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Back The Scarlet Dress Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. Friday
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. Saturday
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Sunday
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. One Week Later
  77. 71
  78. Afterwards
  79. 72
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. Reading Group Questions
  82. More from Louise Douglas
  83. About the Author
  84. About Boldwood Books

She had been too naïve to realise that Guy’s intentions weren’t innocent; that he was playing a long game. It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their heads that he wanted Alice and that he’d do anything to get her.

While he was working in the gardens, Will saw the two of them together at the side of the swimming pool: Alice in her bikini and sunglasses, lying on a lounger with its back propped up, her knees bent, a paperback at her side, and Guy sitting on the lounger beside hers, in an open-necked linen shirt, cotton shorts, loafers; he leaning forward so that he could listen to what she was saying, seemingly entranced by their conversation.

‘What did you talk about with Guy?’ Will asked Alice later, back at her caravan, after they’d made love, when he felt calm enough for the words to come out in a reasonable tone, not angrily, not possessively.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

‘Obviously it wasn’t “nothing”. You were talking to him for the best part of an hour.’

‘I didn’t realise there was a time limit on the conversations I’m allowed to have with other people’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Yes, you did. Stop being jealous, Will. There’s no need and it’s not nice.’

‘I’m not jealous of Guy deVillars.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

There was a pause.

Then he’d asked: ‘So what were you talking about for almost an hour?’

Alice insisted there was nothing between her and Guy, but she spent so much time with Guy that Will believed she must like him. Mustn’t she have been at least a little impressed by Guy’s money and the fact that he, one day, would inherit Channel View holiday park? Why else was she so fascinated with the book he gave her? Will had seen it at the side of her bed, and when he’d opened the page marked with a hair grip he’d found a photograph of Guy as a child, standing beside his father outside the Big House. Had Alice imagined herself standing in that same position, outside the Big House as Guy’s future wife?

Despite Alice’s protestations, Marnie had confirmed that Guy was the ‘special’ date Alice had arranged for the evening of her disappearance. A romance of some kind had been on the cards between them – at least that’s what Guy hoped. It was hard to imagine softly spoken Guy being roused to the kind of violence necessary to kill a person, but Will had written enough crime books to know how explosive repressed feelings could be. There was some truth in the cliché that it was the quiet ones who were the most dangerous. And Guy was the kind of person who might do something terrible to cover up a perceived humiliation; a narcissist who would do anything to avoid shame, especially the shame of rejection.

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