Title: The Last Wife
Author: Karen Hamilton
Publisher: Graydon House
Genre: Thriller, Suspense, Mystery
Release Date: 7th July 2020
BLURB supplied by Harlequin Trade
Marie Langham is distraught when her
childhood friend, Nina, is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Before Nina
passes away, she asks Marie to look out for her family—her son, daughter, and
husband, Stuart. Marie would do anything for Nina, so of course, she agrees.
Following Nina's death, Marie gradually
finds herself drawn into her friend's life—her family, her large house in the
countryside. But when Camilla, a mutual friend from their old art-college days,
suddenly reappears, Marie begins to suspect that she has a hidden agenda. Then,
Marie discovers that Nina had long suppressed secrets about a holiday in Ibiza
the women took ten years previously when Marie's then-boyfriend went missing
after a tragic accident and was later found dead.
Marie used to envy Nina's beautiful life,
but now the cards are up in the air and she begins to realize that nothing is
what it seemed. As long-buried secrets start surfacing, Marie must figure out
what’s true and who she can trust before the consequences of Nina’s dark
secrets destroy her.
PURCHASE LINKS
EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
Clients
trust me because I blend in. It’s a natural skill—my gift, if you like. I focus
my lens and capture stories, like the ones unfolding tonight: natural and
guarded expressions, self-conscious poses, joyous smiles, reluctant ones from a
teenage bridesmaid, swathed in silver and bloodred. The groom is an old friend,
yet I’ve only met his now-wife twice. She seems reserved, hard to get to know,
but in their wedding album she’ll glow. The camera does lie. My role is to take
these lies and spin them into the perfect story.
I take
a glass of champagne from a passing server. I needn’t be totally on the ball
during the latter half of the evening because by then, people naturally loosen
up. I find that the purest details are revealed in the discreet pictures I
snatch during the final hours, however innocuously an event starts. And
besides, it seems this event is winding down.
The one
downside of my job is the mixed bag of emotions evoked. I rarely take family
photos anymore, so normally, I’m fine, but today, watching the wedding
festivities, the longing for what I don’t have has crept up on me. People think
that envy is a bad thing, but in my opinion, envy is a positive emotion. It has
always been the best indicator for me to realize what’s wrong with my life.
People say, “Follow your dreams,” yet I’d say, “Follow what makes you sick with
envy.”
It’s
how I knew that I must stop deceiving myself and face up to how desperately I
wanted to have a child. Delayed gratification is overrated.
I place
my camera on a table as the tempo eases and sit down on a satin-draped chair.
As I watch the bride sweep across the dance floor with her new husband, I think
of Nina, and an overwhelming tide of grief floods through me. I picture her
haunted expression when she elicited three final promises from me: two are easy
to keep, one is not. Nonetheless, a vow is a vow. I will be creative and
fulfill it. I have a bad—yet tempting—idea which occasionally beckons me toward
a slippery slope.
I must
do my best to avoid it because when Nina passed the baton to me, she thought I
was someone she could trust. However, as my yearning grows, the crushing
disappointment increases every month and the future I crave remains elusive.
And she didn’t know that I’d do anything to get what I want. Anything.
ONE
Ben
isn’t at home. I used to panic when that happened, assume that he was
unconscious in a burning building, his oxygen tank depleted, his colleagues
unable to reach him. All this, despite his assurance that they have safety
checks in place to keep an eye out for each other. He’s been stressed lately,
blames it on work. He loves his job as a firefighter, but nearly lost one of
his closest colleagues in a fire on the fourth floor of a block of flats
recently when a load of wiring fell down and threatened to ensnare him.
No, the
reality is that he is punishing me. He doesn’t have a shift today. I understand
his hurt, but it’s hard to explain why I did what I did. For a start, I didn’t
think that people actually sent out printed wedding invitations anymore. If I’d
known that the innocuous piece of silver card smothered in horseshoes and
church bells would be the ignition for the worst argument we’d ever had, I
wouldn’t have opened it in his presence.
Marie
Langham plus guest…
I don’t
know what annoyed Ben more, the fact that he wasn’t deemed important enough to
be named or that I said I was going alone.
“I’m
working,” I tried to explain. “The invitation is obviously a kind formality, a
politeness.”
“All
this is easily rectifiable,” he said. “If you wanted me there, you wouldn’t
have kept me in the dark. The date was blocked off as work months ago in our
calendar.”
True.
But I couldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t appreciate being called a distraction.
Now, I
have to make it up to him because it’s the right time of the month. He hates
what he refers to as enforced sex (too much pressure), and any obvious
scene-setting like oyster-and-champagne dinners, new lingerie, an invitation to
join me in the shower or even a simple suggestion that we just shag, all the
standard methods annoy him. It’s hard to believe that other couples have this
problem, it makes me feel inadequate.
One of
our cats bursts through the flap and aims for her bowl. I observe her munching,
oblivious to my return home until this month’s strategy presents itself to me:
nonchalance. A part of Ben’s stress is that he thinks I’m obsessed with having
a baby. I told him to look up the true meaning of the word: an unhealthy
interest in something. It’s not an obsession to desire something perfectly
normal.
I
unpack, then luxuriate in a steaming bath filled with bubbles. I’m a real
sucker for the sales promises: relax and unwind and revitalize. I hear the
muffled sound of a key in the lock. It’s Ben—who else would it be—yet I jump
out and wrap a towel around me. He’s not alone. I hear the voices of our
neighbors, Rob and Mike. He’s brought in reinforcements to maintain the barrier
between us. There are two ways for me to play this and if you can’t beat them…
I dress
in jeans and a T-shirt, twist my hair up and grip it with a hair clip, wipe
mascara smudges from beneath my eyes and head downstairs.
“You’re
back,” says Ben by way of a greeting. “The guys have come over for a curry.”
“Sounds
perfect,” I say, kissing him before hugging our friends hello.
I feel
smug at the wrong-footed expression on Ben’s face. He thought I’d be unable to
hide my annoyance, that I’d pull him to one side and whisper, “It’s orange,”
(the color my fertility app suggests is the perfect time) or suggest that I
cook instead so I can ensure he eats as organically as possible.
“Who’s
up for margaritas?” I say with an I’m game for a big night smile.
Ben’s
demeanor visibly softens. Result. I’m forgiven.
The
whole evening is an effortless success.
Indifference
and good, old-fashioned getting pissed works.
Excerpted
from The Last Wife by Karen Hamilton, Copyright © 2020 by Karen Hamilton. Published
by Graydon House Books
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Karen Hamilton spent her childhood in Angola,
Zimbabwe, Belgium and Italy and worked as a flight attendant for many years.
Karen is a recent graduate of the Faber Academy and, having now put down roots
in Hampshire to raise her young family with her husband, she satisfies her
wanderlust by exploring the world through her writing. She is also the author
of the international bestseller The
Perfect Girlfriend.
AUTHOR LINKS
Twitter: @KJHAuthor
Instagram: @karenhamiltonauthor
Facebook: @KarenHamiltonWriter
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