Praise for Indiscretion (winner of the Gold Medal for Romance at the IBPA Benjamin Franklin Awards and Best Romance at the USA Best Book Awards):
‘A captivating tale of love, jealousy and scandal.’
The Lady
‘Indiscretion grips from the first. Alexandra is a beguiling heroine, and Salvador a compelling, charismatic hero … the shimmering attraction between them is always as taut as a thread. A powerful and romantic story, one to savour and enjoy.’
Lindsay Townsend, historical romance author
‘Rich description, a beautiful setting, wonderful detail, passionate romance and that timeless, classic feel that provides sheer, indulgent escapism. Bliss!’
Amazon.co.uk review
‘I thought Ms Fielding had outdone herself with her second novel but she’s done it again with this third one. The love story took my breath away … I could hardly swallow until I reached the end.’
Amazon.com review
Praise for Masquerade (winner of the Silver Medal for Romance at the IBPA Benjamin Franklin Awards):
‘Secrets and surprises … Set in Spain in the 1970s, you’ll be enveloped in this atmospheric story of love and deception.’
My Weekly
‘Hannah Fielding writes of love, sexual tension and longing with an amazing delicacy and lushness, almost luxury. Suffused with the legends and lore of the gypsies and the beliefs of Spain, there is so much in this novel. Horse fairs, sensual dreams, bull running, bull fighters, moonlight swims, the heat and flowers and colours and costumes of the country. A superb read.’
Amazon.co.uk review
‘This was honestly one of the most aesthetically pleasing and sensual books I’ve read in a long time.’
Amazon.co.uk review
‘Masquerade contains the kind of romance that makes your heart beat faster and your knees tremble. This was a mesmerizing and drama-filled read that left me with a dreamy feeling.’
Amazon.co.uk review
‘This engrossing, gorgeous romantic tale was one of my favorite reads in recent memory. This book had intrigue, mystery, revenge, passion and tantalizing love scenes that held captive the reader and didn’t allow a moment’s rest through all of the twists and turns … wonderful from start to finish.’
Goodreads.com review
‘When I started reading Masquerade I was soon completely pulled into the romantic and poetic way Hannah Fielding writes her stories. I honestly couldn’t put Masquerade down. Her books are beautiful and just so romantic, you’ll never want them to end!’
Goodreads.com review
Praise for The Echoes of Love (winner of the Gold Medal for Romance at the Independent Publisher Book Awards and Silver Medal for Romance at the Foreword Reviews IndieFAB Book Awards):
‘One of the most romantic works of fiction ever written … an epic love story beautifully told.’
The Sun
‘Fans of romance will devour it in one sitting.’
The Lady
‘All the elements of a rollicking good piece of indulgent romantic fiction.’
BM Magazine
‘This book will make you wish you lived in Italy.’
Fabulous magazine
‘The book is the perfect read for anyone with a passion for love, life and travel.’
Love it! magazine
‘Romance and suspense, with a heavy dose of Italian culture.’
Press Association
‘A plot-twisting story of drama, love and tragedy.’
Italia! magazine
‘There are many beautifully crafted passages, in particular those relating to the scenery and architecture of Tuscany and Venice … It was easy to visualize oneself in these magical locations.’
Julian Froment blog
‘Fielding encapsulates the overwhelming experience of falling deeply, completely, utterly in love, beautifully.’
Books with Bunny
Praise for Hannah Fielding’s first novel, Burning Embers:
‘An epic romance like Hollywood used to make …’
Peterborough Evening Telegraph
‘Burning Embers is a romantic delight and an absolute must-read for anyone looking to escape to a world of colour, beauty, passion and love … For those who can’t go to Kenya in reality, this has got to be the next best thing.’
Amazon.co.uk review
‘A good-old fashioned love story … A heroine who’s young, naive and has a lot to learn. A hero who’s alpha and hot, has a past and a string of women. A different time, world and class. The kind of romance that involves picnics in abandoned valleys and hot-air balloon rides and swimming in isolated lakes. Heavenly.’
Amazon.co.uk review
‘The story hooked me from the start. I want to be Coral, living in a more innocent time in a beautiful, hot location, falling for a rich, attractive, broody man. Can’t wait for Hannah Fielding’s next book.’
Amazon.co.uk review
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Praise for Hannah Fielding
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
A Letter from Hannah
Q and A with Hannah Fielding
About the Author
Excerpt from Indiscretion
Also by Hannah Fielding
Copyright
Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart,
And speak in different tongues, and have no thought
Each of the other’s being; and have no heed;
And these, o’er unknown seas to unknown lands
Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death;
And, all unconsciously, shape every act to this one end:
That one day out of darkness they shall meet
And read life’s meanings in each other’s eyes.
Susan M. Spalding, Fate
Prologue
Manhattan, 2010
Seven storeys below, the steady hum of mid-morning traffic underscored the fading brassy bellow of a fire truck. Not for the first time, Luna compulsively rearranged the papers on her desk into even neater piles, her gaze straying to the view outside, away from the words on her screen. The tall, arched windows of the converted nineteenth-century spice warehouse that was now the office of Scientific US magazine looked out over the smart Hudson Square neighbourhood of Lower Manhattan.
She didn’t like surprises. Her editor, Ted Vandenberg, had looked unusually cagey when he had asked to see her in his office in five minutes and now she was in a state of wary anticipation.
Why had Ted been so frustratingly cryptic?
She glanced at her watch and adjusted the blind to let in a fresh breeze from the open window. In the distance, the New York skyline shimmered in soaring peaks of reflecting glass and steel. The glaring sunlight of this crisp, blue-skied, early-spring day was dazzling, as if designed to confront and amaze the onlooker with the cityscape it illuminated: a vertical poem of proud, titanic proportions.
But here, on the western shore of Manhattan Island, where the fresh waters of the Hudson River met the salt waters of New York Bay, nestled this charming neighbourhood, south of Greenwich Village, a tangle of lower, older buildings and crooked, tree-lined streets. Luna revelled in the chaotic sprawl of its brownstone apartments, bars and ja
zz clubs, bohemian bookstores and galleries, and how the city’s iconic wooden water towers perched on high rooftops like giant Chinese lanterns. There was something fascinating about its clusters of pedestrians packing every sidewalk, a steady stream of human traffic flowing like water around stones in a burbling brook. To her ears, the familiar sounds of the streets were just as pleasing: a background cacophony of buskers’ music mixed with the tooting horns of yellow taxi cabs and the rumbling of meatpacking vans making their way from the food markets and warehouses of Tribeca and the West Village to restaurants, stores and hotels.
The anonymity of the huge city suited Luna. New York was a place that made her feel comfortable, like a protective cloak offering to cocoon her within its noisy, bustling chaos. Yet for all its reassuring camouflage, sometimes she felt the elemental forces of life were overwhelming. Something inside her was as chaotic as the metropolis outside, bursting to get out, and she fought to contain it every day.
The dream had come again last night. She had woken suddenly, as she always did, clammy and panting, her deafening heartbeat thumping against her ribs, her own pleading voice echoing loudly in her ears. The nightmare hadn’t visited her for a while. She wondered if this time it had been triggered by the intense designer from the art department, who had asked her to have coffee with him; something about his hooded gaze, the intent expression … Luna remembered the panic that had rippled through her at his invitation and now she tried to throw off the feeling of unease that pressed on her mind, combining oppressively with her lack of sleep.
Distractedly, she pushed her long, blonde hair back behind her ears. She was twenty-five but nevertheless still did not feel like a grown woman. Instead, she was trapped in a world of dark, shadowy memories, isolated yet fearing the light. In many ways being alone was safe and so appealing. Why then did this gnawing feeling of restless emotion plague her? It smouldered quietly within her, threatening at any moment to become an all-consuming blaze. On top of that, there was Angelina … She missed her dreadfully.
‘Luna, let’s talk now, shall we?’
Jolted from her troubled thoughts, she looked up. A few feet away, Ted Vandenberg was standing in the doorway of one of the side offices on the open-plan floor. Short and rotund, with a shock of almost white hair, his bright blue eyes twinkled behind circular pale-rimmed spectacles. Half in conversation with a gangling male colleague who was shuffling papers back into a leather bag, he smiled and motioned her over.
‘Take a seat. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve finished with Nate, here.’
Luna composed herself and nodded. ‘Sure. Thanks, Ted.’
She slipped past him into his office. Inside the frosted glass wall of her boss’s inner sanctum, bookcases ran along one exposed brick wall while framed photos lined the white-painted walls. Her eyes scanned the images: covers of old editions of the magazine dating back to the late nineteenth century, journalism awards, colourfully graphic science posters, and black-andwhite photographs of famous scientists. Unlike Luna’s own pristine workspace, here papers littered every surface, and more books were stacked up on chairs or were arranged in precarious towers on the floor.
As Luna cleared a seat and sat down, she spied a folder on Ted’s large, antique mahogany desk and was startled to see her name on it. She glanced nervously back to the empty doorway, still hearing Vandenberg’s voice murmuring outside. Sheets of paper were spilling from the folder’s side and Luna half stood to take a closer look. The edge of the top page revealed a small profile picture of a dark-haired man wearing glasses. Tempted to get a better view of the folder’s contents, she stretched out an arm and had only got as far as touching the edge when the door creaked softly behind her.
‘“Curiosity is one of the most permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous intellect.” That’s what Samuel Johnson said. Astute man.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Luna said, returning to her seat hurriedly.
Ted Vandenberg walked behind his desk and sank into his chair, grinning at her. Beneath the tufts of white hair was a kindly face with a low brow, short nose and a broad mouth that was prone to break into a toothy smile, making him look somewhat like an animated turtle, Luna always thought. Full of energy, with a buoyant and congenial demeanour, he also had a sharp intellect that she appreciated. In fact, she liked Ted very much, despite his untidy habits and propensity to be late for meetings, qualities that usually irked her in other people.
She shifted in her chair, deliberately not glancing at the folder.
‘That’s what I like to see in a scientist,’ Vandenberg beamed, motioning towards the folder and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. ‘Curiosity. The best scientists and explorers are like five-year-old children. They never stop asking questions: “Who, what, where, why, when and how?” Curiosity is the well from which we scientists draw our sustenance and energy, Luna, so don’t be afraid to use it.’ He raised his dark, bushy eyebrows. ‘I’ve always thought you had the makings of a first-rate investigative journalist actually. I’m getting ahead of myself, though … How long have you been with us now?’
‘Just over six months.’
What was he getting at? Was he about to say that she was unsuited to the work she’d been assigned? Luna’s large amber eyes studied his face for evidence of any disapproval but he simply smiled back with a similarly appraising look.
He stood up and moved towards a side cabinet. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes, coffee would be good, thanks.’
Vandenberg poured steaming coffee from a chrome jug into two mismatched bone-china cups. ‘I took you on because, with first-class honours in Molecular Biology from Princeton, followed by an impressive PhD in Science Communication, you’re a scientist with perfect academic credentials. But it’s more than that. You’re bold, inquisitive and rigorous. In short, if you haven’t yet realized it, you’ve got all the makings of a topnotch science journalist. You were right not to go into research, far too restrictive for you. In the few months you’ve been here, I’ve become convinced you have the kind of investigative instincts I need.’
Luna flushed a little at the compliment, choosing not to say anything, but instead willing him to cut to the chase. Her eyes shone. This was it: the break she’d been longing for.
Vandenberg handed her a cup and sat down. Clasping his hands together, he rested them on his ample stomach. ‘Now you know we credit ourselves with impeccable, unbiased research. I’ve been chewing on this for a few days, as I have a feeling, and I don’t want to speak out of turn here, that you have a personal interest in alternative cancer therapies, possibly even an axe to grind, and this might not make you as unbiased as I’d have liked.’
At this, Luna tried to interrupt, but he raised a hand before continuing.
‘Having said that, Luna, I think a passionate and focused interest is exactly what makes a great article.’
He paused and though the office was cool he wiped his brow with his handkerchief in a habitual gesture. ‘We’re wanting a full-length feature done on The Institute for the Research of Natural Remedies, a not-for-profit organization based in Andalucía. I can tell by your face you’ve heard of it.’
Luna couldn’t help her eyes widening. Of course she had heard of it. Her cousin Angelina had been treated in a place like that in California before she died. At work Luna had always fiercely guarded her private life although she had confided in her boss somewhat when she’d asked for a few days’ compassionate leave to attend Angelina’s funeral. She pressed down her emotions and schooled her features into a look of casual attentiveness.
‘Well, good,’ Vandenberg continued. ‘The Institute is starting to hit the medical press in a big way, with its cutting-edge, although possibly questionable, use of some rather wacky herbal treatments, among other things.’
Luna couldn’t help interjecting: ‘I bet that’s been ruffling a few feathers at some of the pharmaceuticals.’
He smiled and gestured in agreement. ‘Indeed. I was t
alking about that very thing last night with a couple of big hitters in the business. One of those huge dinner parties in the Upper East Side that Professor Henderson throws for the Science Academy.’
For a moment he looked at her pensively, as if about to say something else.
‘Anyway, Luna, the guy that runs the operation at this Institute, who likes nothing better than thumbing his nose at Big Pharma cheeses, is the one I’d like you to investigate. He’s had all the orthodox medical training, though now he’s “gone bush”, you might say. Thing is, he’s got a brain the size of a bus and he talks a good game. Sounds very credible indeed, a powerful figure. A bit of a playboy too, by all accounts.’
‘What’s his name? Is that him?’ Luna pointed to the page spilling from the folder.
‘He’s called Dr Rodrigo Rueda de Calderón. And yes, there’s some background info for you there too.’
Luna reached for the folder and pulled out the sheets, skimming through the three-page profile on top. It was difficult to tell much from the small photo: though he was clearly younger than she expected, the dark-haired man wearing glasses simply looked groomed and official – hardly the look of a playboy. At first glance the doctor’s qualifications and achievements on his résumé appeared impressive.
‘So …’ Vandenberg looked at her directly, eyes twinkling. ‘Does this sound like your kind of thing? A bit of youthful ambition goes a long way in the world of undercover journalism. My instinct tells me you’ve got what it takes to put in the energy and legwork needed for an assignment like this.’
‘I would have to go to Spain?’
‘Yes, the clinic is in Cádiz. I understand you speak the language fluently too, which is a plus.’
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