Don't Look Back

Also by Jo Spain Inspector Tom Reynolds Mysteries With Our Blessing Beneath the Surface Sleeping Beauties The Darkest Place The Boy Who Fell After the Fire STANDALONE NOVELS The Confession Dirty Little Secrets Six Wicked Reasons The Perfect Lie The Last to Disappear This ebook published in 2023 by Quercus Editions Ltd Carmelite House 50 Victoria Embankment London EC4y 0DZ An Hachette UK company Copyright © 2023 Joanne Spain The moral right of Joanne Spain to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library HB ISBN 978 1 52941 917 7 TPB ISBN 978 1 52941 918 4 EBOOK ISBN 978 1 52941 919 1 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Ebook by CC Book Production www.quercusbooks.co.uk Contents Don’t Look Back Also By Title Copyright Part I Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London London Saint-Thérèse London London Saint-Thérèse Part II Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse London Saint-Thérèse Donegal Saint-Thérèse Donegal Saint-Thérèse London Part III Saint-Thérèse Donegal Saint-Thérèse Donegal London Donegal London Donegal Donegal Donegal Donegal London Donegal London London Acknowledgements Discover more from Jo Spain Part I Saint-Thérèse 21 September 2022 Present All is not lost, the unconquerable will. The words of the epic poem fill Luke’s head as he walks on the soft white sand, grimacing as he reminds himself that, today, paradise is lost. Normality beckons. The beach is small by the island’s standards. He has already covered one length of the cove and is now on the return leg. This is one of the private bays, set aside for a certain kind of tourist. Pristine, idyllic – perfection for a small fortune. Through the hazy, late morning sun, he can see his and Rose’s villa. There are tall palm trees to either side, a burst of blushed pink bougainvillea against its white wooden slats. He walks close to the water’s edge, letting the foam from the gently encroaching waves splash against his feet. In his left hand, he holds a bottle of island-brand beer by the neck. It’s too early for alcohol but he’s still on holiday. At least for the next few hours. It’s as relaxed as he’s felt in . . . ever. What he wouldn’t give for one more day. Luke thinks of his reaction when Rose sprung this surprise trip on him. She’d collected him from work in a taxi, with a suitcase, his passport and an uncertain smile on her face. Would he be enthused or annoyed? He’d been taken aback. He’s up to his eyes in his job – the very reason they hadn’t had a honeymoon in the first place. There’s something about autumn and pensions. People of a certain age start to ask themselves existential questions about the seasons of their own lives. Do they have enough put away to retire on? Luke’s company gets extremely busy in September. But how could he complain? This trip is the first time Rose has taken charge, organised something, and when she told him of her plan, he wanted to encourage that in her, not respond negatively. In any case, he wanted this holiday. He needed it. The sun and the beaches and the restaurants, the cocktails and lazy mornings and strolls hand in hand. And she must have needed it too, even more so, because as soon as they hit midweek and the date for returning home loomed, he sensed a change in Rose. He knows why she’s being like this. Rose moved to London for a new start. It was somewhere she could be anonymous. But he knows she still doesn’t feel safe. Though she tries to hide it, and tells him regularly she’s fine, he sees the signs. That look in her eye when she thinks she’s seen someone she recognises. The little flinch when a bang sounds or somebody accidentally brushes against her. Maybe they could stay, Luke muses. Leave England behind. Even though Saint-Thérèse was colonised by the French initially, the locals mainly speak English now. Luke could get a job. He imagines the market for pension advisors on luxury Caribbean islands is already well served, but perhaps he could turn his hand to something more fun. Learn how to teach scuba-diving or to paint villas. Rose is a teacher. Her skills are more transferable. How would Rose react if he suggested it? She’d be sensible and say it wasn’t viable. That it was running away – and she knew what that entailed even if he didn’t. Up ahead, he sees Rose emerge from inside the villa to stand on the deck. She’s spent the morning sleeping, trying to recover from the killer headache that came on last night. Their last evening on the island, but Luke had been able to tell by her pale face and bloodshot eyes that Rose hadn’t been up for anything but an early night. He watches her now. The wind pulls at the red sarong-type dress she’s wearing, and in the sunlight he can see the silhouette of her body, the curve of her hips, the swell of her chest. Her blonde curls lie long against her back as she tilts her face up to the sun. He can’t get enough of her body. The feel of her, the taste of her, the smell of her. No matter how many times they’re together, every time