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THE QUESTION
Jane Asher
Harper An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 1998
Copyright © Jane Asher 1998
Jane Asher asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017 Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007349623
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2012 ISBN: 9780007398140
Version 2017-12-18
For Clare
Contents
‘So how was your holiday?’
‘Wonderful, thank you, Mrs Hamilton. Absolutely wonderful. You can never be quite sure about the weather out there, but we were really lucky – it was gorgeous. Jackie got really burnt and I was covered in freckles, as usual, but we really enjoyed ourselves.’
Eleanor grimaced a little to herself as she continued listening to Ruth’s chatter, the girl’s tone and the liberal sprinkling of ‘reallys’ as grating to her ear as ever. She smoothed a hand across her upper lip to wipe away the tension she could feel settling into the muscles around her mouth, then hunched up her shoulder and gripped the receiver against it with her chin. She reached out to pull the kettle closer towards her along the hardtop, tilting her head to examine more clearly the distorted reflection in its rounded chrome surface, feeling the usual jolt of unpleasant surprise at seeing the clarity and depth of the lines running from nose to mouth.
‘Lucky you!’ she volunteered, the flat calmness of her voice giving no indication of the intense scrutiny she was giving herself as she peered even closer at the image in front of her.
‘Oh yes, we were. Really lucky. Getting that late booking was a real stroke of luck, and Mr Hamilton letting me go a week early like that too. We only got back on Friday evening and it still seems a bit like a dream.’
Eleanor stretched her mouth downwards and raised her eyebrows, pulling the soft skin of her face into an elongated, surprised O and the eyes into inquisitive rounds that challenged her in the reflection. The lines lengthened