Cover

About the Author

After a childhood spent acting professionally and training at a theatre school, Laura Madeleine changed her mind and went to study English Literature at Newnham College, Cambridge. She now writes fiction, as well as recipes, and was formerly the resident cake baker for Domestic Sluttery. She lives in Bristol, but can often be found visiting her family in Devon, eating cheese and getting up to mischief with her sister, fantasy author Lucy Hounsom.

You can find her on Twitter @lauramadeleine

Also by Laura Madeleine

Also by Laura Madeleine

The Confectioner’s Tale

Where the Wild Cherries Grow

The Secrets Between Us

and published by Black Swan

Dedication

To absent friends

Praise for Laura Madeleine and her novels:

‘Atmospheric, engaging and sublimely satisfying’

Veronica Henry

‘Mouth-watering and mysterious. A compelling read’

Leah Fleming

‘A sizzling forbidden love story’

Heat

‘Delightful and delicious: a must read’

Nina George

‘If you are a fan of Kate Morton or Kate Mosse you will enjoy this book. I think this is her best book yet’

Over the Rainbow

‘A truly stunning story that will captivate you’

Kraftireader

‘I know I will return to read again and again’

The Very Pink Notebook

‘Heartbreaking. A must read’

Jera’s Jamboree

‘An incredible story and certainly one for the keeper shelf’

Shaz’s Book Blog

‘A story about love, loss and finding your way … This book will transport you’

Our First Year Here

‘A complex and mesmerising read’

Alba in Bookland

Epigraph

I will mix me a drink of stars,—

Large stars with polychrome needles,

Small stars jetting maroon and crimson,

Cool, quiet, green stars.

I will tear them out of the sky,

And squeeze them over an old silver cup,

And I will pour the cold scorn of my Beloved into it,

So that my drink shall be bubbled with ice.

– ‘Vintage’, Amy Lowell, 1914

Part One

Blood and Sand

Take a pony of fresh blood orange juice and another of good Scotch whisky. Add into this the same of Cherry Heering and sweet Italian vermouth. Shake violently enough to break a sweat and strain into a coupe glass. An experience rarely repeated.

Blood and Sand.

It’s the name that haunts me. It takes me straight back to that night. Every time I read the recipe, I can’t help but imagine another one, written in its place:

Take one girl as ripe as fruit and one man as hard as liquor. Throw them together with sweet words turned rotten and fill them with alcohol until the result is inescapable.

It’s the Scotch that does it. After that night, whenever I opened a bottle – however expensive – all I could ever smell was blood.