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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

She sipped the water, catching a faint hint of mint. It was pleasant and she drank it thirstily as she looked around. The restaurant was perhaps half full. Suited types mostly, probably having business-expense-account lunches. She picked up a menu and opened it, feeling an instant acid burn at the prices. Even skipping a starter and going for the cheapest main was going to make this a ridiculously expensive meal. Next time, she’d suggest coffee, not lunch.

Shutting the menu, she checked the time. Allison was late. Jo took out her phone and checked her socials, wondering whether to take a photo of the restaurant for Instagram, deciding against, scrolling through some posts, checking the time, a nervous cycle she repeated several times before putting her phone down on the table with a snap loud enough to draw attention from two nearby tables. Jo shot them a glare and they hastily looked away.

It looked like she wouldn’t have to worry about the cost of lunch after all. The earlier surge of emotions returned and she felt the quick sting of tears. She’d been stood up. It was time to leave. She looked around for the waiter, hoping it would be the second more friendly one who would appear, not the supercilious first one. Because she’d had enough and might be tempted to pick up the shiny fork from the table in front of her, stick it into his eyeball and pop it out to serve to those irritating people at the next table as an hors d’oeuvre.

Luckily for all concerned, it was the second waiter who responded to her raised hand.

He was almost at her table when she was distracted by movement nearer the door. Looking over the waiter’s shoulder, she saw Allison frantically waving. Half an hour late. A dart of anger pressed Jo’s mouth into a tight line, her expression grim enough to startle the waiter into a step backward. Angry eyes swept over the approaching woman, lingering on the dirt mark on the skirt, the ripped tights, the genuine remorse on her face. Something had obviously happened, an accident of some sort.

Before Allison reached her, Jo had decided to forgive. Not forget, perhaps, but for the moment to forgive.

She stood to greet her new friend.

A woman who’d caused her such pain.

17

Allison wasn’t surprised Jo’s expression was less than welcoming. It was unforgivable to be late to their first meeting. She greeted her, kissing the air each side of her face with a loudly vocalised mwah, then stood back with a self-deprecatory laugh. ‘As you can see from my shockingly ragged appearance, I’ve had an accident, which is why I’m so embarrassingly late.’ In search of forgiveness, and sympathy, she twisted her leg to show off the ladder in her tights. ‘I fell as I was coming down the stairs.’