When an accident leaves teenage cousins Meline and Jocelyn parentless, they come to live with their unknown and eccentric Uncle Marten on his private island. They soon discover that the island has a history as tragic as their own: it was once an air force training camp, led by a mad commander whose crazed plan to train pilots to fly airplanes without instruments sent eleven pilots to their deaths. Jocelyn, Meline, and Uncle Marten are soon joined on this island of wrecked planes and wrecked men by an elderly Austrian housekeeper, a very mysterious butler, a cat, and a dog. But to Jocelyn and Meline, being in a strange new place around strange new people only underscores the fact that the world they once knew has ended. Told in the alternating voices of four characters dealing with grief in different ways, Polly Horvath's new novel is a rich and complicated story about loss and the possibility— and impossibility—of beginning again. The Corps of the... Views: 34
It's tough to be ZeKe.He's got his hands full: There is his prissy, know-it-all twin sister; his mean cousin Caitlyn, who's house-sitting for his missing parents; and a bully making life tough at school (as though it wasn't hard enough already). And now, thanks to a stinky, scruffy, good-for-nothing talking cat, he's also got to cope with zombies, midget freedom fighters, devious spies, superstar rappers, and a whole weird world beneath our own where people wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes. Views: 34
The most high-profile referee this country has ever seen, the controversial and opinionated Graham Poll exposes the myth that referees are the game’s silent men, and opens the lid on the shocking and often unbelievable world of football that few outsiders get to see.Seeing Red is Graham Poll’s incisive insight into football from his prime position as the man in black, the one in control, the eye that sees all. A Premier League referee since 1991 and ten years as an international referee, Graham Poll has handled some of the toughest games in the Premiership involving Arsenal, Manchester United, Liverpool and Chelsea, as well as European Championships and World Cups – in total over 1500 matches.What is it like to referee the biggest matches in international football? What really goes on between the players in the tunnel before a match and in the dressing room after? Who are the nastiest footballers? And the funniest? Who is the smartest manager? And are the bureaucrats ruining the beautiful game?Controversial and opinionated, Poll has crossed swords with some of the biggest names in world football and shares private conversations with the likes of Alex Ferguson, Jose Mourinho, Sepp Blatter and Steve McClaren, and the inside story behind controversial incidents involving Roy Keane, David Beckham, Patrick Vieira and current England captain John Terry, among others. Poll also talks about the infamous 2006 World Cup match when he failed to send off a Croatian player after three yellow cards in a crucial tie against Australia, returning home early in disgrace and with his career in meltdown.The games, the players, the managers, the suits – the most outspoken referee in the modern game tells it as it really is. Views: 34
Willowbrook seems like the perfect place for someone to get lost, permanently, if they have a mind to – and Mel Harper has a mind to. What she hadn’t counted on was Hank Travis, local boy turned rock star who won’t take no for an answer. Views: 34
Finding Abu Musab al Zarqawi, the leader of Al Qaeda in Iraq, had long been the U.S. military's top priority -- trumping even the search for Osama bin Laden. No brutality was spared in trying to squeeze intelligence from Zarqawi's suspected associates. But these "force on force" techniques yielded exactly nothing, and, in the wake of the Abu Ghraib scandal, the military rushed a new breed of interrogator to Iraq. Views: 34
He’d saved her. He wanted her. He resisted her. He came to love her. Could it really be true that he no longer had to charter his journey alone through time? Views: 34
A warm, funny and moving tale set across a year of leaving dos, birthday parties and anniversaries celebrating love, life and special moments spent in the kitchen at parties. Views: 34
A twisting tale of suspense—perfect for fans of Linda Fairstein.When the body of a successful criminal lawyer is found outside a chic London hotel, it looks like a suicide. For those who knew her, the woman's death is a shock—Marianne Shearer was at the pinnacle of her career, wealthy and stylish—but for the police, the case is open-and-shut.There's something strange about the circumstances, though, something that prompts her colleague Peter Friel to dig deeper. Little by little, he discovers that things are not as they seem. In her final days, Marianne appears to have left a series of small, almost imperceptible clues—clues that point to a far more sinister truth. ReviewA genuinely original and imaginative writer, [Fyfield] offers a fascinating read... An admirable crime novel Literary Review Fyfield is routinely and rightly praised for her elegant prose... What doesn't get mentioned so often is that when it comes to the dissection of the human spirit, she is the most brutal scalpel-wielder we have...one of Highsmith's true heirs The Guardian Blood From Stone has all the complexity you'd expect from this award-winning grande dame of crime fiction - she's up there with Rendell, James, McDermid and Walters... Simply terrific Observer As always, Fyfield leaves her readers with shivers that take a long time to go away' The Times 'Among her myriad literary skills, Frances Fyfield is adept at creating blood-chilling psychopaths. Like her American predecessor Patricia Highsmith, she takes us deep into their twisted psychology' About the AuthorFrances Fyfield is a criminal lawyer, a trade she has used to huge success in many of her novels. She lives in London and in Deal, by the sea which is her passion. She has won several awards, including the CWA Silver Dagger and in 2008, the Duncan Lawrie Dagger. Views: 34
Katie is forced to leave the foster family she loves, an endangered town drive-in, and a boyfriend who suddenly can't take his eyes off his ex. As life with her mom takes a serious nosedive, Katie must rely on her faith to keep it together. Views: 34
Lily Piper and her family live in an ephemeral world, due to collapse any moment when the Lord comes to pluck His faithful from the drought-ravaged Prairie. Lily tries to be ready, but she is restless, not the daughter she feels her mother wants. As she tries to invent herself, she conjures, too, an imagined past for her beloved father in an effort to understand him and the demons he battles. In her teens, Lily is sent to England to care for her Grandmother and further explores the delicious question of who she might become. She falls in love with her adopted cousin, learns to experience life in all its ambiguity, and waits with the rest of England for World War II to start — until the news she has been dreading arrives on the doorstep, and she is called home to face a future she thought she had escaped. Reading by Lightning is a Bildungsroman of great wit and depth. Thomas's prose is wry and intimate, elegant and devastatingly funny. Her engrossing story of Lily Piper... Views: 34
A daughter’s love. A monarch’s duty. On the road to greatness, one young woman must make an unthinkable choice.For Princess Mary, life has never been simple, but through it all the love of her father, the Duke of York, has been a constant and reliable comfort. Despite his own loyalty to the Catholic Church, the Duke and his brother, King Charles II, raised Mary as a Protestant to protect her in a time of religious and political upheaval. In order to cement this safety and to ensure the stability of the family line, at age fifteen, Mary is married to her Protestant first cousin William, Prince of Orange. However, in post-Restoration England, matters are rarely so simply settled. When Mary’s uncle, King Charles II, dies suddenly and without an heir, her beloved father is crowned James II. But a Catholic king is not the will of the people, and even Mary’s own husband is crying out for change. Can Mary take part in actions that will ultimately remove her own father from the throne and endanger his life? With family loyalty and the will of a nation at odds, what choice can a young princess make? With emotional clarity and vivid historical detail, beloved author Jean Plaidy brings us into the court and behind the scenes as history unfolds—and the young princess and her groom become William and Mary—the legendary monarchs, and the only co-regents in the history of a nation.From the Trade Paperback edition.About the AuthorJEAN PLAIDY is the pen name of the prolific English author Eleanor Hibbert, also known as Victoria Holt. More than 14 million copies of her books have been sold worldwide. Visit www.CrownHistorical.com to learn about the other Jean Plaidy titles available from Three Rivers Press. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Early DaysThere have been two people in my life whom I have loved beyond all others, and it has always weighed heavily upon me that I was called upon to decide between them and, in choosing one, I betrayed the other. I did what my heart, my faith, my sense of duty dictated and ever since I have suffered from the torment of knowing of the pain I inflicted and from which I myself will suffer to the end of my days.I want to go right back to the beginning, to project myself into the past, to see it more clearly than I could when it was happening. I want to ask myself: what should I have done?I was born in St. James’s Palace at a time when my birth was of little interest to any except my parents, for a most significant event was taking place. My uncle, King Charles, recently restored to his throne after more than ten years’ exile, was about to marry the Infanta of Portugal—an event which generated great excitement and expectation throughout the country. In any case, I was only a girl, and fifteen months after my birth, a boy was born to my parents, a fact which robbed my birth of any importance it might have had.In the beginning the world was a wonderful place; the days were full of sunshine; I was surrounded by people who loved me and, being cherished by all, I was led to believe that the world had been created for my pleasure.The best times of all were when my parents visited us. Everyone was so respectful to them that I quickly realized how important they were. My mother would take me up into her arms. She was like a big soft cushion into which I could sink with a feeling of cozy security. She would caress me, murmur words of love to me and pop a sweetmeat into my mouth and show me in a hundred ways how much she loved me. But the most important of all was my father. When he came into the nursery crying: “Where is my little daughter? Where is the Lady Mary?” I would stagger or toddle and later run to him, and he would pick me up and set me on his shoulder so that I could look down on everything from my lofty perch. I loved all those around me but no one so much as I loved my father.Once I heard someone say: “The Duke loves the little Mary beyond all others.”I never forgot that and I used to say it to myself when I was in my bed alone. I would listen for his coming; and often in later years, when I was haunted by memories of the fate which had overtaken him, I would recall those days and, sickened with doubts and self- reproaches, I would contemplate the part I had played in his tragedy.How often then did I sigh for those days of my youthful innocence, when I thought the world a beautiful place in which I should be happy forever.When he visited us he would not let me out of his sight. I remember an occasion when he even received some of his officers to discuss some naval matter and he kept me there with him. He was Lord High Admiral of England then and I remember his seating me on the table while he talked to them; and, to please him, I know now, the men commented on the extraordinary intelligence, vitality and charm of his daughter—and how delighted he was.Sometimes it is difficult to know whether I really remember certain incidents from those days or whether they were talked of so frequently that I convince myself I do.There is a miniature of me painted by Nechscher, a Flemish artist of whom my father thought highly. I am holding a black rabbit. They told me how my father used to join us at the sittings and watch me fondly while the artist was working. In my mind’s eye I can see him clearly, but was I really aware of him at the time?There are some days which I do remember and I can be certain of this. I was nearly three years old. It was cold, for it was the month of February. I knew something important was taking place. Snatches of overheard conversations came to me.“I hope the Duke and Duchess will get what they want this time.”“Well, I don’t know. The boys are sickly and I reckon he wouldn’t change the Lady Mary for all the boys in Christendom.”When my father came to see me, after the usual rapturous greeting, he said: “You will be happy to hear, my daughter, that you have a little sister.”I remember my bewilderment. A little sister? I already had a little brother. There were always nurses around him and he did not mean a great deal to me.“She will join you here,” went on my father, “and you will love her dearly.”“You love her?” I asked.I must have shown my father that I feared she might supplant me in his affections, for he gave me a smile of immediate understanding.“I love her,” he said. “But whoever came, it would always be the Lady Mary who had first place in my heart.”Excitement followed. Young as I was, I was to stand as sponsor for my sister; and Anne Scot, the Duchess of Buccleugh, was to be the other. Later I learned that this honor had been bestowed on her because she had recently married my cousin Jemmy, who had become the Duke of Monmouth.I certainly remember that occasion well. It was presided over by Gilbert Sheldon, who was the Archbishop of Canterbury at the time, a very stern and formidable man of whom I should have been very much in awe but for the presence of my powerful father who would never be stern with me, or allow anyone else to be.The new baby was christened Anne, after our mother, and in due course she joined the nursery at Twickenham.The house in Twickenham belonged to my grandfather—my mother’s father, the Earl of Clarendon. He was a very important man, I realized, though I saw him rarely. There was another grandfather, whose name was always spoken in hushed whispers, because he was dead, and when I was very young indeed, I knew there had been something very shocking about his death.Some people called him The Martyr. Later I learned that he had been king and that wicked men had cut off his head. I shivered every time I rode past that spot in Whitehall where they had performed this dreadful deed.I was growing very fond of the new baby. My sister Anne was a placid child. She rarely cried and smiled readily. She was always eager for her food and everyone was delighted because of this. I was with her a great deal, and thought of her as my baby. She seemed to like me to sit near her cradle. She gripped my finger in her dimpled hand so tightly when I held it out to her and I found that endearing.And then suddenly the peace of Twickenham was shattered. There was commotion everywhere; people were running back and forth, all talking at once. I had to find out what was wrong.Then I heard that one of the maids had been found dead in her bed. There was no mystery as to how this had happened. It seemed they had thought we were safe at Twickenham, but the dreaded plague which had been sweeping through London had reached us here.“The Plague!” Those words were on everybody’s lips.My parents arrived. I was caught up in my father’s arms. Anne and my brother were examined by our mother. My father did the same to me.“Praise be to God!” he cried. “Mary is well. And Anne and the boy?”“All is well,” said my mother.“There is no time to be lost. We must leave at once.”The next thing I remember is riding away from Twickenham and on to York.I was happy in York. The time sped by. We saw our parents more often there, although my father was absent now and then for long spells which seemed intolerable. The Fleet was at that time stationed on the East Coast and he was often with it.There was war as well as plague. We knew little of that in York until we heard of the glorious victories not only off the coast of Lowestoft but also at Solebay.These names sent a glow of pride in me for years after because my father was always mentioned in connection with them. He had been in charge of the Fleet which had beaten our wicked enemies, the Dutch. I loved to hear of his successes. I only regretted that he had to go so far away from us to do these wonderful deeds.I heard one of the attendants say: “These victories will bring a little comfort, and the Lord knows, we need it in these terrible times.”I had heard only a little of the scourge which was sweeping through the country and devastating the capital. All it meant to me was that we had had to leave in a hurry for York, where I saw more of my parents than I had in Twickenham. It was only after that I heard accounts of the red crosses on the doors with the words “God have Mercy on us,” which meant that there was plague in the house. I did not hear until much later of the macabre death carts which roamed the streets, and the dismal cry of “Bring out your dead,” and how the bodies which were piled into those carts were taken to pits outside the city walls where they were hastily buried.It was much later when I heard of the terrible tragedy which had followed the plague year, when London faced another monumental catastrophe and was almost completely destroyed by fire.And when I did hear in lurid detail of the horrors of those burning buildings, of weeping, homeless people, of the crafts on the river into which they crowded with as many of their belongings as they could hope to save, my thoughts were dominated by two men, the brothers who had gone out unceremoniously into the streets, wigless, short sleeves rolled up, sweat streaming from their faces while they gave instructions and supervised the blowing up of buildings to make gaps and so stop the fire spreading further. For those two men were the King and my father, his brother, the Duke of York.He was a hero, my clever, wonderful father. He had saved the country from the Dutch at Lowestoft and Solebay as he had helped ... Views: 34
