This is the story of how Nick returned to Franco’s Spain on the brink of the outbreak of WWII on a quest to rescue his lost love.
Excerpt
There was a sharp rata-tat-tat and Nick had rolled onto the floor and under the bed before he was properly awake. For a few moments he lay staring up at the bedsprings and feeling monumentally stupid as he waited for the hammering of his heart to slow down. It was not a machine gun that had woken him but the rattle of the letterbox. He was safe in his London house; the war two years in the past.
After a few moments he crawled out from under the bed, brushed the dust off his pyjamas and put on his dressing gown and slippers. At least I know my reactions are still sharp, he thought as he made his way downstairs to see what the postman had brought.
There was a single letter lying on the mat. The address was hand-written in a careful, rounded, familiar script. His heart stumbled in his chest. It couldn’t be, surely? Not after all this time. His fingers trembling slightly, he tore open the envelope and began to read. . .
Querido Nick, soy Rosa. ¿Me recuerdas?
Of course he remembered Rosa. She was his first thought in the morning when he woke and his last at night before he slept. His memories were a series of mental snapshots; Rosa in her rough workman’s shirt and trousers, her hair tied back in a bandanna, silhouetted against a harsh Spanish sky, one arm outstretched to throw the grenade; Rosa in the firelight, singing to his mandolin; Rosa lying with her wild black hair spread over the pillow, looking up at him with luminous dark eyes. Oh yes, he remembered Rosa. Rosa haunted him.
Holding the letter in front of him and reading it as he walked, he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. It was only then that he noticed the time. It was two o’ clock in the morning! Who on earth delivered letters in the middle of the night? He looked at the envelope again. No stamp! Dear God, how had she got it to him?
Ireland 1944.. A young man’s body is pulled from the River Lee. He’s wearing a distinctive silver ring that belonged to Paudy Daly, the eldest son of the notorious Mixer Daly. Why?
Ireland 1947. Seven weeks of relentless snow. Guard Eamon Foley is searching for a missing child.
At Toby Appleyard’s farm, he discovers the kitchen littered with dead cats. And the skeletal remains of a woman. Upstairs, Toby is dead in his bed.
