Chapters (110)
- Cover
- Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
- Also by Diana Wilkinson
- A Perfect Circle
- New Year 2005
- Rebecca
- WINTER 1994
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Arthur
- New Year 1995
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Winter 2004
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- NEW YEAR 2005
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Amber
- Amber
- Amber
- Amber
- Amber
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Arthur
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Summer 2015
- Rebecca
- Arthur
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- A note from the publisher
- Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
- You will also enjoy:
He leant across and tried to take my hands. I pulled away, irked by what appeared to be an assumption that I’d been on the receiving end of rejection.
‘His flat has been cleared out and he hasn’t been in touch since Christmas Eve. Did you know there’d been a drug’s raid on Christmas morning? I see your dad was in charge. A seek and destroy mission, according to the papers.’
Oliver played for time and instead of answering straight away he asked for the menu. He used the fact that he’d skipped breakfast as an excuse for interrupting my flow. He poured out the last of the champagne before he spoke.
‘Yes, I saw that. Dad mentioned it in passing. Why do you bring it up?’
‘I’m worried it might have had something to do with Mitch’s disappearance. He must have left on Christmas morning or possibly the night before. I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection.’
Oliver kept his head buried in the menu and toyed with the choices. He didn’t look up. ‘I’ve no idea. I doubt the events are connected. Mitch didn’t do drugs, at least not that I’m aware of.’
Oliver was lying. He looked up and I could see it in his eyes.
While we waited for the bill, Oliver asked if I’d like a lift to the funeral the next day. He’d be happy to pick me up. Although I’d have preferred to make my own way there, I decided to accept. We needed to stay friends and I’d have to make an effort. Two more years working together was going to be a long time. But after our joint windfalls, it seemed churlish to refuse.
22
Rebecca
Although it was a funeral, I rose early. I decided I owed it to my dead boss to make an effort. The only black dress I owned was a flimsy cocktail number that hung at the back of the wardrobe and came out once a year. All I had to do was make sure my shoulders were covered. I washed my hair, which had grown several inches since my last cut, and let it hang loosely round my shoulders. Low-heeled court shoes completed the outfit. I was determined to do Roger Pennington proud. Oliver told me I looked beautiful when he collected me.