Strangers on a Bridge: A gripping debut psychological thriller!

Strangers on a Bridge: A gripping debut psychological thriller!
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She should never have saved him. When Alice Reed goes on her regular morning jog in the peaceful Swiss Alps, she doesn’t expect to save a man from suicide. But she does. And it is her first mistake.Adamant they have an instant connection, Manfred’s charming exterior grows darker and his obsession with Alice grows stronger.In a country far from home, where the police don’t believe her, the locals don’t trust her and even her husband questions the truth about Manfred, Alice has nowhere to turn.To what lengths will Alice go to protect herself and her family?Perfect for fans of I See You, Friend Request and Apple Tree Yard. Praise for Strangers on a Bridge‘As well-plotted and high-anxiety-inducing as any Hitchcock flick. 5 stars.’‘GREAT read, fast, with a number of twists and turns that you don't see coming!’ Janice Lombardo‘a really enjoyable read’‘outstanding’‘a truly impressive, accomplished debut novel’‘a brilliant thriller’‘Obsession, suspense and twists… what more do you need? Fantastic debut .’

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Strangers on a Bridge

LOUISE MANGOS


HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Louise Mangos 2018

Louise Mangos 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.

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, downloaded, 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.

E-book Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 9780008287948

Version: 2018-05-23

For Chris, for always believing in me

APRIL

I wouldn’t normally exercise on the weekend, but several days of continuous spring rain had hampered my attempts to run by the Aegerisee near our home during the week. The lake had brimmed over onto my regular running paths, turbid waters frothy with alpine meltwater. The sun came out that morning, accompanied by a cloudless blue sky I wanted to dive into. Simon knew I was chomping at the bit. He let me go, encouraging me to run for everyone’s peace of mind. He would go cycling later with a group of friends when I returned home for domestic duties.

I chose a woodland track from the lowlands near the town of Baar, and planned to run up through the Lorze Gorge beside the river, continuing along the valley to home. A local bus dropped me at the turnoff to the narrow limestone canyon, and I broke into a loping jog along the gravel lane, which dwindled to a packed earthen trail. Sunlight winked through trees fluorescent with new leaf shoots, and the forest canopy at this time of day shaded much of the track. The swollen river gushed at my side. Branches still dripped from days of dampness as the sun dried out the woodlands. I lengthened my stride and breathed in the metallic aroma of sprouting wild garlic. The mundane troubles of juggling family time dissipated, and as I settled into my metronome rhythm, a feeling of peacefulness ensued.

The sun warmed my shoulders as I ran out from the shade of the forest. I focused on a small pine tree growing comically out of the mossy roof shingles of the old Tobel Bridge. Above me, two more bridges connected the widening funnel of the Lorze Gorge at increasingly higher levels, resembling an Escher painting.

Before I entered the dim tunnel of the wooden bridge, I glanced upwards. A flash of movement caught my eye. My glance slid away, and darted back.

A figure stood on the edge of the upper bridge.

In a split second my brain registered the person’s stance. I sucked in my breath, squinting to be sure I had seen correctly at such a distance.

Oh, no. Don’t. Please, don’t.

The figure stood midway between two of the immense concrete pillars rising out of the chasm, his fists clutching the handrail. His body swayed slightly as he looked out across the expanse to the other side of the gorge, the river roaring its white noise hundreds of feet below him. Birdsong trilled near me on the trail, strangely out of place in this alarming situation.

At first I was incredulous. How ridiculous to think this person was going to jump. But that body language, a certain hollowed stiffness to his shoulders and chest, even from a distance, radiated doom. Unsure how to react, but sure I didn’t want to observe the worst, I slowed my pace to a walk, and finally stopped.



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