Genuine Fake , livre ebook

Pneuma Springs Publishing - Fred Maddox

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

106 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Tracy Gray had lost both her parents; her mother, tragically in a car accident when she was a youngster and now her father through a heart attack, brought on by the stress of trying to keep his antique business afloat. Taking over the business Tracy soon realised what her father had been up against. An influx of rich men, instant millionaires, with money made from the stock exchange or the property boom, were frequenting the antique sale rooms and effectively pricing antiques out of her father's reach and adversely affecting his business. She immediately blamed her father's death on these men and began to formulate a plan for retribution. Her determination to hit back at these people became an obsession. She devises a blueprint for revenge. Her plan worked beyond all expectations. Having found the answer to these people, and realising there was a lot of money to be made with this illegal venture, she eventually turned to using her scam on innocent people. The money bug had now bitten. Driven by the continual need to expand her business either by legal or illegal means, had made Tracy a hard and bitter person. The men in her life, who had fallen for this very pretty woman, also fell foul of her money obsessed ways. Eventually and inevitably she tried her devious ways on one person too many and suffers a backlash, but she believes she can still come out on top. Will she succeed or will she lose everything she had schemed and cheated for? Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Pneuma Springs Publishing
Date de parution	28 mai 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782281535
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0130€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A
Genuine Fake

Fred Maddox
First Published in 2010 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
A Genuine Fake Copyright © 2010 Fred Maddox
Kindle eISBN: 9781907728815 Epub eISBN: 9781782281535 PDF eISBN: 9781782280651 Paperback ISBN: 9781905809929
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: admin@pneumasprings.co.uk W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
The Novel
1

Tracy was oblivious to the dozen or so people gathered around the frozen earth of the graveside. Or of Father James’ words as he conducted the burial service, his voice nothing more than a faraway drone. She stared vacantly at the solitary old oak tree, just beyond the moss covered dry stone wall which marked the ancient churchyard’s boundary. Its thick, gnarled trunk, scarred from the scores of lovers carving their undying love for each other into its weather beaten bark, giving testament to its decades of claiming that lone position as its own. Its bare misshapen branches creaked and groaned as the chilling north east wind whistled through them. What tales this mighty oak could tell, of the many christenings and weddings and funerals it had witnessed, and indeed, it would be more than likely this magnificent tree had witnessed all three services for the same person.
Many times as a child, Tracy and her friends had taken a picnic basket, lovingly prepared by her mother, and played under this very tree. She had a picture in her mind’s eye, of them laughing and chasing each other around its enormous girth. Her childhood had been a happy one. She had been the only child, and hopes of a brother or sister were cruelly dashed, when her mother had been killed in a car accident some years ago. She had been a wonderful caring mother, and it was some time before she and her father got over her untimely death. She suspected her father had never fully recovered from that sad day, and had admired the way he had seen to her every need, whilst trying to run his antique business, with never a complaint about his workload.
Her mother and father had married in this very church. A tiny, but beautifully preserved sandstone building, standing proudly on the highest point of Corston village, a small hamlet of thatched cottages beside the river Dree, about three miles west of Stockton Bridge.
Now here she was again, at the same graveside where her mother was buried, saying goodbye to her father. She took a deep breath as they gently lowered his coffin into the muddy grave beside her mother, wondering why it was, that another loved one had been snatched away from her.
The small gathering of relatives and friends huddled around the open grave, shivered uncontrollably in the bitter early March air, as the priest uttered the words of the burial service. She felt a comforting arm slip around her shoulder. She looked to her close friend, Marion through her tear filled eyes and tried to force a smile.
“He’s with your mother now Tracy,” sympathised Marion. “He will be happy and at peace.”
The sight of the coffin being gently lowered into the grave, provoked a reaction from Tracy, who began to sob uncontrollably. Her legs felt like lead weights and began to buckle under her. Marion held her tightly as she tottered unsteadily forward to sprinkle a handful of earth on to the coffin. Then remaining motionless staring into the grave.
Marion pulled gently at her. “Come on,” she urged. “let’s get you home and into the warmth.”
One by one, the mourners approached and offered their condolences, but their words were passing over her head in a meaningless jumble. All she could do was nod an acknowledgement and hurry to the car.
Not a word was spoken on the short journey back to the house. Marion refrained from offering words of comfort. She knew her friend well enough to know the gesture at this particular point would be futile. The best course of action when they arrived at the apartment was to make a warming drink.
“I didn’t want a get together after the funeral,” said Tracy. “I couldn’t stand all that false sentiment. Telling me how very sorry they are, and how they will miss him. They hardly knew him.”
“Still, they came to pay their respects, which was nice,” answered Marion, for want of something better to say.
“He was devastated when mother died,” grunted Tracy. “Not one of them came to visit him. Not even a telephone call to ask how he was. I would have had more respect for them if they had. Mother and father were inseparable. He doted on her, and she him. She would never have let his business be ruined by those get rich quick merchants. I feel as though I have let him down.”
Marion looked at her uneasily. She fought for some soothing words.
“Perhaps he did take his eye off the ball when your mother passed away, which was understandable, but he didn’t give up, did he? He fought them all the way. He wanted to hand you a good viable business when he retired.”
“Yes, and look what it did to him. It ruined his health. I should have been here to help him.”
“You tried that, Tracy. You know he wanted you to have a good education. That’s why he was insistent on you going to college. He knew then, the business would be in good hands. Of course you haven’t let him down. Why on earth do you think that?”
“He worked his fingers to the bone, just to pay for my education.”
“That is what he wanted, Tracy. He was happy doing it.”
“You don’t understand, Marion. He was struggling with the business. People were muscling in. He couldn’t compete with them. He needed help, and I should have been here, not running around college.”
Marion strode over and sat on the arm of Tracy’s chair. “Now look here. You asked him if he needed help and he refused. He promised your mother he would see to it you went to college. He wouldn’t have been happy if he thought he had failed, would he?”
Tracy shook her head. “I should have been here. I should have insisted on helping. If I had, he might still be alive to day.”
Marion shook her head. “You have to face it, Tracy. There was nothing you could have done. The best thing to do now is to take on the business. Show your father his hard work hasn’t been completely wasted.”
“I can‘t,” replied Tracy, shaking her head. “At least not yet. I don’t think I can bear to go in the shop at the moment.”
Marion gave her a gentle squeeze. “Of course not. I understand that. Perhaps when you have come to terms with it all, we should go and check it out.”
“Maybe,” nodded Tracy, tears welling up in her eyes.
For the next month, Marion hovered discreetly in the background, keeping a watchful eye on her friend, ready to spring to her aid when needed.
Then one morning, Tracy waved a letter at Marion. “What shall I do about this?” she asked. “It’s from the landlords. The lease is about to run out, and they want to know if I am going to renew it. I don‘t know what to do.”
“There is only one thing to do,” answered Marion. “Let’s go and take a look and see what has to be done.”
“I don’t know.” sighed Tracy. “I don’t know if I can bear to go into the shop again.”
“There is only one way to find out, isn’t there? You may feel different when you get there.”

A couple of days later, Tracy found herself striding along the red bricked pavement of Stockton Bridge High Street. It was nearing midday. The Sun was emitting welcome warm rays from a clear blue sky. The birds were in full voice, chattering away from their vantage points in the tree lined street. Not that Tracy was aware of them, she had other things on her mind. She paid no heed to the jostling market day throng, each person fighting for their own space along the crowded thoroughfare. For her, this milling mass didn’t exist. Suddenly she came to an abrupt halt, a heavily laden woman behind collided with her. The woman gave an angry stare and muttered something, but Tracy, indifferent to her mumblings, stared blankly ahead of her.
“What is it? ” asked Marion.
“I’m not sure about this,” she replied.
Marion linked Tracy’s arm. “You will be fine. This is for your father.”
Tracy nodded. “You’re right,” she murmured, and suddenly set off at a brisk pace, forcing on - comers to step aside as she gouged a straight path towards her target, leaving Marion trailing in her wake. Her pace slowed as she neared her goal, eventually coming to a halt outside a vacant shop premises.
Taking a couple of steps backwards, she craned her neck upwards to give the neglected exterior the once over. Passers by, curious as to what she was looking at, stood with her for a moment scanning the building, then, unable to figure out what had caught her attention, shrugged their shoulders, and resumed their journey.
Her eyes came to rest on a shabby sign above the door. The flourish of old English gold lettering on a green background, that once proudly announced the premises as ‘Stockton Bridge Antiques’ was hardly visible now the Suns powerful rays had faded them almost into oblivion. She felt a mixture of sadness and guilt as she pictured her father lovingly cleaning and polishing that sign, which he religiously did once a week. It was now clinging sorrowfully over the door in such a dilapidated state, that very few passers by even knew it was there.
“That will be the first thing to be seen to,” she mumbled. After giving the exterior a second look over, she approached the door and peered through the grimy mullioned windows. “I can’t see a thing,” she almost whispere