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The old writing desk had its own story to tell . . .
BY REBECCA HOLMES
RUTH climbed the narrow path to Windlow Hill. She had a canvas bag in one hand and her mother’s old cardigan tucked under the other. Below, the village looked almost as it had in her childhood – white
IF there was one thing Glenda Williams had always been proud of, it was her organisational skills. At school, the other girls had always come to her for help when sorting out their revision timetables
LITERALLY no jobs come in over the Christmas period,” Jenna said. Lola Everett looked into her sister’s face, which was like her own but six years younger. “But is that true?” she asked. Jenna had a h
IT was two days until Christmas and the afternoon sky was blue and crisp as Lydia’s car pulled up in front of the magnificent Bristol Hotel. Why was it called the Bristol? she wondered. It was nowhere
JOHANN KERNER saw the woman coming out of the darkness. She looked ancient and she moved as slowly as a snail, her back bent. She was the most likely source of information he had seen on his travels.
MAUD had been looking forward to finally getting her decorations out again. And now with a whole afternoon at her disposal she was really going to savour the experience and make it something special.