Secrets from the Past
Multi-million copy bestseller Barbara Taylor Bradford’s glittering new novel of deeply-buried secrets, passionate love, obsession and redemption.Thirty-year old Serena Stone is a talented war photographer who has followed in her famous father’s footsteps. But when he dies unexpectedly, she steps away from the war zone to reassess her life. At the same time, her former lover, Zachary North, comes out of Afghanistan a broken man in desperate need of a real friend.Serena and Zac inevitably rekindle their passion. But when Serena stumbles across one of her father’s old photographs, her whole world is turned upside down…In search of the truth about her father, her family and her own life, Serena begins a desperate quest to uncover a story from decades earlier.
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2013
Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Source ISBN: 9780007304165
Ebook Edition ISBN: 9780007304288
Version: 2017-10-25
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.
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For Bob, with all my love
Table of Contents
Part One: Snapshot Memories: Manhattan, March 2011
Part Two: Personal Close-Ups: Venice, April
Part Three: Revealing Angles: Nice, April
Part Four: A Single Frame Tells It All: Nice/New York, May/June
Part Five: Candid Images: Libya, July/August
Part Six: Out of Film: Venice, August 2011
In my own very self, I am part of my family.
D. H. Lawrence, Apocalypse
Memories of love abound,
In my heart and in my mind.
They give me comfort, keep me sane,
And lift my spirits up again.
Anonymous
It was a beautiful day. The sky was a huge arc of delphinium blue, cloudless, and shimmering with bright sunlight above the soaring skyline of Manhattan. The city where I had lived, off and on, for most of my life, was looking its best on this cold Saturday morning.
As I walked up Sutton Place, returning to my apartment, I began to shiver. Gusts of strong wind were blowing off the East River, and I was glad I was wearing jeans instead of a skirt, and warm clothes. Still shivering, I turned up the collar of my navy-blue pea jacket and wrapped my cashmere scarf tighter around my neck.
It was unusually chilly for March. On the other hand, I was enjoying my walk after being holed up for four days endeavouring to finish a difficult chapter.
Although I was a photojournalist and photographer by profession, I’d recently decided to write a book, my first. Having hit a difficult part earlier this week, I’d been worrying it to death for days, like a dog with a bone. Finally I’d got it right last night. It felt good to get out, to stretch my legs, to look around me and to remind myself that there was a big wide world out here.
I increased my pace. Despite the sun, the wind was bitter. The weather seemed to be growing icier by the minute, and I hurried faster, almost running, needing to get home to the warmth.
My apartment was on the corner of Sutton and East Fifty-Seventh, and I was relieved when it came into view. Once the traffic light changed, I dashed across the street and into my building, exclaiming to the doorman, as I sped past him, ‘It’s Arctic weather, Sam.’
‘It is, Miss Stone. You’re better off staying inside today.’
I nodded, smiled, headed for the elevator. Once inside my apartment I hung up my scarf and pea jacket in the hall cupboard, went into the kitchen, put the kettle on for tea and headed for my office.
I glanced at the answering machine on my desk and saw that I had two messages. I sat down, pressed play and listened.
The first was from my older sister Cara, who was calling from Nice. ‘Hi, Serena, it’s me. I’ve found another box of photographs, mostly of Mom. Looking fab. You might want to use a few in the book. Shall I send by FedEx? Or what? I’m heading out now, so leave a message. Or call me tomorrow. Big kiss.’
The second message was from my godfather. ‘It’s Harry. Just confirming Monday night, Serena honey. Seven thirty. Usual place. Don’t bother to call back. See ya.’
