Retribution: Severn House Publishers: 10 (A Rona Parish Mystery) - Softcover

Fraser, Anthea

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1847517730 ISBN 13: 9781847517739

Publisher: Severn House, 2018

Synopsis

Biographer Rona Parish finds herself embroiled in another mystery when her latest projects take disturbing and unpredictable turns.

Biographer Rona Parish is keen to finish her series on successful single mothers for local glossy magazine, Chiltern Life - and interviewing the mysterious and intriguing Nicole Summers should finish off the series nicely. But on one of her visits to Nicole's house, Rona makes a shocking discovery . . .

Meanwhile, Rona has also taken on a new project - finishing the book acclaimed biographer Russell Page was writing on Gideon Ward, a TV presenter, before the recent car crash that killed him. But when Russell's wife hands over his notes and papers, Rona soon starts to realize that something isn't quite right.

As Rona throws herself into trying to find the answers to her many questions, a catastrophic event from the past is about to have massive ramifications for the present

About this title

About the Author

Anthea Fraser has now written nearly fifty books ranging from suspense to the paranormal and crime fiction

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Retribution

By Anthea Fraser

Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2016 Anthea Fraser
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-84751-773-9

CHAPTER 1

Five months later

Lindsey Parish, skimming through the glossy pages of Chiltern Life, glanced up as her twin put a mug of coffee on the table.

'Nothing of yours in this month?'

'No.' Rona brought her own mug and sat down opposite her. 'Barnie wants to spread them out a bit.' Barnie Trent was the magazine's features editor.

'But you're still on the single-mothers series?'

'Only just, I'm reaching the end of the line. Possibly one more, to round it off.'

Lindsey's continued flicking brought her to the cookery feature and she paused, tapping a nail against the writer's name. 'I appreciate you never read this ...' Rona's dislike of cooking was legendary and Max was the chef in that household, '... but do you know Nicole Summers? Personally, I mean?'

Rona shook her head. 'I'm freelance, remember. I don't come into contact with the other contributors.'

'Apparently she also runs a cookery school,' Lindsey said. 'I met her ex last week. Steve knows him from work and we bumped into him and his girlfriend at a concert.'

In the last month or so Steven Hathaway had featured more than once in Lindsey's conversation, but Rona had forborne from commenting, fearful that an inadvertent remark might put her sister on the defensive. Lindsey, who'd reverted to her maiden name after her divorce from Hugh Cavendish, had had several disastrous liaisons over the past few years – due, as she freely admitted, to falling for unsuitable men – and Rona hardly dared hope that Steve might prove her salvation. Both sisters had met him before Christmas, when his father, Frank, who was a friend of their own father, had featured in Rona's previous series on life-changing experiences.

In the interim, their lives had been dominated by the weddings of both of their parents – their mother Avril's to Guy Lacey and their father Tom's to Catherine Bishop – and it was on the latter occasion, to which the Hathaways had been invited, that Rona had begun to suspect a growing interest between Steve and her sister.

'In fact,' Lindsey was continuing, 'we're all going out for a meal on Friday.'

'How do you know he's her ex?' Rona asked curiously. 'It seems an odd thing to come out at a first meeting, specially with his girlfriend there.'

'Steve told me later. He wondered if you knew her. I only mentioned it because presumably Nicole's now a single mother herself and might be of interest.'

'Now that's an idea! Thanks, sis!' Rona spun the magazine round, scanning the relevant pages.

'Only problem is,' Lindsey continued, 'she mightn't appreciate a feature on herself appearing in a mag she writes for.'

'True. As it happens, I'm seeing Barnie this evening. I'll sound him out.'

Finishing her coffee, Lindsey pushed back her chair. 'I must go, I've a client coming in at two.' She was a partner in Chase Mortimer, a firm of solicitors in Guild Street. 'Thanks for lunch.'

'Such as it was.' It had been a simple salad, hastily thrown together on her sister's arrival.

'Well, I did only drop in to borrow this book.'

Rona accompanied her up the stairs to the hall. 'What's he like, the ex?' she asked, opening the front door.

'We only met briefly, but he seemed OK. Bit of a hunk, actually.'

'You can fill me in at Mum's birthday do on Saturday. If I approach Nicole it might be helpful to have some background info.'

Returning to the kitchen, she sat down and pulled the open magazine towards her. Although, as Lindsey had guessed, she didn't normally read the cookery section, she was aware that Nicole Summers was regarded as an authority on matters culinary and it would be useful to have some idea of what she actually wrote about.

In fact, the scope of the feature surprised her. There was a review of a restaurant that had just opened in Woodbourne, a listing of the month's cookery programmes on television and a note of new ingredients now available in the shops, alongside a column headed 'The history of the food on your plate' which gave the country of origin of each item. There were also suggested menus for a week, and the illustrated recipes were so appetizingly described that even Rona felt a momentary impulse to try them.

Although she'd been a sporadic contributor to the magazine over the last few years, usually in the form of series on local interests, Rona considered herself a biographer by profession and had four highly acclaimed 'lives' to her credit. It was in fact only six months since she'd finished the last one, on the life of the artist Elspeth Wilding, and at the time she'd been more than glad to put it behind her. Her husband, Max, maintained that death and disaster seemed to follow whichever genre she worked in, but after the traumas of the last bio he'd gone so far as to advise her to write only about people who'd been safely dead and buried for a hundred years. Perhaps she should take his advice.

Max himself was an artist with a studio across town, a measure that became necessary when, early in their marriage, it had become evident they couldn't work in the same house – he needing loud music to inspire him and she requiring complete silence for her writing. Furthermore, to their family and friends' initial disquiet, he also slept there three nights a week following his evening art classes. Early morning was his preferred painting time, and this way he was able to make full use of the light without the need to rush back across town at daybreak, having returned home merely to sleep. The arrangement, though unorthodox, suited them both admirably and they spoke on the phone at least twice a day.

Rona closed the magazine and sighed. Over the last few weeks she'd become increasingly restless as she worked on the undemanding series and, eager now to begin looking for another life to research, she was anxious to bring it to a close. Nicole Summers would be an excellent example with which to finish.

She flipped open her laptop, googled her and was interested to see she had a web page and blog as well as Twitter and Facebook accounts. So at least she wasn't averse to publicity. Rona studied her photograph judiciously: brown hair curling on her shoulders, oval face with well-defined brows above dark eyes, and an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile.

Thoughtfully she closed the laptop and loaded the lunch dishes into the dishwasher. As she'd told Lindsey, she would speak to Barnie and see what he advised.

Barnie and Dinah Trent lived in a sprawling bungalow on the north-eastern fringes of the town, a route increasingly familiar to Rona since not only was Lindsey's flat also off this road but so was the new home of their father and Catherine. She was still coming to terms with no longer being able to phone him on the spur of the moment to suggest lunch, as she frequently had both during his tenure at the bank and after his retirement, when he'd moved out of the family home in Belmont to a furnished flat in the centre of town. She missed those impromptu meetings.

She turned into Hollybush Lane and, as the five-bar gates were open, drove through them and pulled up in front of the house, closing the gates behind her before releasing her dog from the car. Despite this being home to three Siamese cats, Gus, her golden retriever, was a welcome visitor, a non-aggression pact having been agreed early in their acquaintance.

'Rona!' Dinah came hurrying to greet her, her rich, deep voice, as always, at odds with her diminutive height. 'Lovely to see you!'

Rona bent to return her hug and Gus, not to be left out, leapt up with an excited bark. By the time they'd disentangled themselves, Barnie had appeared to add his welcome and they all moved inside.

Rona loved this house with its relaxed, homely atmosphere, and over the years had grown fond of the two very disparate people who lived here. Barnie, a bear of a man with a high domed forehead, stood six foot two in his stocking feet, while Dinah, wiry-haired and dynamic, was under five foot. Yet despite their differences, they'd been happily married for thirty odd years – a stark contrast to her own parents.

She seated herself in her usual chair, looking about her with a contented sigh, and Barnie put a glass of Vodka and Russchian into her hand. 'So? How are the newly-weds?'

Rona smiled. 'As far as I know, very well. I haven't seen a great deal of them.'

'Well, that's the way with newly-weds, whatever their age!' Barnie bent to pat Gus, who was easing his way between the cats in front of the fire. After a mild day, the evening had turned chill. 'I promised Dinah there'd be no shop talk,' he went on. 'But before she comes back, how much mileage do you reckon is left in the single-mothers series?'

Rona shrugged. 'To be honest, I think it's run its course – perhaps just one more to finish it off. Which reminds me, I presume you've actually met Nicole Summers?'

Barnie raised a bushy eyebrow. 'Once. Why?'

'What's she like?'

'Efficient. Always meets her deadlines, and provides consistently good copy.'

'I meant personally?'

'I'm hardly in a position to judge. Why?'

'Lindsey pointed out that she's a single mother. I was wondering how you'd feel about my approaching her?'

Barnie whistled tunelessly. 'A bit incestuous, isn't it?'

'Not really. Magazines do sometimes run profiles on staff members.'

'Well, I suppose I've no objection, though whether you'd be able to twist her arm is another matter.'

'I looked her up online and she seems pretty publicity-conscious.'

'Concerning her work, yes. But from what I recall, there's no personal stuff.'

'You think she'd object?'

Barnie shrugged. 'As a matter of interest, how do you know she's a single mother?'

'Pure fluke, really. Lindsey met her ex.'

'She might have replaced him.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' Rona admitted.

'Well, if you want to approach her you have my blessing, for what it's worth.'

'Great. Have you by any chance got her mobile number?'

'It'll be on file at the office. I'll email it to you tomorrow.'

On cue, Dinah came bustling into the room. 'Dinner in ten minutes!' she announced. 'I'll have that sherry now, thank you, darling.' She perched on the arm of a chair and turned to Rona. 'Right, tell me all the news!'

'So how's Mel?' Rona enquired over dinner, adding with a smile, 'No more babies on the way?' The Trents' daughter lived in the States and her third child had been unplanned.

There was a pause and Rona, surprised Dinah hadn't launched into a detailed report as usual, looked up in time to catch an exchange of looks between husband and wife.

'Is something wrong?' she asked quickly.

It was Barnie who replied. 'She and Mitch are going through a bad patch, I'm afraid. Things are a little rocky at the moment.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry. Is it with his being away so much?' Melissa's husband was in the oil business, which necessitated long assignments overseas.

'That doesn't help,' Barnie said, but did not elaborate. Dinah offered more vegetables, and the subject was firmly closed.

Rona related the news to Max when he made his bedtime phone call. 'I hope it's not serious,' she added. 'It must be worrying for them, knowing Mel's unhappy when she's so far away. Oh, and I forgot to tell you earlier, Linz came up with a suggestion for another single-mother article – the last, I hope – someone who writes food articles for the mag. I'll give her a ring in the morning and see if she's willing to cooperate.'

But before she could do so, Rona's plans took an unexpected turn. The next morning she'd just read Barnie's email giving Nicole's number when her phone rang. She lifted it to find Prue Granger, her editor, on the line.

'Rona, how are things?'

'Fine, thanks, Prue.'

'Busy?'

'So-so,' Rona answered cautiously.

Prue hesitated. 'I have a proposition I'd like to run past you, but not over the phone. Will you be coming to town in the next few days?'

'I hadn't planned to, but of course I could if —'

'Tomorrow? Eleven o'clock at my office?' Rona raised her eyebrows. 'Yes, I could manage that.'

'Excellent! See you then.' And she rang off.

Rona's curiosity was piqued. What could possibly have arisen that required her immediate presence? Well, she'd find out tomorrow.

Unlike the bigger firms with their open-plan offices and ranks of desks and computers, Jonas Jennings, an independent publisher specializing in non-fiction, still retained its small cluttered rooms up a winding staircase, and Rona was out of breath when she was shown into her editor's office.

'Rona, good to see you!' Prue came round her desk to greet her. Small, with curly hair and extra-large spectacles, she looked more like a precocious child than the competent businesswoman Rona knew her to be. She put her head round the door and called, 'Frances, be a love and bring in two coffees, will you?' before turning back into the room. 'Sit down, Rona. Journey OK?'

'The usual crush on the tube,' Rona replied. 'I can't imagine how you cope, commuting daily.'

'Needs must,' Prue answered vaguely, reseating herself and pulling some files towards her. 'Now, I wasn't quite clear from your reply on the phone. Are you working on anything at the moment?'

'A series for Chiltern Life, comme toujours,' Rona said lightly.

'Ongoing?'

'Just coming to an end, actually. Why?'

A knock on the door heralded a girl bearing a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate of Marie biscuits, which she set down on the desk. As she left the room, instead of answering, Prue asked abruptly, 'Have you read any Russell Page?'

Rona looked surprised. 'Certainly – it was he who inspired me to write biographies. Wasn't he killed recently, in a car crash? I saw his obit in the paper.'

Prue nodded and Rona awaited her next comment with some interest.

'He was one of ours, of course,' she said at last. 'And apart from grieving for him as a friend, his death has left us in a somewhat parlous position.' She nibbled on a biscuit, then looked up, meeting Rona's eye. 'Do you remember Gideon Ward?'

Another unexpected and seemingly irrelevant question. 'Of course – the Jeremy Paxman of his day. He caused all sorts of upsets, didn't he? Members of Parliament resigned and business moguls were brought low. And wasn't there one interview in particular that caused a storm – something to do with a Nigerian food crisis?'

Prue nodded. 'It won him the TV Presenter of the Year Award.'

Rona eyed her curiously. 'Why did you bring him up?'

Prue sighed and leaned back in her chair. 'The point is that Russell had been working for the last eighteen months or so on his bio. It was scheduled to come out in March next year, which will be the tenth anniversary of Ward's death. And, well, now we're left high and dry, as it were.'

Light began to dawn. 'You're not by any chance suggesting I take it on?'

Prue leaned forward. 'Would you, Rona? Most of the research has been done and we have all Russell's notes, plus DVDs of Ward's interviews and so on. It would get us out of the most enormous hole if you'd agree.'

She took a quick drink of coffee, and when Rona didn't immediately comment went on. 'I appreciate this initial approach should have come through Eddie. I did email him, but he's out of the country dealing with the estate of one of his authors. We agreed that in view of the urgency I should outline the proposal and you could contact him after we've spoken.' Eddie Gold was Rona's agent.

'Actually,' she said slowly, 'I was starting to think about another bio, but this one would be extremely high-profile. Russell Page is a hard act to follow, and my style is very different from his.'

'Of course it would be your book, albeit with acknowledgment of Russell's initial input.'

'And from what you say, the schedule's pretty tight?'

'Well, as I said, originally publication was scheduled to coincide with the anniversary of Ward's death, but to be realistic few people would be aware of that.'

She glanced at Rona's still-doubtful face. 'I don't want you to feel under pressure, Rona. You have your own method of working and I appreciate biographies can't be rushed. A bonus is that most of the groundwork has been done, which should be a time saver.'

Rona sipped her coffee, her mind whirling off at a tangent. 'How would Page's wife feel about someone else taking it on?'

'Actually it was she who first mentioned your name. She knew we publish you, has read your books, and suggested you might be the person to do it.'

'That's kind of her.'

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Retribution by Anthea Fraser. Copyright © 2016 Anthea Fraser. Excerpted by permission of Severn House Publishers Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Severn House
• Publication date: 2018
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1847517730
• ISBN 13: 9781847517739
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 192