The Darkest Hour
From the Sunday Times bestselling author comes an epic tale of love, passion and heartbreak.In the summer of 1940, eyes are focussed on the skies above the South of England: the Battle for Britain has just begun. But Evie Lucas has eyes for no-one but a dashing young pilot called Tony. Evie has a glittering career as an artist ahead of her but seems only to be fascinated in sketching portraits of him…Seventy years later, recently widowed art historian Lucy is putting the pieces of her life back together, and to do that she needs to uncover the mystery surrounding a painting in her home. As Lucy ties up the loose ends of one lifetime, she stirs up a hornet’s nest of history in another. Suddenly, Lucy finds herself in danger from people past and present who have no intention of letting an untold truth ever surface.Some stories are buried in the darkness forever. Some are just waiting to be told…
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014 This edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Barbara Erskine 2014
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover images © Hazel McAllister/Alamy (swallow); Shutterstock.com (all other images)
Barbara Erskine 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: 9780007513123
Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780007513147
Version: 2018-01-30
For my Dad, with love
and
In memory of my darling Mummy
who had her own part in the origins
of this story, and who would have loved
to join in the adventure of writing it.
March
Glancing into the driving mirror Laurence Standish frowned uneasily as he swung the old Citroën estate off the main road and headed into a side turning which wound down steeply through coppiced woods towards the valley bottom. The sleek black Ford which had been sitting on his tail for the last twenty miles or so had followed him and was drawing closer.
He had first noticed the car coming out of Chichester. It was close behind him. Too close, and he was growing increasingly irritated. Perhaps he shouldn’t have turned off the main road. He was lost now, well off the beaten track, threading his way up and down winding lanes, ever mindful of the car still there in his rear view mirror.
He was approaching a crossroads now. On impulse he spun the Citroën’s steering wheel to the left at the last moment without signalling, feeling the suspension sway and adjust as the road climbed steeply again, becoming narrower and more potholed as it crested the rise and plunged once more into the woods.
The black car followed him. If anything it had closed the gap between them slightly.
He didn’t recognise the car and he couldn’t make out the face of the driver but there was no doubt at all that he was being harassed in an increasingly dangerous fashion. He had no idea why. Was it road rage? Had he offended him by pulling out in front of him or something? He wasn’t aware of doing anything which anyone could take offence at. Did the guy want to rob him? Did he want his car? He doubted it! He fumbled in his pocket for his mobile with the vague idea of calling the police and cursed, remembering that he had thrown it into the battered old briefcase which at this moment lay on the back seat with the surprise birthday present he had picked up for Lucy. A signpost flashed past. He couldn’t see how far it was to the next village, but once there he resolved to pull up outside the first shop he reached and go inside.
The car was even closer now and it was flashing its lights.
Supposing there was something wrong. For a moment he hesitated, taking his foot off the accelerator and as though sensing his hesitation the driver behind him pulled out to try and overtake. Still flashing its lights the nose of the Ford drew level. The road was narrow and winding and there was a sharp left hand bend ahead.
‘Oh shit!’ Laurence stamped on his brake. The car behind him was trying to force its way past. It swerved towards him and there was a scrape of metal, followed by a louder grinding noise as the wheels of the two vehicles locked. Instinctively Laurence pulled his car towards the left, praying there was room for him to manoeuvre. His Citroën’s wheels spun on the muddy verge, then gripped and flung the car into the dense hazel brake. Laurence was aware for a fraction of a second of the tangle of splintering branches thrashing against the windscreen, then beyond, a strip of woodland sloping steeply down towards a stream at the bottom of an area of rolling hillside.
