactly Colin’s type, although those noticeably ample breasts and big blue eyes no doubt made her every man’s type, at least for a night.
Maybe she was a plain-clothes police officer come to tell her that Colin and his black, two-seater Mazda had been flattened by a juggernaut on the M25. That would hurt too, though probably him more than her. Did policewomen wear their hair in such juvenile disarray? Was it possible for them to have such tremulous mouths and guileless eyes?
He might have won something. Or inherited a fortune. Maybe he’d flashed himself at this innocent young mother while she was playing with her child in the park. So many thoughts whizzing around in her head, stirred up by panic, shying away from the obvious, alighting on the comfortingly absurd.
No more than a second had passed and already Beth felt like a she-cat purring over the instinct to kill. She took a breath to answer, not knowing what was going to come out.
‘I’m not married,’ she said, startling herself.
The blonde wasn’t listening. She was looking over her shoulder at the car that had just screeched to a halt against the kerb. A young, balding man in a Barbour and black jeans leapt out. Beth couldn’t see his face behind the camera he was pointing at her. Oh God, no! No! No!
She tried to close the door, but the blonde jammed a foot against it. ÔYou are Mrs Ashby,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.
The man was still clicking.
Another car pulled up.
‘What’s going on?’ Beth demanded, her voice bubbling up through a vortex of fear. ‘Who are you? Stop doing that,’ she shouted at the photographer, who was now focusing his lens on the front bedroom window.
‘Will you stand by your husband over this?’ the blonde hastily demanded.
Beth’s heart was skipping beats so fast she could hardly breathe. She should have been ready for this. Then she remembered she didn’t know what the girl was talking about, so how could she be ready? She was distracted by another car arriving. Everything was happening so fast. A small crowd was gathering at the gate, a mere six paces from where she was standing. They were reporters, of course, all shouting and clicking at once, starting to scale the wall, about to burst through the gate. The blonde was trying to block her from view, a desperate attempt to hold on to her exclusive. After all, she’d got here first.
Inside, the phone was ringing incessantly.
‘Mrs Ashby! Have you spoken to your husband?’
‘Will you be going to see him?’
‘Did you know the girl?’
Beth’s eyes were wide and scared.
The blonde was watching her closely. ‘You don’t know, do you?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my God.’ Then before Beth could stop her the blonde was pushing her inside the front door and slamming it behind them.
‘Mrs Ashby? Uh, I’ve come about your husband.’
Beth Ashby looked at the slight, scruffy blonde whose anxious eyes and half-flushing cheeks made her seem younger than she probably was. Twenty-six, twenty-seven, Beth guessed. Certainly not yet thirty. By comparison, at thirty-eight, Beth felt depressingly overcooked. She also felt too tall, gangly, like a scarecrow whose limbs were longer than its body, and immediately envious of the girl’s natural femininity. However, despite the display of nerves and embarrassed hesitation, this was no fey miss, Beth thought, or she wouldn’t be here, would she?
What was the girl thinking of her, Beth wondered. Would she like to swap that flimsy blonde topknot for Beth’s copious brunette curls? Some said Beth’s hair was her best feature. Others preferred her almond-shaped eyes, while a number of men had commented on her wide, shapely mouth, seeming especially to admire the pointed twin peaks of the full upper lip. No prizes for guessing the thoughts behind those particular compliments - male subtext might be unspoken, but it still managed to deafen most women. Personally, Beth favoured her nose, simply for being unremarkable. She didn’t like to stand out, which was why she dressed in dark, shapeless clothes, like the olive baggy pants she’d just dragged on, and oversized brown linen shirt, but now, confronted by this phosphorescent blonde, she felt like the afterburn of a forty-watt light bulb.
So, who was she - this girl standing on the doorstep in a shiny blue raincoat and frayed denim jeans? The embodiment of Beth’s unending nightmares? The long-term mistress? The HIV carrier? The flighty little trollop with oversized tits and a firm, but fleshy bum? Why had she chosen now, today, to come? Was she pregnant? Is that what she wanted to discuss? Or had Colin chucked her and, in a fit of seething vengeance, she’d rushed over here to expose everything from his infidelity to his secret embezzlement of government funds?
The thudding of Beth’s heart was silent but hard. She knew this was going to hurt and had no idea yet how she would handle it. In a sudden bid for survival her mind swerved from the obvious and seized the doubt of this girl being a mistress at all. She wasn’t exactly Colin’s type, although those noticeably ample breasts and big blue eyes no doubt made her every man’s type, at least for a night.
Maybe she was a plain-clothes police officer come to tell her that Colin and his black, two-seater Mazda had been flattened by a juggernaut on the M25. That would hurt too, though probably him more than her. Did policewomen wear their hair in such juvenile disarray? Was it possible for them to have such tremulous mouths and guileless eyes?
He might have won something. Or inherited a fortune. Maybe he’d flashed himself at this innocent young mother while she was playing with her child in the park. So many thoughts whizzing around in her head, stirred up by panic, shying away from the obvious, alighting on the comfortingly absurd.
No more than a second had passed and already Beth felt like a she-cat purring over the instinct to kill. She took a breath to answer, not knowing what was going to come out.
‘I’m not married,’ she said, startling herself.
The blonde wasn’t listening. She was looking over her shoulder at the car that had just screeched to a halt against the kerb. A young, balding man in a Barbour and black jeans leapt out. Beth couldn’t see his face behind the camera he was pointing at her. Oh God, no! No! No!
She tried to close the door, but the blonde jammed a foot against it. ÔYou are Mrs Ashby,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.
The man was still clicking.
Another car pulled up.
‘What’s going on?’ Beth demanded, her voice bubbling up through a vortex of fear. ‘Who are you? Stop doing that,’ she shouted at the photographer, who was now focusing his lens on the front bedroom window.
‘Will you stand by your husband over this?’ the blonde hastily demanded.
Beth’s heart was skipping beats so fast she could hardly breathe. She should have been ready for this. Then she remembered she didn’t know what the girl was talking about, so how could she be ready? She was distracted by another car arriving. Everything was happening so fast. A small crowd was gathering at the gate, a mere six paces from where she was standing. They were reporters, of course, all shouting and clicking at once, starting to scale the wall, about to burst through the gate. The blonde was trying to block her from view, a desperate attempt to hold on to her exclusive. After all, she’d got here first.
Inside, the phone was ringing incessantly.
‘Mrs Ashby! Have you spoken to your husband?’
‘Will you be going to see him?’
‘Did you know the girl?’
Beth’s eyes were wide and scared.
The blonde was watching her closely. ‘You don’t know, do you?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my God.’ Then before Beth could stop her the blonde was pushing her inside the front door and slamming it behind them.
