The ghost of bobby darin

IT had been a long, hard drive. Frances had left early, hoping to get away before the rush hour – only to discover that the rush hour started earlier still. She stopped for a break further south than

THE last specks of rain of the previous night’s storm pattered against the widow of the drawing-room. Meryl Stewart sat at the keyboard of her baby grand, working her way through the piano arrangement

LATE one night, when all customers had left the Mermaid Tavern, Morwenna was washing the used tankards. There hadn’t been that many customers that night, which was often a sign that people were engage

FROM the advantage of the cliffs, Petroc Trembath quietened his horse, Bucca, and withdrew his spyglass. From his vantage point he could see Morwenna Wainright at the window. Hidden by the landscape,

SPIRITS MAFALDA QUINO Translated by Frank Wynne ...

I PULLED back the living-room curtains and stopped singing along to the radio, frozen to the spot. How could this be? It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining, the birds had been singing up a s