The Missing Husband. Amanda Brooke
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Amanda Valentine
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photograph © Susanne Kronholm/Etsa/Plainpicture
Amanda Valentine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007511365
Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780007511372
Version: 2015-04-17
To my mum, Mary Hayes
‘Gone – flitted away,
Taken the stars from the night and the sun from the day!
Gone, and a cloud in my heart’
—Alfred Tennyson
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
An interview with Amanda Brooke
Reading Group Questions
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Amanda Brooke
About the Publisher
It wasn’t the bright flash of light or the soft hum of the extractor fan that raised Jo Taylor from her slumber but the darkness that returned to the bedroom after David slipped into the en suite and closed the door behind him. Keeping her eyes firmly closed, Jo listened to the shower lurch into life. The gentle drizzle of water was replaced a moment later by a thunderous downpour as her husband stepped beneath it. He began to hum softly but then stopped himself, continuing the rest of his ablutions in silence.
Jo wriggled her fingers and toes but resisted the urge to stretch her stiffened limbs. She didn’t want to alter her position and let David know she was awake. Carefully, she lifted her head an inch off the pillow and checked the alarm clock. It wasn’t yet five. Through the gloom she could see light and steam leaching out from beneath the bathroom door. A shadow flickered as the shower switched off, making her start, and she dropped her head back down. As she listened to him brushing his teeth, she snuck her hand up to her face and raked her fingers through her fringe until it fell perfectly straight across her brow. If she was going to pretend to be asleep, she wanted to look good, angelic even. She settled back into her pose and didn’t move again.
She could still hear water falling, but this time it was the sound of rain ricocheting off the window in a vicious spray of bullets. Jo squeezed her eyes shut and savoured the warm hug of her duvet. Unlike David, she wasn’t prepared to go out into gale force winds at such an ungodly hour – but he already knew that.
Yes, she felt guilty, of course she did. David’s fifteen-minute walk to catch a train at West Allerton station on this cold and miserable October morning wasn’t going to be a pleasant one, especially when it was only the first leg of a long and tedious journey from Liverpool to Leeds for an equally long and tedious day’s training, after which he would face the same epic journey home again. She had made the trip herself and didn’t envy him. But when he had asked her for a lift to the city centre so he could catch the Leeds train direct from Lime Street Station she had refused. She wasn’t going to change her mind and she didn’t really need to feign sleep; it was just easier that way.
Remnants of their argument trickled into her thoughts and she tensed her statue-still body. It hadn’t been a blazing row but rather a slow burning battle of wills. That was how their marriage worked, and for the most part, it worked well. They both had strong opinions and Jo didn’t like backing down or admitting it when