Her Last Hour

HER LAST HOUR –––––––– DANIEL HURST –––––––– www.danielhurstbooks.com Table of Contents Title Page Her Last Hour 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 EPILOGUE Download My Free Book ALSO BY DANIEL HURST About The Author Download My Free Book –––––––– If you would like to receive a FREE copy of my psychological thriller ‘Just One Second’, then you can find the link to the book at my website www.danielhurstbooks.com 1 Time is precious. Time is money. And time is the only thing we can’t beat. But tonight, I’m not going to worry about what the hands on the clock say. I won’t be a slave to time, trying to rush and get things done at a hundred miles per hour like I usually do. Tonight, I’m going to break the habit of a lifetime and do something I probably should have done a while ago. I’m going to waste time. Even the thought of it is enough to make me nervous but that’s precisely why I need to do it. I’ve worked far too hard for far too long, and while I’m not planning on retiring and putting my feet up permanently yet, I have more than earnt the right to take things easy for one night. It’s Friday, which makes this the perfect point in the week for a little relaxation, and as I glance at the clock and see that it’s just after eight in the evening, I vow to make that the last occasion in which I consult the time today. Having just spent ten minutes in the shower washing my hair and cleansing my body of all the dust, dirt, and God knows what else it might have picked up while I was in London earlier, I now need to get dressed but before I do, I think about checking my emails on my phone. Fortunately, I catch myself just before I open my inbox, reminding myself that I just vowed to have the night off. Old habits die hard, I suppose, but I resist the temptation to check anything work-related. But the same can’t be said for things associated with my personal life, and I make a quick check on my messages to see if there is anything new there. More specifically, I’m looking to see if my brother has replied to the text I sent him earlier today, the one in which I said I hoped he was doing well and was thinking of him, as always. But, also as always, he has not replied to me, which makes that over fifty messages I’ve sent him in this past year without getting a response. But who’s counting? Returning to my plan of having a phone-free Friday night, I hold down the power button on my device until the light on the screen cuts out, and with my mobile out of action, I place it in my bedside drawer and make a point of forgetting about it until the morning. I make my way to my wardrobe next, my bare feet padding across my plush bedroom carpet, the one that only got laid a couple of weeks ago and took three men to fit, although they were putting new carpet throughout the entire house, so it was a big job. I made sure to make them plenty of cups of tea throughout their stay, though, as well as give them a healthy chunk of cash by way of a tip at the end to thank them for all their hard work. They were very appreciative, as well as slightly apologetic for some of the colourful language they had used as they were toiling away, but the main thing was that they had done a good job and made this house look much more presentable. And it certainly needed a facelift. I only moved into this property a month ago, and like all house moves, it’s been a hectic time. But I’ve tried not to let the stress of all that take away from the fact that this really is my dream home. It’s a two-storey new build, very modern and was only built a decade ago by a German designer called Franz, who made this his passion project. Having purchased a sizeable patch of land in the Kent countryside, Franz set about building his ideal home, and from what the estate agent told me, he was involved in every step of the process, from the architect’s blueprints to overseeing the construction workers who dug the foundations and slowly but surely erected this magnificent structure. Franz and his family moved in as soon as the project was completed and, from what I’m told, spent many happy years here, right up until the point when Franz’s wife got ill and wished to move back to their homeland. The German was a very reluctant seller considering how much time and affection he had put into the building of this place, but he eventually opted to put the house up for sale for the sake of his wife’s wish to move home, and when he did, I was the fortunate beneficiary of that. Well, after I’d forked out over one million pounds for it, so it didn’t exactly fall into my lap. I fell in love with this place as soon as I saw it, and while there were plenty of other offers from eager buyers, I was the only one who could pay the full asking price upfront, so Franz accepted the quick sale and then went back to Germany with his family to care for his sick wife. But I could see how much love and attention he had put into this place, and after feeling bad for the reasons why he