A Secret Affair. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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Barbara Taylor Bradford
A Secret Affair
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A SECRET AFFAIR. Copyright © 1996 by Barbara Taylor Bradford. 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 e-books.
Ebook Edition © MAY 2009 ISBN: 9780007330812
Version: 2017-10-27
The right of Barbara Taylor Bradford to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Praise for New York Times
bestselling author
BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
“Her name on a novel…[promises] a good story, simply told, with satisfying outcome…[her books] finding their way into people’s homes and hearts.”
Dayton Daily News
“She’s the envy of all of us who put pen to paper. Don’t miss her.”
Greensboro News & Record
“A master…. A good storyteller.”
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“You may fall in love…cry real tears…cheer.”
Chicago Tribune
And
A Secret Affair
“Barbara Taylor Bradford can be counted on to tell a good story, and she does in A Secret Affair…. Sweet, sad, and sure to please.”
Chattanooga Times
As always, for Bob,
with all my love
Contents
Copyright
Praise
Chapter One
He was closing the small padlock on his duffle bag…
Chapter Two
The light in the piazza was silvery, the sky leaden,…
Chapter Three
They met in the bar of the legendary Gritti Palace,…
Chapter Four
Do you think she’s stood us up?” Frank said the…
Chapter Five
What Francis Peterson had predicted finally came to be.
Chapter Six
That was all too quick,” Bill said, encircling her with…
Chapter Seven
It was an extraordinary day, clear, light-filled. A shimmering day.
Chapter Eight
Vanessa Stewart had always prided herself on her honesty. It…
Chapter Nine
Vanessa surveyed the living room of the cottage through newly…
Chapter Ten
Bill had asked Vanessa to meet him at Tavern On…
Chapter Eleven
It had been raining all afternoon, hard, driving rain that…
Chapter Twelve
Are you sure there are no messages for me?” Vanessa…
Chapter Thirteen
Over the years, I’ve discovered that the more you love…
Chapter Fourteen
You were there, Joe! What really happened?” Frank Peterson exclaimed…
Chapter Fifteen
Vanessa sat up with a jerk, feeling disoriented, blinking as…
Chapter Sixteen
I’m glad Alice listened to you, Dru, and took her…
Chapter Seventeen
On Friday morning Drucilla Fitzgerald was released from Southampton Hospital.
About the Author
Other Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Sarajevo, August 1995
He was closing the small padlock on his duffle bag when a deafening explosion brought his head up swiftly. He listened acutely, with accustomed practice, fully expecting to hear another bomb exploding. But there was nothing. Only silence.
Bill Fitzgerald, chief foreign correspondent for CNS, the American cable news network, put on his flak jacket and rushed out of the room.
Tearing down the stairs and into the large atrium, he crossed it and left the Holiday Inn through a back door. The front entrance, which faced Sniper Alley, as it was called, had not been used since the beginning of the war. It was too dangerous.
Glancing up, Bill’s eyes scanned the sky. It was a soft, cerulean blue, filled with recumbent white clouds but otherwise empty. There were no warplanes in sight.
An armored Land Rover came barreling down the street where he was standing and skidded to a stop next to him.
The driver was a British journalist, Geoffrey Jackson, an old friend, who worked for the Daily Mail. “The explosion came from over there,” Geoffrey said. “That direction.” He gestured ahead, and asked, “Want a lift?”
“Sure do, thanks, Geoff,” Bill replied and hopped into the Land Rover.
As they raced along the street, Bill wondered what had caused the explosion, then said aloud to Geoffrey, “It was more than likely a bomb lobbed into Sarajevo by the Serbs in the hills, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Geoffrey agreed. “They’re well entrenched up there, and let’s face it, they never stop attacking the city. The way they are sniping at civilians is getting to me. I don’t want to die from a stray rifle shot covering this bloody war.”
“Me neither.”
“Where’s your crew?” Geoffrey asked as he drove on, peering through the windscreen intently, looking for signs of trouble, praying to avoid it.
“They went out earlier, to reconnoiter, while I was packing my bags. We’re supposed to leave Sarajevo today. For a week’s relaxation and rest in Italy.”
“Lucky sods!” Geoffrey