away, Inga didn't want to start until they could provide a better life for them. She didn't want her children growing up in the sort of conditions they had grown up in, he said, which was why she had taken a trip to Australia — to experience life in a free country, to seek better opportunities.
Yes, but why didn't he tell me she had come here six years before him? Decca asked herself. And why did she come on her own? If he'd lied about that, what else was Oleg hiding?
The dining room door opened to reveal her adorable, sexy, best friend standing next to the plainest man Decca had seen in years. Surely this was not the `new root'?
Inga drifts towards him, smiling. Her skin is paler than the ivory satin sculpted around her breasts. Her blue eyes flash like zircons. Platinum hair and ruby lips are ghostly through antique lace.
Oleg's heart is pounding with love and desire in equal parts but his head is a ball of pain. The drone of a church organ is fractured by scratches of conversation about rosters and drip-feeds and someone called Rory.
His eyelids flicker open to a blaze of fluorescent light and the nightmare begins again. Inga dead. Nothing he can do or say will bring her back.
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