Two years after finally being reunited, Abigail Thomson and Gideon Hawk are happily married and living in Cornwall with their children.
While Gideon is busy focusing his energies on his musical career, Abi makes an unexpected discovery of old diaries dating from 1950. As she and her daughter read through them, the reasons behind Abi’s mother’s destructive actions become much clearer, and they discover a shocking sixty-year-old deception.
Meanwhile, Simon Dean, the vengeful ex-drummer of Gideon’s band NightHawk, is about to make life very difficult for them all—again—and he is prepared to go to desperate lengths to achieve his goals.
“Mum,” she whispered. “Mum, wake up!” With a grunt, Abi opened her eyes and stared up at her daughter. She frowned, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and pushed herself up onto one elbow.
“Wassup?” she muttered indistinctly, groping on the bedside table for her phone to see the time. “Is something wrong?”
“Dunno”—Natasha shrugged—“but Chris is at the door in a right state and said I had to get you. Now I must let him in.”
She jumped off the bed, ran out of the room, and clattered down the stairs. At the bottom, she unbolted the huge front door and hauled it open. Chris was through the door before she’d finished opening it, going to stand at the bottom of the stairs and impatiently wait for Abi to come down. She appeared at the top, hair dishevelled, wearing only a long white T-shirt belonging to Gideon. She hooked her hair behind her ears and frowned at Chris.
“What on earth’s the matter?” she asked in concern, starting down the stairs, her bare feet padding on the polished wood. Chris pulled the rolled-up newspaper from under his arm and brandished it at her.
“This is the matter,” he said dramatically. “I take it you haven’t seen it yet?”
Abi reached the bottom of the stairs and raised her eyebrows at him. “Until two minutes ago I was fast asleep,” she pointed out, holding out her hand for the paper, “and besides, we don’t usually read this rubbish.”
Chris was watching her carefully as she unfolded it and looked at the front page. There was a long silence.
“Shit,” she muttered, her eyes rapidly scanning the page, then turning to the next one. Natasha peered round her and looked at the front page.
“That’s me!” she shrieked in dismay. “What on earth’s going on? Mum, what’s it say?”
Abi glanced at her, her eyes glinting dangerously. “Chris, put the kettle on. Natasha, get me the phone.”
She strode into the conservatory and flung the paper down on the coffee table. Natasha ran up to her, clutching the phone, then snatched up the paper and scurried to the other end of the room with it. She curled up in a chair and started to read the front page. The picture of her riding her pony in the New Forest dominated the page, and underneath the headline ran: Is this child really the daughter of Gideon Hawk?
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