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Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  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. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

Finally, she switched off the shower. The sudden silence was almost overpowering. The cubicle felt safe, protected. Outside, anything could be happening. Stuart and Portia might have returned, come looking for their prisoner. Two of them would easily overpower the smaller Jo. Fear of what might be happening kept Allison where she was, her skin rapidly cooling. She knew she was being silly, but she was unable to stop the fearful thoughts cascading, nor could she stop herself squeaking in fear when the door was opened suddenly.

If Jo had heard, she gave no sign as she handed Allison a large bath sheet and put another smaller towel on the floor. ‘Come on, dry yourself or you’ll catch cold.’

Chivvied along, Allison stepped out. The bathroom mirror was steamed over. She was glad. She’d no desire to see her face. It was enough to look down at her body and see the multiple bruises.

With Jo’s help, Allison was soon dry and dressed in warm brushed-cotton pyjamas she hadn’t known she possessed.

‘They’re mine,’ Jo explained. ‘I couldn’t find anything suitable in your drawers.’

‘They’re comfortable, thank you.’ Allison was surprised at the thoughtfulness. Did this strange woman pity her?

She didn’t want her pity, or her help. Didn’t want to feel grateful for the arm she leaned on as she slowly descended the stairway. She allowed herself to be settled on the sofa, raised an eyebrow when a rug was placed over her knees but said nothing. How ironic it was – she’d fled from Jo and sought refuge with Portia and Stuart and now it was Jo providing the refuge. Allison would have laughed if she could have found one thing amusing about this whole damn scenario.

She looked up to see Jo hovering.

‘I’ll bring your dinner in on a tray. Would you like a glass of wine to go with it?’

‘As long as it’s not Prosecco.’ Allison saw the puzzled frown and shook her head. ‘I’ll explain later. Yes, a glass of wine would be nice, thank you.’ She rested her head back. She was feeling a little better. The drugs were working themselves out of her system. Tomorrow she’d be good as new. Keep telling yourself that!

Jo pushed open the door a few minutes later. ‘It’s only a Co-op lasagne, I’m afraid.’ She put a tray on the table. ‘I’ll get the wine.’

An unopened bottle, Allison was glad to see. It’d be a long time before she’d drink something without being perfectly sure where it came from. ‘Only a small glass, please.’

Jo poured half a glass and handed it over. ‘Eat up, I’ll go and get mine.’

Soon, they were sitting opposite each other in what might have been companionable silence if the room wasn’t filled with an air of expectation.

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