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Back The Last Guests Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONE
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. DEADLY SAS RAID IN AFGHANISTAN UNDER SCRUTINY
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. PART TWO
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. DANIEL MOORE: ‘A SINGLE BLOKE, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, A BIT OF A DUNCE BUT WITH A GOOD HEART,’ BEST FRIEND SAYS.
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. THIRTY-FOUR
  43. THIRTY-FIVE
  44. BREAKING: POLICE CONFIRM DANIEL MOORE ACTED ALONE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. SECOND ARREST MADE IN WESTAY HIDDEN CAMERAS CASE
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Discover More
  53. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  54. Also by J. P. Pomare

Casa Tarawera: Mid-century retreat on Lake Tarawera.

Two hundred and fifty dollars a night and one hundred for cleaning.

‘Anyone can book it as early as next weekend.’

‘And what will we do if someone does?’

‘I will race down, get it all set up. We need a new lock, new sheet sets, a few other bits and pieces.’ He pauses, lets out a yawn. ‘Bit of paint, tidy the lawns up. Also, the old stereo could do with an update.’

This all sounds like more money wasted.

As if reading my mind, he adds, ‘We’ve got room on the credit card, and it will pay for itself after one booking.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘You win.’ My hand slides down his chest, and I place my lips on his neck, kissing softly. It has the desired effect. He turns, pulls me down, his hand working the buttons of my top. I slide onto him. It’s quick. Methodical, even. I do exactly what I know works for him. After last night with Daniel, I could almost cry but I want this. I want my husband.

‘You’re not into it,’ he breathes.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I am.’ I turn back to him, half-close my eyes and exhale, with the hint of a groan. ‘Keep going,’ I whisper. He’s right, I’m not into it. I’m somewhere else entirely but it has to be this way.

I’m thinking about the lake house, about WeStay. I can’t take back my permission now and it does assuage a little of the guilt to do something that clearly means a lot to him. There’s so much history in that house, but its old closets have skeletons too. No one is perfect, least of all me. I’d said no new secrets, but sometimes we need to do things to keep each other safe, to keep the relationship well-greased. The tension in his body loosens beneath me, his hands slide down my back and he seems to fold against my body. He kisses the back of my neck.

Some things we simply can’t share, address or talk about. They just happen and we move on. Silent but knowing. That’s the key, I think now, to a long and happy marriage.

FOUR

THE TRAILER WE hired rattles behind the car as Cain takes a bend. He’s the better driver. If better equals safer, not faster. Ambulance officers are all fast drivers; the best are very fast. Cain seems to enjoy it on the open road out here. Never aggressive or racing to pass the handful of campervans we see on the trip down. He’s like me, made for small towns, a rural transplant in the city. He’s generous with a courtesy beep and a small wave when cars give way to him.