Lucinda Riley. - The Girl on the Cliff

PENGUIN BOOKS

Lucinda Riley was born in Ireland. She lives in Norfolk with her husband and four children. Her last novel, Hothouse Flower, was selected to be part of the Richard and Judy Book Club and has since become an international bestseller.

This is the page I look forward to writing most. It means the book is finished and is on its way to publication, due in many different aspects to the unstinting support, advice and encouragement of all the people below.

Firstly, Mari Evans, my superb editor at Penguin for her invaluable tweaks. The whole team at Penguin who have championed the book so passionately, especially Roseanne Bantinck, Anna Derkacz and the entire foreign rights team who have brought my stories to a global audience. Karen Whitlock, my copy editor, Pat Pitt, my typist, and all the behind the scenes people who contribute so much.

Jonathan Lloyd, my fabulous agent and friend, whose patience (and huge expense account on my behalf) has finally paid off. Susan Moss and Jacquelyn Heslop, who were the only two I trusted to read the manuscript before I sent it off, and comforted me so positively until the professional verdict came in. Helene Rampton, Kathleen MacKenzie, Tracy Blackwell, Jennifer Dufton, Rosalind Hudson, Adriana Hunter, Susan Grix, Kathleen Doonan, Sam Gurney, Jo Blackmore, Sophie Hicks and Amy Finnegan girls, what would I do without you?! Danny Scheinmann, whose calm advice has been invaluable, Richard Madeley and Judy Finnigan, whose Richard and Judy Bookclub has given me a wonderful platform from which to launch my future novels. David Makinson of The Holt Bookshop, Richard, Anthony and Felicity Jemmett, Moreno Delise, Patrick Greene, and a very special thank you to both Isabel Latter, geniusosteopath and friend, and Rita Kalagate, who kept me going physically during the endless re-writes.

The Family, who put up with me and my mad writing habits every day without (much) complaint. My ever supportive mother, Janet, my sister, Georgia, and Olivia, whose editorial typing skills, fuelled with a glass of Voddy, are still beyond impeccable. And my fantastic kids, Harry, Isabella, Leonora and Kit (deserving of a special thank you in allowing me to steal the opening line of the book from his fine story), whose names are written in order of age, not importance. I love you all, and each of you has provided, in your different ways, so much love, laughter and life. I can only say I am honoured Ive had the privilege of bringing each of you into the world.

And my husband, Stephen; for a change, words cannot express. I can only say thank you. For it all. This is for you.

The Girl on the Cliff is a work of fiction, set against a historical background. The sources Ive used to research the time period and detail on my characters lives are listed below:

Juliet Nicholson, The Great Silence: 19181920, Living in the Shadow of the Great War (John Murray, 2009)

Virginia Nicholson, Singled Out (Penguin Books, 2008)

Alison Light, Mrs Woolf and the Servants (Penguin Books, 2008)

David Stevenson, 191418: The History of the First World War (Penguin Books, 2005)

David Stevenson, The Outbreak of the First World War: 1914 in Perspective (Studies in European History) (Palgrave Macmillan, 1997)

Jim Eldridge, The Trenches: A First World War Soldier, 19141918, My Story (Scholastic, 2008)

Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong (Vintage, 2007)

Tim Pat Coogan, Michael Collins (Arrow, 1991)

Joseph J. Lee, Ireland 19121985: Politics and Society (Cambridge University Press, 1990)

Orlando Figes, A Peoples Tragedy: The Russian Revolution 18911924 (Pimlico, 1997)

Lynn Garafola, Diaghilevs Ballets Russes (De Capo Press, 1998)

Serge Lifar, Serge Diaghilev (Putnam, 1945)

Meredith Daneman, Margot Fonteyn (Viking, 2002)

Ninette De Valois, Invitation to the Ballet (Bodley Head, 1937)

Lutz Rhrich, And They Are Still Living Happily Ever After: Anthropology, Cultural History and Interpretation of Fairy Tales, translated by Paul Washbourne (University of Vermont, 2008)

The small figure was standing perilously close to the edge of the cliff. Her luxuriant, long red hair had been caught by the strong breeze and was flying out behind her. A thin white cotton dress reached to her ankles and exposed her small bare feet. Her arms were held taut, palms facing out towards the foaming mass of grey sea beneath her, her pale face looking upwards, as if she were offering herself as a sacrifice to the elements.

Grania Ryan stood watching her, hypnotised by the wraith-like vision. Her senses were too jumbled to tell her whether what she was seeing before her was real or imagined. She closed her eyes for a split second then reopened them and saw that the figure was still there. With the appropriate messages sent to her brain, she took a couple of tentative steps forward.

As she drew nearer, Grania realised the figure was no more than a child; that the white cotton she was wearing was a nighdress. Grania could see the black storm clouds hovering out over the sea and the first salt-water droplets of impending rain stung her cheeks. The frailty of the small human against the wildness of her surroundings made her steps towards the child more urgent in pace.

The wind was whipping round her ears now and had started to voice its rage. Grania stopped ten yards from the girl, who was still unmoving. She saw the tiny blue toes holding her stoically to the rock, as the rising wind whipped and swayed her thin body like a willow sapling. She moved closer to the girl, stopping just behind her, uncertain of what to do next. Granias instinct was to run forward and grab her, but if the girl was startled and turned round, one missed footfall could result in unthinkable tragedy, taking the child to certain death on the foam-covered rocks a hundred feet below.

Grania stood, panic gripping her as she desperately tried to think of the best way to remove her from danger. But before she could reach a decision, the girl slowly turned round and stared at her with unseeing eyes.

Instinctively Grania held out her arms. I wont hurt you, I promise. Walk towards me and youll be safe.

Still the girl stared at her, not moving from her spot on the edge of the cliff.

I can take you home if you tell me where you live. Youll catch your death out here. Please, let me help you, Grania begged.

She took another step towards the child, and then, as if the girl had woken up from a dream, a look of fear crossed her face. Instantly, she turned to her right and began to run away from Grania along the cliffs edge, disappearing from view.

I was just about to be sending out the search party for you. That storms blowing up well and good, so it is.

Mam, Im thirty-one years old, and Ive lived in Manhattan for the past ten of those, replied Grania drily as she entered the kitchen and hung her wet jacket over the Rayburn. You dont have to mind me. Im a big girl now, remember? She smiled as she walked towards her mother, who was setting the table for supper, and kissed her on the cheek. Really.

Thats as maybe, but Ive known stronger men by far blown off the cliff in a gale like this. Kathleen Ryan indicated the wildness of the wind outside the kitchen window, which was causing the flowerless wisteria bush to tap its twiggy brown deadness monotonously against the pane. Ive just made a brew. Kathleen wiped her hands on her apron and walked towards the Rayburn. Would you be wanting a cup?