Finishing touches

Helen Harris always enjoyed her afternoon tea with Martha Evert, and as she knocked on the door carrying a treat of two chocolate muffins, she looked forward to an hour or two of catching up with her

VENITA FITZALAN-BLAKE had never liked dancing. And after treading the length and breadth of Bond Street, Mayfair and Piccadilly, fruitlessly seeking employment, she had good cause to remember why. If

Ava thought that men had their uses – they were excellent at fetching her drinks and mink stoles when she needed them, buying meals and paying for clothes and all that – but she probably wouldn’t go s

STAY still,” a strong, male voice commanded from the gloom. The autumn sun was setting on Wildwood Cottage, silhouetting its undulating structure dramatically against a charcoal and orange sky. “Well,

Clare had theories about her friend’s disappearance. Could she prove them to be true?

The mini digger we hired was bright yellow. It sounded like a bus and belched out black smoke. Phil, looking like he sat upon a child’s toy, aimed it down the garden after the hire company unloaded it