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Back The Model Wife Save as PDF
Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Also by Tricia Stringer
  5. Title Page
  6. Dedication
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  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. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Author’s Note
  46. Acknowledgements
  47. Excerpt
  48. One

For further information go to triciastringer.com or connect with Tricia on Facebook, Instagram @triciastringerauthor or Twitter @tricia_stringer

Also by Tricia Stringer

Also by Tricia Stringer

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Right as Rain

Riverboat Point

Between the Vines

A Chance of Stormy Weather

Come Rain or Shine

Something in the Wine

The Flinders Ranges Series

Heart of the Country

Dust on the Horizon

Jewel in the North

Table for Eight

Title Page

The Model Wife

Tricia Stringer

image

Dedication

For Alexandra

The Model Wife

by

Mrs Gladys Norman

London 1928

In my role as a surgeon’s wife I have managed a busy household, raised three children and maintained a healthy happy marriage.

I feel it my bounden duty to offer the benefit of my wisdom and experience for new brides here in the pages of this book.

One

One

Natalie King put her shoulder against the wooden door and shoved it open, then cringed at the shuddering bang it made against the solid wall. Another dent in the hundred-year-old plaster. Milt kept promising he’d install a new stopper, just like he’d promised to replace the window runners in the bedrooms and the warped kitchen door.

The warmer air inside was a relief from the chilly wind gusting across the dry paddocks. It was already late May but so far there’d been no rain of any significance. She kicked the door shut behind her and made her way along the scuffed wooden floor of the passage to the kitchen. In one hand she clutched a basket filled with exercise books and in the other a bag of shopping and her handbag. Both loads threatened to pull her arms from their sockets.

In the kitchen the old black-and-white cat rose from its position in front of the vestiges of a fire in the slow-combustion stove.

“What are you doing still inside, Bubbles?”

The cat stretched and blinked sleepy eyes at her.

Natalie’s mobile began to ring. She dumped her basket and the bag of groceries on the big wooden table, clear except for a small vase of gerberas in the centre with a scrap of paper beside it, and dug in her bag for the phone.

“Hello.”

“Mum, are you free to talk?”

Natalie held her breath. She knew the waver in her youngest daughter’s voice well. “What’s up, Laura?” She kept her own voice light.

“Nothing.” The response was a little too happy; the pause too brief. “I just wanted to know if you were home over the weekend. I thought I’d come up.”

“Of course. Your dad and I will be. I’m not sure what Bree’s plans are. It’d be lovely to see you.” Natalie allowed herself to relax. Perhaps no crisis after all. “Bringing anyone with you?” Laura’s visits usually involved one, often two girlfriends; girls from the city who played at being farm girls as they fed animals and rode motorbikes.

“No, just me.”