BOOK EXTRACT

I hope you enjoy this book extract from my 1940s suspense novel, LETTERS TO THE PIANIST - set in Britain, during and after WWII.

Letters to the Pianist

This extract is taken from a third of the way into the story, when Edward is visiting his father-in-law's country estate in Shropshire with his wife, Connie. The family and some mysterious guests have just eaten game for dinner, after taking part in a rather sinister pheasant shoot, and Edward has just seen the entire table, including his wife, raising a toast to Hitler. Confused and overcome with nausea he covers his mouth with his hand, and staggers towards the door.

This gives you a snapshot of the central theme of the story - how the protagonist, Edward - a Jewish man with no memory of the past, is attempting to make sense of the strange family he has married into.

Stumbling into their bedroom, Edward flopped down onto the four-poster bed. Connie swept through the door after him, her signature Chanel permeating the air like a scented breeze. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he felt her stroke his forehead, feeling the coolness of her fingers contrast with the heat emanating from his brow.
‘How are you, darling?’
He wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘But you must eat, Eddie. Are you going to join us later?’
He groaned. ‘I’ve got one of those awful migraines. Do apologise for me.’
Connie leant over and kissed him on the lips, stroking his cheek as he turned his face away.
‘Is everything all right, darling?’
‘I just didn’t think you were an Adolf fan?’
Connie pouted and folded her arms. ‘Oh, so that’s what this is about. Honestly, Eddie, you are being silly. I merely raised an innocent glass of claret to a dead man. We must all learn forgiveness for the damned, and I can’t sit there like a party pooper. Daddy would have thought me terribly improper for disrespecting his comrades.’
‘Forgiveness,’ said Edward, staring at her blankly.
‘Yes, Daddy’s philosophy has always been to raise a toast and bless your enemies. It’s a family superstition … in case you meet them in hell.’ Connie giggled.
He closed his eyes, feeling more confused than ever.
‘Do come down when you’re hungry, darling.’ She stood up and smoothed down her dress. ‘I can tell chef to fix you something light, perhaps some scrambled eggs and smoked salmon?’
‘Thank you,’ he said wearily. He waited for the door to shut, relieved to be left alone. Family superstition. Could that really be true? Despite the many times he tried to whitewash it, there was something about his father-in-law's nature that was deeply disturbing. It was like hearing a violinist play a rapturous melody that lifted your spirits until, without warning, there was that one shrill, discordant note, so unbearably, piercingly out of tune, that it made you want to scream for it to stop.