Lost Angel
Hope never dies… The dramatic new novel from the Sunday Times bestselling author of NOBODY’S GIRL.DesperateWithout any possessions or even a home, Hilda Stone and her 14-year-old daughter Ellen are desperate for a miracle. Approached by a strange woman foretelling that Hilda's lost husband is alive, they are astonished when the prediction becomes a reality and against all odds, Douglas Stone returns home.DevastatedYears later Ellen is happily married when her baby daughter, Sarah, is tragically killed. Blaming herself for the accident Ellen feels unable to go on until she remembers the woman's prediction all those years ago.DistraughtEager to believe that Sarah is still with her Ellen becomes obsessed with finding proof of an afterlife, only to be disappointed. She reaches rock bottom.DeterminedBut then one day, when she least expects it, Ellen is given a sign. But will it provide her with the answers she so desperately needs?
Читать Lost Angel онлайн беплатно
KITTY NEALE
Lost Angel
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers, 2009
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2009
Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016
Cover photographs: Alamy/Getty
Kitty Neale 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: 9781847563538
Ebook Edition © May 2016 ISBN 9780007346332
Version: 2016-04-14
For Shelley Blofeld.
Thank you, darling, for giving me two beautiful great-grandchildren and for making my grandson so happy. I hope your marriage will go from strength to strength, and though distant, you will always be able to see us as a part of your family.
Contents
Battersea, South London, September 1940
Nine-year-old Ellen Stone woke to the incessant wail of the air raid siren. Neighbourhood dogs were already howling and Ellen’s stomach churned with fear as she flung back the blankets.
‘Come on, get a move on,’ her mother, Hilda, shouted, ‘and don’t forget your gas mask.’
Ellen’s thin legs wobbled as she reached out in total darkness to fumble for the light switch. With the blackout in force, and the windows covered to prevent even a chink of light escaping, her bedroom looked gloomy in the dim glow of a bare lightbulb. Ellen pushed her shoulder-length dark hair aside as she thrust bare feet into her shoes, and then, grabbing the hated gas mask, she ran downstairs.
‘Hurry up,’ her mum urged.
They stumbled down the garden to the Anderson shelter, but could already hear the heavy, uneven throb of bombers flying across London.
‘Oh, Mum,’ cried Ellen.
‘I know, love, I know,’ she consoled, closing the shelter door behind them. ‘Don’t worry. They’re probably going for the Surrey Docks again. Now hold the torch so I can light the oil lamp.’
With hands shaking, Ellen did as she was told, and though her mum was a tiny woman, less than five foot tall, she leaned on her strength. With light brown hair, small dark eyes and a thin face that ended in a pointed chin, her mother was like a pretty mouse in appearance, yet there was nothing meek in her demeanour. She could be soft and kind, but woe betide anyone who crossed her.
‘There, that’s better,’ Hilda said in the glow from the oil lamp.
They sat on the camp bed, but Ellen jumped as a loud barrage of gunfire sounded, relieved when her mum put an arm around her shoulder, saying, ‘They’re ours, love. It’s those huge banks of anti-aircraft guns they’ve set up in Battersea Park.’
‘I … I’m still scared, Mum.’
‘I know, and this can’t go on. We need to get you out of London, but I don’t fancy this evacuation lark where you’d be sent off to strangers. I’ve sent a letter to my old friend Gertie, asking if you can stay with her for a while.’
‘But … but what about you? I don’t want to go without you.’
‘Your gran and granddad won’t shift and I can’t leave them. You’ll be fine with Gertie and you’ll love it on her smallholding. She’s even got chickens.’
There was the sudden shriek of stick bombs falling, along with the clatter of incendiaries as they landed on roofs and pavements. This was followed almost immediately by a loud boom, and another, so many that Ellen lost count as the ground shook beneath them. She was deafened by the noise, terrified, her mum now hunched over her like a shield.
