Chapter One
Years ago, the road had been a quiet snaking stretch of tarmac, but back in 1993, work had begun on a site that would become one of the UK’s largest shopping outlet villages. In less than a year, Clarke’s Village had transformed the A-39 into a bustling thoroughfare that during rush hour could be lined with bumper-to-bumper congestion. At ten in the morning, however, when all the rest of the world was being swept up in the ebb and flow of everyday life, there was very little in the way of traffic.
Sleek and polished to a high shine, the electric blue Audi TT convertible sped along the snaking stretch of single-lane tarmac. Heedless of the rain pelting the windscreen, Elizabeth kept her foot to the floor, relishing in the sweet rush of adrenaline as she sped through the numerous villages dotting the A-39.
She loved driving.
Fast driving was like great sex. It was freedom, a complete surrender to the moment. Behind the wheel, she forgot the disappointments, forgot the broken dreams, her sham of a marriage. She forgot all the downward slopes her life had taken. There was only the road, the rush, and the sexy throb of the engine purring through her. It was her escape.
There was no warning for the turning, just a sudden gaping maw in the surrounding woodland as the tarmac branched off. Used to the turn, Elizabeth dropped a gear and dragged the wheel around, adding just a dab of brake as the TT swung gracefully round the hairpin, then corrected for the straight and sped on. It was a reckless manoeuvre, stupid even in the rain along such a treacherous blind turn, but the momentary, stomach flipping rush made the risks seem rather insignificant.
Of course, she never had much to worry about in her Audi. The TT responded to her every command like the fine German engineered automobile it was.
Which was good, because off of the A-39, the way became a snaking lane of old tarmac and blind turns behind any number of which could await the hulk of an oncoming tractor or bus.
She floored it, and the Audi turned from a purring kitten to a raging tiger. It roared and kept roaring until she pulled into the familiar L-shaped driveway of Forbidden Fruit Cottage.
Despite its name, Forbidden Fruit Cottage was, in fact, a bungalow. A stately bungalow, though, with numerous extensions and surrounded by three acres of private land. It also happened to be the only property within two miles.
Heedless of the rain, Elizabeth got out of the sports car and sauntered up to the front door. Overhead, the sky was dark and subdued; the sun blotted out by the canopy of thick grey clouds. The rain, that had been a mere trickle when she set off, fell in a continuous sheet that drenched her from head to toe in the few strides to the front step.
All too aware of the icy rivulets running down the back of her neck, she raised a hand to knock, only for the door of heavy English oak, painted a deep blue with a plaque stamped Forbidden Fruit, to suddenly swing inward.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch.
Oh my…