Where You Belong
A contemporary novel from the author of A Woman of Substance about a young woman finding herself and her place in life, in love and in the world.Valentine Denning is a courageous photojournalist on the frontline in Kosovo. Her colleagues – Tony Hampton and American Jake Newberg – are her comrades-in-arms, men whom she loves and trusts. One is her best friend; one her lover. In a nightmarish ambush, all three are shot, Tony fatally, and for Val an even worse nightmare begins.For there are memories and lies – lies which force Val to find herself again by leaving her past life of heart-breaking war-danger for what seems like the gentler world of celebrity-shoots: but this too brings danger – a famous artist whose reputation as a playboy does not steel against a powerful attraction. Valentine’s sense of searching for something leads her to retrace paths which she thought she had left behind.
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Where You Belong
Barbara Taylor Bradford
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Special overseas edition 2000
First published in Great Britain
by HarperCollinsPublishers 2000
This edition published in 2010.
Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2000
Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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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Ebook Edition © MARCH 2010 ISBN: 9780007371990
Version: 2017-11-16
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TO BOB, AS ALWAYS, WITH ALL MY LOVE
The three of us sat in a small copse at the far end of the village, taking shelter from the blistering heat in the leafy bower, bosky, cool, on this scorching summer’s day.
The jeep was parked out on the road nearby, and I peered towards it, frowning slightly, wondering what had happened to Ajet, our adviser, guide, and driver. He had gone on foot to the village, having several days ago arranged to meet an old school friend there, who in turn would take us to see the leaders of the K.L.A. According to Ajet, the Kosovo Liberation Army had their main training camp near the village, and Ajet had assured us in Péc and then again on the drive here, that the leaders would be in the camp, and that they would be more than willing to have their photographs taken for transmission to newspapers and magazines around the world. ‘Everyone should know the truth, should know about our cause, our just and rightful cause,’ Ajet had said to us time and again.
When he had left the copse a short while ago he had been smiling cheerfully, happy at the idea of meeting his old friend, and I had watched him step out jauntily as he had walked down the dusty road in a determined and purposeful manner. But that had been over two hours ago, and he had still not returned, and this disturbed me. I could not help wondering if something unforeseen, something bad, had happened to the friendly young Kosovar who had been so helpful to us.
Rising, I walked through the copse and, shading my eyes with my hand, I stood looking down the dirt road. There was no sign of Ajet; in fact, there was very little activity at all. But I waited for a short while, hoping he would appear at any moment.
My name is Valentine Denning, and I’m a New Yorker born and bred, but now I base myself in Paris, where I work as a photojournalist for Gemstar, a well-known international news-photo agency. With the exception of my grandfather, no one in my family ever thought I would become a photojournalist. Grandfather had spotted my desire to record everything I saw when I was a child, and bought me my first camera. My parents never paid much attention to me, and what I would do when I grew up never seemed to cross their minds. My brother Donald, to whom I was much closer in those days and tended to bully since he was younger, was forever after me to become a model; but I’m not pretty enough. Donald kept pointing out that I was tall, slim, with long legs and an athletic build, as if I didn’t know my own body. At least I don’t look bad in the pictures Jake and Tony have taken of me. But I’m not much into clothes; I like T-shirts, khaki pants, white cotton shirts and bush jackets, workmanlike clothes that are perfect for the life I lead.
