An Agent's Guide to
The Author's Wife
By Caroline Blake
Genre: Upmarket Book Club Fiction
Word Count: 82,800
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The Pitch
The author, Terence Nightingale, died on a remote Scottish island fifty years ago.
His wife has never returned.
Until now.
A moving, dual-timeline novel about female friendship, betrayal and the guilt we carry through a lifetime.
The Blurb
The author’s wife, eighty-year-old former actress Ivy Montclaire, returns to the small Scottish island where her husband, Terence Nightingale, fell to his death in 1976. She and Terence adored each other. They were the picture-perfect celebrity couple of the 1970s, partying with the rich and famous at their friends’ house, Hollow Pines.
Now a hotel, Hollow Pines is the last place Ivy wants to be. But she is determined to confront the ghosts - and the guilt – that have haunted her for fifty years.
Meanwhile, Catrina, a young barista, is visiting the hotel for a weekend of wine-tasting with friends, meant to distract her from the disappearance of her fiancé. But when a raging storm cancels the ferry home, she finds herself trapped in the hotel’s library… with one of Terence Nightingale’s novels.
What she discovers changes everything.
As past and present collide, Ivy is forced to confront the truth she has avoided for half a century, and Catrina must decide whether some secrets should stay buried or be brought into the light. Both women will learn that grief can warp a life… but the truth can set it free.
The Setting
Her mind flashes with images of long-ago parties: a mountain of precariously stacked Champagne glasses, cigarettes held aloft between two scarlet-painted fingers, air kisses, cloying perfume, loud music, and even louder conversation and laughter. Someone's arm entwined around someone else's legs on the stairs. She can almost feel them; the memory is so vivid. People always tended to congregate in The Great Hall. It is such a beautiful space.
The Characters -
Ivy Montclaire
The memories are disturbingly vivid. An image of Terence's old Morris Minor, the first time they brought the car, spluttering up the hill in first gear. The pair of them laughing, he telling her she needs to prepare herself for getting out and giving it a push. Both of them excited for their annual summer trip.
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Another image of them shouting. Years later, the old car long gone. The darkness on the cliff top pressing in around them, the stars watching their angry exchange. Terence waving his arms in the air, like a horrid game of charades, his face red, his forehead shiny with sweat, despite the cold. Ivy screaming at him, pointing her finger in her chest. Her last, unforgettable words to him were so cruel.
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It is a mistake to come here. The ghost of Terence is on this island. She can feel him. She should be sipping mint tea in Limone by the side of Lake Garda right now, as she waits for her lunch - freshly caught fish and locally grown salad. She shouldn't be here, somewhere she has avoided all these years.
The Characters -Terence Nightingale
At one stage earlier in the evening, she had tossed her platform shoes into the flower border, lifted her skirt high and skipped across the lawn, twirling around like Giselle waiting for the disguised Duke of Albrecht.
Another flick of the hair, which was immediately blown back into her face by the warm summer wind. Terence wanted to move it, to tuck it behind her ear out of the way, Ivy could tell. She watched his indecisive hand, waiting for the moment that would signify betrayal.
Terence was laughing. The ballerina laughed, too. The young woman found whatever it was so hilarious that she had to balance herself by holding tightly onto Terence's knee. She was sitting on the swing seat, kicking her delicate legs to and fro, her toes making contact with Terence's calf every now and then.
'Sandra, there you are.' Barbara appeared at their side. Terence sat up straight. His indiscretion showed as two circles of pink in his cheeks. 'I've been looking for you,' said Barbara. She grabbed Sandra's wrist and pulled her to her feet. No longer Giselle - just plain Sandra.