Chapter 1
Chapter One
JACK HARTWELL
London
It was early September, one of those days where the weather couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to do.
The day was overcast, a thick blanket of grey clouds hanging low in the sky, threatening rain but not quite delivering.
Jack Hartwell watched the world outside his flat through the condensation-covered windows, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts spiralling in a tangled mess.
September always felt like a month of transition, and today was no different, a pause between what had been and what might come next.
He turned to the long line of books that he’d written, stacked together on the shelf.
He had never imagined his career would come to this.
He was an author with a string of well-received travel novels under his belt, each one meticulously researched and written with dedication and care, yet somehow it hadn’t been enough.
His last few books had barely made a ripple in the market, edging their way into the charts for less than twenty-four hours before vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared.
Jack had convinced himself that the downturn was temporary, that his readers would return, but the royalty statements each month didn’t lie.
Worse still, his accountant had turned out to be a crook, leaving him with a tax bill that could sink a small business.
And now, an unexpected helping hand had been extended.
Just when he’d thought things couldn’t get worse, his former agent, Vivienne Langford, had reached out unexpectedly.
He was very surprised to hear from her given they hadn’t spoken in a couple of years, not since his sales had started to stall and they’d parted ways, and even more surprised when Vivienne acknowledged the challenges she assumed he was facing with the general slump of book sales in his genre, and mentioned she had a contact looking for a freelance writer.
She reminded him that travel, wrapped up in fiction, had always been his forte, and said the article her contact was looking for would be right up his street.
Jack had hesitated initially. When he and Vivienne had parted ways, it hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms, but it seemed she still thought enough of him to put him forward for the assignment, and he couldn’t deny that the idea of writing quick articles for cash was appealing.
It would help him to keep his head above water for the time being, and he had experience of writing these kinds of articles in the past. He dropped the editor an email and received a quick response and an invitation to meet and discuss the commission in person.
Jack glanced at the clock on his wall. His appointment at the headquarters of The Morning Ledger – one of the most-read papers in the city – was in an hour’s time.
Five minutes later he threw on his coat, grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door towards the Tube, which was the usual blur of grey metal, blue and yellow worn-out upholstery and the faint smell of old coffee.
As Jack boarded the train, he squeezed himself into a corner, clutching the metal pole for balance.
His mind raced, as it had done for weeks, never settling on one thought for long before being swept into the next wave of anxiety.
Would this job help him dig himself out of his financial hole?
It would surely help, and he wondered briefly if he might be able to suggest writing more than one article a week to bring in the cash faster.
He had one last book in his contract to deliver in the next six months, but he was sure he could balance doing both, especially if it made it somewhat less painful to check his bank balance.
As the train raced through the underground tunnels he thought about his career.
He used to love to travel, and he’d found endless inspiration to write about different places and meeting new people, but now the familiar screech of the train on the tracks grated on his nerves, and even this short trip across London felt exhausting.
And it wasn’t just because of the decline in his sales or the debt he now owed because he’d trusted the wrong financial planner.
There was something else getting to him.
A hollow feeling in his gut that told him he wasn’t just stuck. He was lost.
The train stopped at his station, jolting him out of his reverie, and he stepped out onto the platform and walked briskly through the maze of tunnels and up the escalator to the exit.
The newspaper’s headquarters were just a few streets ahead, a modern glass building that stood out amid the older architecture that surrounded it.
The building was sleek, corporate and, in Jack’s opinion, cold.
It rose into the sky like a monolith, its surface polished and reflective, somehow making the overcast day seem even gloomier.
He stood for a moment at the base, staring up at the towering structure, feeling as small and insignificant as his current sales.
He had been in offices like this before, in the days when his agent used to call him in for meetings with publishers. Back when he still had an agent…
Shaking off the memory, he pushed through the revolving doors, stepping into a spacious lobby. The interior was all marble and steel, the floors gleaming under artificial light. A massive logo for The Morning Ledger hung on the far wall, imposing in its boldness.
Jack walked towards the reception desk. ‘I have an appointment with the editor-in-chief,’ he said to the woman behind the desk who looked up and smiled. She nodded and pointed towards the lift. ‘Top floor. As soon as the doors open, there will be another reception desk in front of you.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied.
As the doors slid shut, his reflection stared back at him from the polished steel.
The elevator chimed as it reached the top floor, and Jack stepped out into a hallway lined with glass-walled offices.
He was shown to a waiting area, the receptionist telling him that the editor would be with him shortly.
He sat down in one of the plush chairs and suddenly felt nervous.
The door to his right opened and, to Jack’s surprise, Vivienne Langford stood there.
The last time he’d seen her was at his publisher’s annual summer party, shortly after he’d sent her an email giving notice of his decision to leave her.
She hadn’t taken it well; in fact, her parting words had been far from amicable: ‘You’ll be nothing without me. ’
For a moment they stared at each other.
Vivienne Langford looked as imperious and sharp as ever.
Tall, slender, with perfectly styled black hair and a wardrobe that looked like it cost more than Jack had earned from his last book, she hadn’t changed a bit.
Her dark red lipstick was as sharp as her smile, which curled at the corners with smug satisfaction as she locked eyes with him.
‘Jack,’ she said, her voice as smooth as glass, yet still with an edge that hinted she had power over him.
‘It’s been a while.’ He stood up, his heart pounding, unable to mask his surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve just had breakfast with the editor, Miles. Let me introduce you. Miles, this is Jack Hartwell. Jack, Miles Thornton.’
Miles Thornton was now standing in the doorway of his office.
He looked to be in his late twenties, with a lanky frame and a slightly hunched posture.
He had a pale complexion, as though he rarely ventured outside.
His messy mop of dark brown hair looked total chaos, and his rectangular glasses were perched slightly crookedly on his nose.
Jack had been expecting a sharp suit, but Miles apparently favoured a wrinkled buttoned shirt with a cable-knit cardigan.
The sort Jack’s granny used to knit as Christmas gifts.
Miles extended his hand and Jack shook it.
‘How are the book sales going?’ asked Vivienne, leaning casually against the doorframe.
Jack was sure she knew exactly how his book sales were going, and it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to get into at this moment, especially in front of Miles.
‘You know how the publishing world is,’ he replied evasively.
‘Indeed,’ she replied. ‘Well, I’ll leave you in Miles’s capable hands. It’s good to see you, Jack, we must catch up soon. I’ll drop you a line.’
Jack nodded, feeling flustered. Despite their differences in the past, she’d thought of him for this opportunity, and for that, he was quietly grateful.
‘Would you like to step into my office?’ said Miles as Vivienne waved goodbye and headed towards the lift.
It seemed that despite Miles’s casual appearance, he was determined to show an assertive demeanour.
Jack walked into the room, which was as sleek and modern as the rest of the building.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view of the city skyline, and the desk was immaculate, with no clutter or sign of personal touches, just polished surfaces.
Miles gestured towards a chair and Jack sat down opposite him.
‘Vivienne speaks very highly of you.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ replied Jack, slightly surprised and unable to shake a lingering sense of unease.
‘I understand you’re a very successful writer.’
Jack hesitated, a polite smile forming as he quickly masked his discomfort.
‘I’ve been fortunate,’ he replied diplomatically, steering clear of the fact that his latest books hadn’t reached the heights of his earlier successes.
‘Writing’s always full of ups and downs, but it’s been an incredible journey so far. ’
‘Let’s talk about your first article. I’m sending you to Puffin Island.’
Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Puffin Island?’ he repeated. ‘The tidal island attached to the town of Sea’s End by a causeway?’
Miles looked impressed. ‘That’s the one,’ he replied, his tone casual.
‘We’re looking for a real inside look at the place.
I don’t want the usual kind of fluff piece about how beautiful and idyllic it is.
No, I want you to dig a little deeper. Focus on the flaws.
The residents. What’s really going on there.
Let’s show our readers that it’s not all sunshine and puffins. ’
Jack blinked, trying to process what he was saying. ‘You want me to write something specifically negative? About Puffin Island?’
‘Exactly that,’ Miles replied, his smile widening. ‘I’ve heard the locals are … less than friendly. Isolated, strange. I want you to show that. Highlight the cracks in the facade. Puffin Island is no paradise, Jack. It’s just another backwater full of people hiding from the real world.’
Jack shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. He had written about places all over the world, and he’d always tried to capture their beauty, their uniqueness. He had never been asked to tear a place apart before. ‘I don’t know if that’s my style,’ he said carefully.
Miles waved a hand dismissively. ‘You’re a writer, Jack. You adapt. Write this piece well and there will be plenty of opportunity to earn more money with the newspaper. Unless, of course, you don’t want the job?’
There it was … the hook. It was clear that Miles knew exactly what had brought Jack here today.
Jack took a breath, his mind racing. He didn’t want to do this.
He didn’t want to destroy a place he hadn’t even visited yet.
But the tax bill was looming, and he had no other options.
He forced himself to nod. ‘I’ll take the assignment. ’
Miles’s smile grew. ‘Vivienne said I could count on you. I expect a draft in four weeks. Payment is on delivery. Oh, and the purpose of the piece isn’t to be shared with the residents. In fact, it would be a good idea to make friends with them, as you never know what they might share.’
Jack stood and Miles extended his hand. He had no option except to shake it. Miles’s voice followed him as he walked out the door. ‘Welcome to The Morning Ledger, Jack. I think you’re going to fit in just fine.’
As he stepped back into the lift, Jack was disappointed with himself.
Miles reminded him so much of Vivienne, and given that he’d never agreed with Vivienne’s cutthroat tactics when she was his agent, it made him uncomfortable to be starting this new relationship with someone who appeared to have the same killer instincts, asking him to destroy a community for the sake of a paycheck.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but as the lift doors closed behind him and he leaned his head against the cool metal wall, he knew he needed to go along with it.
He needed the money, and it wasn’t as though he was ever going to go back to the island or see these people again.