Lewis - Hiding in Plain Sight

Susan Lewis is the bestselling author of thirty-eight novels. She is also the author of Just One More Day and One Day at a Time, the moving memoirs of her childhood in Bristol. She lives in Gloucestershire.

To find out more about Susan Lewis, visit her website www.susanlewis.com, or join in on www.facebook.com/SusanLewisBooks.

Susan is a supporter of the breast cancer charity Breast Cancer Care: www.breastcancercare.org.uk and of the childhood bereavement charity Winstons Wish: www.winstonswish.org.uk.

Andee Lawrence is in heaven. Well, the South of France to be exact.

Ex-detective Andee has swapped freelance investigation and a broken marriage, for two months in Provence, renovating a beautiful villa with the new man in her life. Pottering around a small picturesque town on an early summers day, she is at peace. But her world is about to be shattered.

Remember me?

Two words spoken by a woman from the back of a car that say so much yet reveal so little. As the car drives away Andee is left reeling, overwhelmed by shock, confusion, self-doubt and mounting trepidation.

Almost thirty years ago, fourteen-year-old Penny had disappeared from her familys life, never to be heard from again. It is the missing child case that has haunted Andee her whole life; and now Penny Andees sister is back.

The question is: why?

An enormous thank you to Gunnel Oscarsson for introducing me to the wonderful city of Stockholm. A fabulous experience and a city Id love to visit again and again. Also thank you Gunnel for undertaking the Swedish translations.

More thanks to my dear friends Gill Hall and Ian Kelcey whose legal expertise once again guided my hand.

As usual my wonderful husband, James Garrett, provided unflinching moral support throughout the writing of this book, heroically withstanding the many highs and lows that come with creating an extreme and challenging story.

A Class Apart

Dance While You Can

Stolen Beginnings

Darkest Longings

Obsession

Vengeance

Summer Madness

Last Resort

Wildfire

Cruel Venus

Strange Allure

The Mill House

A French Affair

Missing

Out of the Shadows

Lost Innocence

The Choice

Forgotten

Stolen

No Turning Back

Losing You

The Truth About You

Never Say Goodbye

Too Close to Home

No Place to Hide

Chasing Dreams

Taking Chances

No Child of Mine

Dont Let Me Go

You Said Forever

Behind Closed Doors

The Girl Who Came Back

The Moment She Left

Hiding in Plain Sight

Silent Truths

Wicked Beauty

Intimate Strangers

The Hornbeam Tree

Just One More Day

One Day at a Time

These meandering, cobbled streets in the heart of Provence, laced through with sleepy canals and narrow, filigree footbridges were known as the Venice of France. Surrounded by the River Sorgue, with glittering waterways, tree-lined banks and many splendid mossy mill wheels, the area was home to a whole host of pavement and waterfront cafs, along with antique shops of every period and description.

It was through one of the leafy arcades that Andrea Andee Lawrence was strolling, aware of the ghosts she couldnt see, but sense: children, old women, thieves, sociopaths, philanthropists, spurned lovers, victims of grisly murders. Their spirits were as light and intangible as the wispy clouds overhead; their stories embedded in a forgotten time.

Andee Lawrence wasnt French, but with her effortless elegance and dark, compelling looks she could easily have passed for a wealthy Parisienne, here to while away a few hours before other demands claimed her. In fact, she was a British ex-detective turned occasional freelance investigator, whod lately developed an interest in and talent for interior design. She was also the mother of two, Luke aged twenty-one and Alayna nineteen; she was separated from her husband, Martin, and was now enjoying a new relationship with antique dealer and property developer Graeme Ogilvy, whod brought her to France.

Other than her striking looks, there was nothing to set her apart from the other browsers whod come to LIsle-sur-la-Sorgue today not a Sunday in the middle of summer, but a Wednesday in early June. Sundays were crazy days when hundreds, thousands, of stalls cluttered the streets and eager bargain-hunters, tourists and vendors outnumbered even the ghosts of former times.

No one, least of all Andee, was aware of fate trailing her today like a sinister bridesmaid. She was experiencing no sixth sense, no unease, nothing untoward at all, only the pleasure of wandering from one small emporium to another, as entranced by the treasures and oddities as she was by the nuances of possible stories.

Shed left Graeme a few minutes ago discussing delivery of a neglected bergre chair to the villa they were here to renovate and furnish for a wealthy Spanish client. Their instructions were clear. Nadia Abrego, the Catalonian beauty who could roll out several more surnames and possibly even titles if she so wished, had provided them with photographs of the Renaissance chateau she wanted copied as closely as possible. The villa was an inheritance, apparently, from a recently deceased great-aunt.

The day was warm, the sounds of traffic, haggling, laughter, music were drifting like charms through the still air, passing by lace tablecloths and sombre tapestries, brushing scabbards and teapots, tangling an invisible web around people and relics of the past. A Frenchman in a beret and red neckerchief was posing for photographs with tourists, while an accordionist on the corner of Quai Jean Jaures was pumping out jolly tunes and winking at his admirers as they tossed coins into his waiting cap. As Andee crossed the Pont de la Rivire with its intricate iron balustrades and worn wooden treads, the aroma of freshly baked baguettes floated its temptation out of a nearby boulangerie, while the clink of glasses from pavement cafs provided its own irresistible lure.

Taking out her phone she sent a text to Graeme.

Fancy a glass of ros? Meet you at the cafe next to Huberts Antiques.

Graeme knew the heart of this small town so well that hed have no trouble finding her, especially as Hubert was a friend of long standing.

She didnt notice the car approaching as she prepared to cross the road, she only knew it was there when it came to a stop in front of her, blocking the way. She was about to go round it when the rear window descended to reveal a blonde, middle-aged woman wearing dark glasses and crimson lipstick.

Are you lost? Andee asked, in French.

The woman smiled and removed the glasses.

Long, strange seconds ticked by before the woman said softly, in English, Remember me?

Shock was twisting Andees heart into a terrible knot. It couldnt be. It simply wasnt possible. And yet those eyes, the colour and shape, the cheekbones, the retrouss nose

Apparently satisfied that shed been recognised, the woman tapped the drivers shoulder and the car moved on.

Andee watched it go, too stunned to move, even to think beyond the shock that had trapped her in an unworldly grip.

Are you OK, madame? a voice asked from behind her.

She turned to find a concerned man watching her.