A Class Apart

Table of Contents

About the Author

Susan Lewis is the bestselling author of twenty-two novels. She is also the author of
Just One More Day
, a moving memoir of her childhood in Bristol. She lives in France. Her website address is
www.susanlewis.com

‘One of the best around’
Independent on Sunday

‘Spellbinding! . . . you just keep turning the pages, with the atmosphere growing more and more intense as the story leads to its dramatic climax’
Daily Mail

‘Mystery and romance
par excellence’ Sun

‘Deliciously dramatic and positively oozing with tension, this is another wonderfully absorbing novel from the
Sunday Times
bestseller Susan Lewis . . .

Expertly written to brew an atmosphere of foreboding, this story is an irresistible blend of intrigue and passion, and the consequences of secrets and betrayal’
Woman

‘A multi-faceted tear jerker’
heat

Dance While You Can

Stolen Beginnings

Darkest Longings

Obsession

Vengeance

Summer Madness

Last Resort

Wildfire

Chasing Dreams

Taking Chances

Cruel Venus

Strange Allure

Silent Truths

Wicked Beauty

Intimate Strangers

The Hornbeam Tree

The Mill House

A French Affair

Missing

Out of the Shadows

Lost Innocence

Just One More Day, A Memoir

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Epub ISBN: 9781407089829

Version 1.0

  

Published by Arrow Books 2009

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Copyright © Susan Lewis 1988

Susan Lewis has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs

and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published in Great Britain in 1988 by Fontana Paperbacks

Arrow Books

Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

London SW1V 2SA

Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780099534280

The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at:
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Printed and bound in Great Britain by

CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading, RG1 8EX

Acknowledgements

My thanks to all my friends who have helped me in more ways than they will ever know. Especially to Melanie, for the title. My thanks also to the staff of Cliveden House. And a very special thank you to Toby, my agent, and to Laura, my editor, without whom I could never have managed it.

“. . . 
AND EARLIER TODAY
, a police spokesman confirmed that a full scale hunt for the killer is now underway. So far there has been no evidence to suggest a motive for the killing, and police are asking anyone who was in the vicinity who might have seen or heard anything suspicious to come forward . . .” The sound of the newsreader’s voice was coming through an open door in the block.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly in an effort not to listen. She didn’t want to think about the murder. Not now.

Using the bannister as a steadying guide she continued up the stairs, trying to ignore the fear that had crept its way into her heart.

Finally she reached the door at the top. She hesitated a moment not knowing what to do. She looked around the empty hallway – it offered no encouragement. The telephone began to ring inside the flat making her jump. She listened as it continued to ring, but no one answered. The door downstairs slammed and as abruptly the ringing stopped.

Silence.

Slowly, she lifted her hand and knocked. The dull sound echoed along the hallway.

She looked around again. She was quite alone. Fumbling in her bag, she pulled out a key. As she slid it into the lock, her heart began to pound. All she wanted to do was run away.

The door clicked open and she stepped through. The flat was in darkness despite the bright sunlight outside. All the curtains were pulled.

She called out, loudly, but there was no reply.

Edging her way down the hall she came to a halt outside the bedroom door. She pushed her hand against it, then realising that her deliberate movements were making her more nervous, she pushed it sharply and stepped inside. The room was empty.

She swallowed hard, and looked around. The curtains were closed in here too.

She turned back into the hall. A few more steps and she was in the kitchen. She called out again, but still there was no reply.

The window was open and a cat suddenly leapt from the sill and landed on the floor in front of her.

Catching her breath and trying to ignore the violent beating of her heart, she stooped to stroke it.

Suddenly the phone began to ring again, and putting the cat onto a chair, she walked to the sitting room to answer it. Unafraid now, the telephone giving her the sense of another presence in the flat, she pushed open the door.

And then she screamed – and screamed and screamed. And the phone rang – and rang and rang.

ONE

“Katherine Calloway! Say that again!” Ellamarie shrieked.

“I couldn’t bear to, you heard me the first time,” Kate answered. She was laughing, but the look in her eyes betrayed her lack of certainty.

Ellamarie turned to Jenneen as if she expected her to repeat it, but Jenneen only grinned and shrugged her shoulders.

“You’re not kidding me, Kate, are you?” Ellamarie said, eyeing her suspiciously.

Kate shook her head and poured them more wine.

“Didn’t he . . .? Well . . . I can’t believe it. This is Stephen French we’re talking about.
The
Stephen French.”

“I know.”

“But Kate, he’s gorgeous.”

Smiling, Kate sat back in her chair and studied her fingernails. “Mmm, yes, he thought so too.”

Ellamarie looked at Jenneen again. “This woman has not had sex for over a year, and now she turns down no less a person than Stephen French. Don’t just sit there, speak to her. Say something.”

“Like what?” said Jenneen.

“I don’t know. Anything. Look, what I don’t get,” Ellamarie continued, turning back to Kate, “is why? I mean all this time. Apart from anything else, you’ve just got to be dying for it. I dread to think how many batteries you must have been through by now.”

Kate gave a shriek of laughter and Ellamarie shuddered. “How can you laugh about it?”

“I don’t. At least I do, but I’m not exactly putting the flags out.”

“Myself.” said Jenneen, leaning forward and helping herself to a stuffed olive, “I think it’s something to be proud of. Do you think there’s any chance you might, well, you know, heal over after a certain time? You could be a virgin on your wedding night you know, Kate. A virgin who’s had all the fun. Now wouldn’t that be an achievement?”

“Jenneen! Will you try and take this seriously? We’ve got to find her a man. And quick. Shit, if she carries on like this much longer she might start fancying the dog.”

“Don’t be vulgar, Ellamarie,” Kate laughed. “Besides, I haven’t got a dog.”

“They’re easier to get hold of than men though,” Jenneen looked thoughtful. “And easier to train.”

“Stop it! All I said was that I didn’t have sex with Stephen French, and now you’re trying to pair me off with a poodle or something.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Great Dane,” said Jenneen, grinning.

“Oh shut up. I wish I’d never told you now.”

“How does it feel?” said Ellamarie. “I mean, you know, to turn someone like him down? Shit! What I wouldn’t give to have seen his face.”

“What do you mean, how does it feel? There’s nothing
to
feel.”

“No, I suppose not. But come on, Kate, don’t you just yearn for an erection sometimes?”

Kate threw a cushion at her. “I said stop it.”

“Hey!” Jenneen suddenly yelled. “I’ve got it.”

“It doesn’t show.” Ellamarie looked in the general area of Jenneen’s crotch.

“No, someone with an erection.”

“Permanently?” said Kate.

“I don’t know about that, but he sure had one at lunch today. I was going to save him for myself. But, now that I know your need is greater than mine, well . . . Never let it be said I’m not generous when it comes to my friends.”

“Who is it?” said Ellamarie. “Or should I say, how big is it?”

They collapsed into laughter again, until Jenneen finally managed to tell them about Joel Martin who was, by the happiest of coincidences, as Kate was writing a novel, one of London’s top literary agents. Jenneen had interviewed him on her weekly television show, together with the author Diana Kelsey, as part of the running series of interviews she was doing with agents and their clients.