Ghost Writer , livre ebook

The Ghost Writer
James Grigg
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-08-28
The Ghost Writer About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Epilogue
About the Author
James Grigg was born in Birmingham and worked in the printing industry for 35 years before taking early retirement and moving to Scotland. He delivered fish door to door around rural Perthshire until again, retiring to concentrate on his writing. He lives with his wife near Brechin, has two sons and a growing number of grandchildren.
Dedication
To my wonderful wife, Julie.
Copyright Information ©
James Grigg (2020)
The right of James Grigg to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528914178 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528921251 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgements
To all at Austin Macauley Publishers. Not only for all their advice and hard work but also for taking the chance to publish this novel.

Jenny pushed the bedroom door closed with her foot and dropped the book that she had tucked under her arm onto the bed. She placed a mug of hot chocolate onto the bedside table along with a vanity case that she was carrying in her other hand onto the floor. She opened the wardrobe and felt rather foolish as she jumped at her reflection in the full-length mirror behind the door. As she undressed, she paused to look in the mirror at the bruise on her right hip that she had sustained when the train jerked to a sudden halt, which flung her against the door handle. She rubbed the tender spot, opened her case and pulled out the nightie with a large Paddington Bear emblazoned on the front that her mum had bought for her last Christmas; she slipped it on and got into bed. She reached for her hot chocolate and looked around the room. It was the first time she had visited her sister and brother-in-law in their new house and she liked what she saw. As a second bedroom, it was very spacious; she loved the lavender coloured wallpaper with matching curtains and duvet cover. As the train had been delayed, she had arrived later than expected and hence had not seen the rest of the house. However, it seemed very nice and had a similar homely feel of her sister’s old house. The only reservation she had was that the old house had been just a short walk around the corner from her parents’ home when she wanted to visit; a two-hour train journey was now necessary to reach here, provided there were no delays. The thought of which made her rub her hip again.
She reached down the bed, picked up the novel that she had bought for the train journey and snuggled down into the quilt. She pulled it up to her chin and opened the book titled Passion in Paradise to the page she had left off at on the train. As she did so, a piece of paper floated out onto the floor. Jenny leaned over and picked it up realising it was a letter. The handwriting was presented in an immaculate script that flowed over the yellowing paper like an art form; she focused on the words and it read:
My dearest Lucy,
I long for the day when I may return to your side and feel once more the warm caress of your hands gently soothing my brow. Your face is with me everywhere I go and it guides and comforts me through this hell. Ypres is a terrifying place with the shots, the screams and the blood. Oh my dearest beauty, I hate the days and loathe the nights that this madness keeps us apart. I beg you to stay faithful to me, and as promised, I will return, and return I shall.
May God protect you,
Your loving lonesome husband,
Peter
Jenny read and re-read the few poignant lines that caused tears to well uncontrollably into her eyes. She discarded the book onto the bedside table and switched off the lights. The words went around in her head as she tried to fall asleep, however what troubled her most, was, how the letter had found its way into her book in the first place. She had only just bought it brand new from the station kiosk that afternoon and hadn’t shared the train carriage with anyone for the entire journey. As she finally drifted off to sleep, Jenny’s thoughts turned back to the contents of the letter as she wondered if Lucy ever had received Peter’s love.
“Did you sleep well?” asked her sister as she replaced the empty mug with a cup of tea the next morning.
Jenny stretched and then replied, “Yes, thank you, I did,” reaching under her pillow. As she did so, she handed the letter to her sister. “This fell out of the book I was reading last night Sally,” said Jenny.
Sally reached over and took the letter; having read it several times she handed it back to her sister. “Quite moving isn’t it? Somebody must have left it in the book before you had it,” replied Sally.
“But I bought it brand new yesterday and nobody had it before I did,” protested Jenny in a loud voice; “also I was alone on the train.”
Sally was quite taken aback by her sister’s vehemence. Shrugging her shoulders, she replied, “well, it must have somehow got pushed in between the pages in the book shop and there is no need to shout.”
“I’m sorry,” apologised Jenny dropping her eyes from Sally’s stare.
“Sounds like the letter was written in the First World War,” she continued in her normal voice.
“Yes,” replied Sally. “Maybe a collector lost it, or even Lucy or Peter themselves; but they would be pretty old now eh! Anyhow are you getting up then? David’s going to drive us into town so that we can look around the shops. Would you like that?” she enquired.
“Yes, thanks, that sounds great,” sighed Jenny as she slipped the letter into her case.
Two hours later found the sisters having coffee in a small tea shop in the centre of Lenham, a grimy, sprawling
carbuncle of a place, even in the context of its setting in the heart of the industrialised West Midlands. As the pair watched through the window, they could see the usual array of young mothers dragging their protesting youngsters, smartly dressed reps posing with their mobile phones, pensioners dreaming of purchases they couldn’t afford and the rest of the flotsam and jetsam that frequented large town shopping centres during these days. Sally took a long swig of her coffee and said in reply to her sister’s enquiry,
“No, I can’t honestly say that I like it here much, but please don’t let David know. His promotion meant so much to him, and I suppose I’ll get used to it after a while. Anyway, if he becomes a branch manager we can move again.”
“I love the new house Sally, but this precinct is the pits. They should change the old saying from ‘sending people to Coventry’, to ‘sending them to Lenham’; it’s so depressing.”
“I knew inviting you down would cheer me up, do you think you could make it every weekend?” asked Sally.
Jenny grimaced, and said, “I’m sorry, you know what we youngsters are like. We are never satisfied, and this is probably just the place for old wrinklies.”
“I’ve had enough of this. Let’s go around Mothercare and see if we can find a dummy for my baby sisters’ big mouth,” replied Sally.
The girls paid their bill and walked across the precinct, that was being gripped by the biting wind that always seemed to prevail there, in spite of the rest of the country experiencing a heat wave. And entered the indoor market.
“Anyhow, you are getting on yourself now and you’ll be seventeen in a few weeks’ time,” chided Sally.
“Can you remember as far back as sixteen? You’ll never see twenty-one again,” mocked Jenny.
“And you won’t even reach seventeen if you are not careful,” snarled Sally in return.
“Ok, granny, don’t get out of your bath chair,” retorted Jenny as she ducked a vicious swipe from her sister’s handbag.
They caught the bus back to the suburb where Sally lived and got off in the main and only street.
“I don’t know why you don’t just shop around here,” remarked Jenny as they walked along, “it’s much nicer here, I’d never go into town.”
“But there are no department stores and anyway I thought you liked big towns,” answered Sally.
“I did, until today,” replied her sister. “Let’s get home.”
“Nappy change time is it?” Asked Sally as she took her turn to dodge a flailing handbag.
The next day, David stopped the car outside Lenham railway station and got the case out of the boot while the sisters said goodbye to each other.
“Give my love to Mum and Dad and tell them to have a lovely time in Spain next week; and don’t get up to anything while they are away,” said Sally as she gave her sister a final hug.
Jenny blushing slightly replied, “I won’t, guides honour and thanks again for letting me stay. See you at my birthday party, bye! David, I must go or I will miss my train.”
The train now standing at platform four is the 8:15 stopping train to Pulbourgh came the announcement over the tannoy system, as Jenny rushed through the ticket barrier and ran down the platform quickly finding a seat to avoid a further pummelling from the lethal do