From the bestselling author of The House of Now and Then comes a taut and twisty psychological mystery, perfect for readers of Sally Hepworth and Nicola Moriarty.
Bestselling author Marnie Elliott has invited her three oldest friends to a secluded holiday house in Tasmania. On the surface it’s an excuse to catch up and drink champagne — but really, Marnie’s there to escape the fallout from an upcoming exposé. Sure, she’s told some lies over the course of her career… but this time the allegations go further… Did Marnie even write the books that made her millions?
As the days unfold, it becomes clear that time has pulled the women apart, and that perhaps they don’t know each other as well as they thought they did. And when long-buried secrets and resentments rise to the surface, tensions spiral out of control.
And then one of them disappears.
No one can survive the harsh elements of a Tasmanian winter for long, and soon panic sets in. Did she get lost? Run away? Or is something far more sinister at play?
And does it have anything to do with what happened twenty-five years ago, when the four of them lived together in a rambling warehouse, fuelled by ambition, and where nothing — absolutely nothing — mattered more than being part of the group?
From the bestselling author of The House of Now and Then comes a taut and twisty psychological mystery that asks: How well do we really know our closest friends?
The bloodshot eyes of the detective met hers, the lines in his face carved even deeper than they had been when they’d first met. ‘I’m so sorry. I know this is not easy to hear. It’s certainly not the outcome we wanted.’ His knuckles were white where he clasped his hands together, his mouth pulled down at each corner. ‘It’s been too long. The harsh weather, combined with her lack of equipment …’ His hands made a gesture of helplessness. ‘And we have found no further signs of her in the area.’
Sarah nodded once. ‘I understand.’
Hope had faded days ago. They’d braced themselves for the inevitable, but the detective’s words were still a wounding punch. Sarah listened as he spoke, then shook his hand and thanked him as he left.
It was over. Sort of. The investigation would remain open, but the active search was done. Marnie’s face would be plastered across the media every few years, highlighting Missing Persons Week. The tabloids would resurrect this mystery regularly, adding embellishments and outlandish guesses as time passed. There would probably be a true crime podcast series. Maybe someone would write a book, profiting from Marnie’s disappearance, which would be laughably ironic. Even karmic.
But for the three remaining women, this was the end. There was no trace, no result, no closure, no answers and there would, for now, be no more questions asked of them.
That had been hard. The hours of probing, the police digging into Marnie’s life, state of mind; the relationships they each had with her. Still, it seemed the police had believed them when they’d wiped their eyes, clutched each other and told them over and over, We don’t know where she is.
We don’t know what happened.
We don’t know what went wrong.
Sarah wanted to believe they were all being honest.
CHAPTER ONE
2024: SARAH
Sarah crossed her legs, keeping her hands loose in her lap and her face neutral. ‘I heard that the Manifold project has been given the green light.’
On the other side of the desk, Doug gave the wide, dimpled smile he obviously thought was appealing. ‘It is indeed. They loved our design, loved the vision and the aesthetic. Bella Manifold was very enthusiastic.’ His smile shifted to more of a smirk as he mentioned the client. ‘Might be a few tweaks over the next few weeks, but we’ll be kicking off work as soon as we can.’
Sarah waited a beat to make sure he’d finished, then corrected him. ‘My design. Not our design. My design.’ She held eye contact, searching for a glimmer of guilt, wanting to see if he would admit to what he’d done. Maybe he’d make an excuse, justify his appropriation of her work, or even—God forbid—apologise.
There was none of that. ‘We work as a team, Sarah.’ He was barely a decade older, but he spoke like a master putting an overly confident apprentice in their place.
Sarah had come here with every intention of remaining calm and quiet. She was already struggling. ‘Doug.’ She gave a small shake of her head. ‘You didn’t tell me about the meeting. Didn’t ask me to present the proposal. Didn’t attribute me in any way. And you said to Bella that this was one of your—and I quote— “most inspired designs for a restaurant”.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘That’s irrelevant.’
Sarah wasn’t afraid of confrontation; she often went head-to-head with suppliers and trades people. Silence had become her secret weapon. She’d state the problem clearly, listen to them pour out their side of the story till they ran out of puff, then succinctly tell them exactly what she expected and how they were going to fix their stuff-ups. Sometimes it was the client doing the blustering and venting their anger, usually because they wanted to make variations to the scope of the job and refused to understand why their last-minute changes should impact the cost or the project timeframe. She was more polite to them, but still wouldn’t let anyone walk over her.
She used that silence now.
After a minute, Doug exhaled in exasperation. ‘Is that all?’ ‘You claimed my work as your own. Again. Enough is enough.’ Doug’s brows rose dramatically. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He sat back in his two-thousand-dollar Herman Miller chair, his scoff almost guttural.
What did she mean? Had her patience finally run out? One thing was certain, Doug was never going to change, and she really was well and truly over this situation. What if …
‘I resign.’ The words were out before the thought was even finished in her head.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why the hell would you do that?’ Doug laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table. When she didn’t answer, he gave a tight laugh. ‘Come on, Sarah. You know how this business works. The client wants to know they’re getting the headline act, not the supporting band. Don’t worry, you’ll get credit for your contribution at the appropriate time. Don’t be so high and mighty.’
She folded her arms, limiting her expression to one of veiled contempt while her fury built. She was not going to give Douglas the sort of hysterics he detested from women.
He smiled with controlled bemusement. ‘What do you want me to say? I’m sorry? Okay, I’m sorry,’ he said with an absence of sincerity. ‘Not referencing you as one of the designers was an oversight. You can still be involved in the management of the project; you will still get to make an impression on the client. I don’t see what the big deal is.’ He swivelled his chair from side to side, throwing her another of his garish smiles. ‘At the end of the day, Bella and I have, shall we say, a close relationship. She wants to know I’m looking after her needs. This is not worth getting your knickers in a knot.’ He threw open his hands.
Repulsion settled on Sarah at the mention of ‘close relation-ship’ and ‘meeting needs’. Was that why he’d done it? To impress a client that he was probably banging—or, more likely, wanted to bang? If he was, it would surprise no one. There were plenty of rumours, gossip and well-established facts about Douglas.
‘I will have my letter of resignation to you by the end of the day.’ She stood and turned towards the door. Shit. She was really doing this. ‘I won’t be back.’
‘Like hell you won’t! You have to work out your resignation period. It’s in your contract. You have to see this project through to completion. Or at least until the design has been signed off. Manifold have some changes they want to make.’
Sarah gave him a withering stare. ‘You really want to pull that on me? There is an option for me to work through a period after resigning. I really don’t think you want to force me to do that, do you? I mean, you’ve put your name on my designs, ideas and plans three times in the last two years. There are some people who might find that very interesting. No. I’m done.’
‘Don’t be so bloody dramatic. You will finish the work I’ve delegated. This is my business. You just work here.’
‘Not any more I don’t.’
‘Sit down. I’m telling you—you walk out that door and you’ll seriously regret it. Think you’re going to get a job with another firm? Forget it. I’ll put the word out that you’re not to be trusted. That I had to sack you. No one will hire you. You really are being overly emotional and fragile. There was no harm done. Take a breath and think this through. Leaving now would be so inconsiderate, wouldn’t it? More than a little bit selfish … have you thought about that? We’ve got a lot on right now.’
Seriously? He was obviously mistaking her blank-faced anger for chastened retreat.
As Sarah opened his office door, Douglas’s voice rose again. Several staff looked up. She faced him and spoke over his rant. ‘Here’s a thought, Douglas. Don’t tell me how to think. Don’t tell me how to react. Don’t claim other designers’ work as your own.’ Her voice carried through the open-plan office. ‘And don’t spend so much time putting coke up your nose, pouring booze down your throat and trying to shag the clients. Sort out your problems and then, who knows, you might rediscover some shred of skill. Then you could do your own work.’
‘How dare you.’ A deep shade of red spread from his neck to his cheeks. He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a furious whisper. ‘You have far too high an opinion of yourself. I made you. You’re nothing special. Your work is nothing special.’
Sarah didn’t back away, even when a few drops of his spit landed on her cheek. Instead, she choked on a laugh. ‘Really? My work is good enough for you to claim as your own. Repeatedly.’
His eyes darted around the room to see who had heard. ‘Bullshit. We work as a team.’
‘I used to admire your designs, but whatever talent you once had has long gone. I know it. You know it. Everyone here knows it. The only people who don’t are the clients. An illusion maintained by the glory of what you did years ago and, yes, the talent of this team.’
‘You ungrateful …’ he yelled, before he checked himself, bringing his voice down to a hiss that only she could hear. ‘You are going to be so sorry for this. Get out!’
‘Gladly!’
She left the building, moral righteousness in every pounding stride as she marched down the street. It was only when she was sitting in her car that the spike of adrenalin began to subside, and the realisation of what she had just done filled the void.
Goddammit. Pride and an unforgiving sense of right and wrong had once again caused her to step backwards into a bit of a hole. She couldn’t afford to be without an income. She would have to find a job. Or finally do her own thing. She could make that work, couldn’t she? Set up her own business, do her own projects? She was respected and well known. How hard could it be?
Her phone pinged as she was mulling over exactly what it would take to set up her own firm. She glanced at the screen, then opened the email, the hole she’d dug for herself suddenly getting a whole lot deeper as she read.
The message was short. Stuart was putting the old Melbourne warehouse on the market—was she still interested?
The timing could not have been worse.
Sarah’s design specialty was modern industrial luxury and she excelled at converting disused cavernous spaces into mod-ern comfort, but this wasn’t about the potential of the old print factory that she knew so well. It wasn’t even the nostalgia for a place that had been a home, that had been the scene of revelry, artistic creation and a coming of age for Sarah and her oldest friends.
This was more important than keeping memories close. Far more important. This was about keeping herself safe and her darkest secret protected. She could not let anyone else go in there with big ideas, grand plans and a sledgehammer.
The new twisty psychological suspense from the bestselling author of The House of Now and Then. Perfect for readers of Nicola Moriarty and Sally Hepworth.
On Sale: 28/10/2025