The Last Letter from Your Lover: A Novel - Softcover

Moyes, Jojo

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0143121103 ISBN 13: 9780143121107

Verlag: Penguin US, 2012

Inhaltsangabe

A heartbreaking, stay-up-all-night novel from the New York Times bestselling author of Me Before You , After You , and One Plus One.

A Brief Encounter for our time, The Last Letter from Your Lover is a sophisticated, spellbinding double love story that spans decades and thrillingly evokes a bygone era. In 1960, Jennifer Stirling wakes in the hospital and remembers nothing-not the car accident that put her there, not her wealthy husband, not even her own name. Searching for clues, she finds an impassioned letter, signed simply "B," from a man for whom she seemed willing to risk everything. In 2003, journalist Ellie Haworth stumbles upon the letter and becomes obsessed with learning the unknown lovers' fate-hoping it will inspire her own happy ending. Remarkably moving, this is a novel for romantics of every age.

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Jojo Moyes is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Giver of Stars, Still Me, Paris for One and Other Stories, After You, One Plus One, The Girl You Left Behind, Me Before You, The Last Letter from Your Lover, The Horse Dancer, Silver Bay, The Ship of Brides, and The Peacock Emporium. The Last letter From Your Lover will be released as a major motion picture by Netflix in July. She lives with her husband and three children in Essex, England.

Jojo Moyes is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Still Me, After You, Me Before You, The Horse Dancer, Paris for One and Other Stories, One Plus One, The Girl You Left Behind, The Last Letter from Your Lover, Silver Bay, and The Ship of Brides. She lives with her husband and three children in Essex, England.

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Part 1

Chapter 1

OCTOBER 1960

"She's waking up."

There was a swishing sound, a chair was dragged, then the brisk click of curtain rings meeting. Two voices murmuring.

"I'll fetch Dr. Hargreaves."

A brief silence followed, during which she slowly became aware of a different layer of sound-voices, muffled by distance, a car passing: it seemed, oddly, as if it were some way below her. She lay absorbing it, letting it crystallize, letting her mind play catch-up, as she recognized each for what it was.

It was at this point that she became aware of the pain. It forced its way upward in exquisite stages: first her arm, a sharp, burning sensation from elbow to shoulder, then her head: dull, relentless. The rest of her body ached, as it had done when she . . .

When she . . . ?

"He'll be along in two ticks. He says to close the blinds."

Her mouth was so dry. She closed her lips and swallowed painfully. She wanted to ask for some water, but the words wouldn't come. She opened her eyes a little. Two indistinct shapes moved around her. Every time she thought she had worked out what they were, they moved again. Blue. They were blue.

"You know who's just come in downstairs, don't you?"

One of the voices dropped. "That singer. The one who looks like Paul Newman."

"I thought I heard something on the wireless about it. Lend me your thermometer, will you, Vi, mine's acting up again."

"I'm going to try and have a peek at him at lunchtime. Matron's had newspapermen outside all morning. I'll wager she's at her wits' end."

She couldn't understand what they were saying. The pain in her head had become a thumping, rushing sound, building in volume and intensity until all she could do was close her eyes again and wait for it, or her, to go away. Then the white came in, like a tide, to envelop her. With some gratitude she let out a silent breath and allowed herself to sink back into its embrace.

"Are you awake, dear? You have a visitor."

There was a flickering reflection above her, a phantasm that moved briskly, first one way and then another. She had a sudden recollection of her first wristwatch, the way she had reflected sunlight through its glass casing onto the ceiling of the playroom, sending it backward and forward, making her little dog bark.

The blue was there again. She saw it move, accompanied by the swishing. And then there was a hand on her wrist, a brief spark of pain so that she yelped.

"A little more carefully with that side, Nurse," the voice chided. "She felt that."

"I'm terribly sorry, Dr. Hargreaves."

"The arm will require further surgery. We've pinned it in several places, but it's not there yet."

A dark shape hovered near her feet. She willed it to solidify, but, like the blue shapes, it refused to do so, and she let her eyes close.

"You can sit with her, if you like. Talk to her. She'll be able to hear you."

"How are her . . . other injuries?"

"There'll be some scarring, I'm afraid. Especially on that arm. And she took quite a blow to the head, so it may be a while before she's herself again. But given the severity of the accident, I think we can say she's had a rather lucky escape."

There was a brief silence.

"Yes."

Someone had placed a bowl of fruit beside her. She had opened her eyes again, her gaze settling on it, letting the shape, the color, solidify until she grasped, with a stab of satisfaction, that she could identify what was there. Grapes , she said. And again, rolling the silent word around the inside of her head: grapes . It felt important, as if it were anchoring her in this new reality.

And then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, obliterated by the dark blue mass that had settled beside her. As it moved closer, she could just make out the faint scent of tobacco. The voice, when it came, w

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin US
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2012
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0143121103
• ISBN 13: 9780143121107
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 432
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Purmerul LTD; https://strengholt.nl/en/; ; 22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9; Plovdiv; Bulgarien