A Lesser Evil - Lesley Pearse [0]
By the Same Author
Georgia
Tara
Charity
Ellie
Camellia
Rosie
Charlie
Never Look Back
Trust Me
Father Unknown
Till We Meet Again
Remember Me
Secrets
A Lesser Evil
LESLEY PEARSE
MICHAEL JOSEPH
an imprint of
PENGUIN BOOKS
MICHAEL JOSEPH
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglington Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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(a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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First published 2005
1
Copyright © Lesley Pearse, 2005
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior
written permission of both the copyright owner and
the above publisher of this book
EISBN: 978–0–141–90095–7
To Jo Prosser, for all the laughs, the shared triumphs and disasters over so many years. What would I do without you?
Special thanks to Claire Ledingham at Penguin for her wisdom, tact and patience. And to Emma Draude for her support, interest and friendship above and beyond the call of duty.
Chapter One
March 1962, Bristol
‘I want to sit down, not eat you!’
At the young man’s jocular remark Fifi blushed and quickly shut her gaping mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away. Of course you can share the table.’
She had in fact been dumbstruck because the man was so incredibly good-looking. Men who looked like Red Indians didn’t normally frequent Carwardines coffee shop. He might be wearing a donkey jacket, jeans and desert boots, but his face was pure Apache.
‘So where were you?’ he asked as he sat down. ‘In the South of France? Dancing with Fred Astaire or planning a murder?’
Fifi giggled. ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. The only thing I need to kill is some time till my friend gets here.’
‘Well, you could kill it talking to me,’ he said with a wide smile that revealed perfect white teeth. ‘Or has your mother warned you about speaking to strange men?’
Fifi knew her mother would throw a fit if she saw her daughter talking to a man like this one. For a start, it was obvious from his clothes and callused hands that he did manual work. His hair was jet-black and a little too long; he had amazing angular cheekbones and a wide mouth that screamed to be kissed. An over-protective mother’s worst nightmare!
‘I think even she’d imagine I was safe enough in here,’ Fifi replied, glancing round at the many middle-aged ladies who were having tea and a cake after a hard day’s shopping.
‘Got any idea where Gloucester Road is?’ he asked. ‘I was directed this way from the station and told to ask again.’
‘It’s sort of over that way,’ Fifi replied, pointing in the rough direction. ‘It’s a long road, though – have you got any landmarks or other street names?’
He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and looked at it. ‘Opposite the junction of Zetland Road,’ he said. ‘D’you know that?’
Fifi couldn’t help but smile at him. His accent might be rough Wiltshire, but there was humour in everything he said, and such a wicked sparkle in his dark eyes. ‘Yes, it’s only a longish walk or a short bus ride.