A Precious Gift
Contents ( 62)
- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Chapter Forty-Two
- Chapter Forty-Three
- Chapter Forty-Four
- Chapter Forty-Five
- Chapter Forty-Six
- Chapter Forty-Seven
- Chapter Forty-Eight
- Chapter Forty-Nine
- Chapter Fifty
- Chapter Fifty-One
- Chapter Fifty-Two
- Chapter Fifty-Three
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!
- Rhubarb Crumble
- Love Rosie Goodwin?
- The Days of the Week collection
- Tales from Memory Lane
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Also by Rosie Goodwin
About Rosie Goodwin
Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!
A Letter from Rosie Goodwin
Recipe of Rhubarb Crumble
Love Rosie Goodwin?
More from Rosie Goodwin
Tales from Memory Lane
Memory Lane Advert
Copyright
Happy Memories
of
Pauline Lydia Wilson
18th September 1942 – 31st December 2018
A very loving wife to the late Tony, mother, sister, aunty and friend to many.
On earth you were a little star and now you are shining brightly in heaven.
Rest in peace beyond the open door until we all meet again, dear friend.
Friday’s child is loving and giving
Prologue
Nuneaton, December 1911
‘Miss Holly, the master and the mistress said I was to tell you that you’re wanted in the drawing room the second you came in.’
Holly Farthing frowned as she handed her hat and coat to Ivy, the maid. She nodded. ‘Thank you, Ivy.’
After quickly tidying her hair in the mirror in the hallway and smoothing her skirt, she approached the drawing room, wondering what it could be that they wanted. Her grandfather rarely sent for her and when he did it usually meant trouble, which was why she had learned to keep out of his way as much as possible.
Taking a deep breath, she entered the room to find her mother standing at the window, wringing her hands, a sure sign that something was amiss. Her grandfather was sitting in a wing chair at the side of a roaring fire and the second he set eyes on her, his lips set in a grim line. He was a tall man with a rigid posture who, although advanced in years, was still handsome, boasting a full head of steel-grey hair, a thick beard and piercing blue eyes. Holly briefly wondered why he seemed to dislike her so. She and her mother had lived with him since her mother had been widowed when Holly was just a baby and she could never remember him saying so much as one kind word to her. As a child it had troubled her greatly but now, at eighteen years old, she had become accustomed to his surly ways.