Tiny Little Thing
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
The New York Times bestselling author of Husbands & Lovers returns with the story of another Schuyler sister, a young woman embroiled in politics, passion, and dangerous secrets....
In the summer of 1966, Christina Tiny Hardcastle...
In the summer of 1966, Christina Tiny Hardcastle...
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The New York Times bestselling author of Husbands & Lovers returns with the story of another Schuyler sister, a young woman embroiled in politics, passion, and dangerous secrets....In the summer of 1966, Christina Tiny Hardcastle stands on the brink of a breathtaking future. Unlike her spirited sisters, Tiny was the consummate well-behaved debutant, poised and picture-perfect, raised to serve as a consort to a great man. Now, as her handsome husband, Frank, runs for a Massachusetts seat in the U.S. House of Representatives, that long-sought destiny lies nearly within reach.
But behind her glamorous facade, Tiny s flawless life is cracking. She and Frank both have secrets in their pasts that could shatter their political ambitions and the intricate truce of their marriage. So when two unwelcome visitors arrive at the Hardcastle family s Cape Cod estate Frank s cousin Caspian, a Vietnam war hero who knows a thing or two about Tiny s hidden past, and an envelope containing incriminating photographs Tiny is forced into a reckless gamble against a house that always, always wins
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Tiny, 1966
Cape Cod, Massachusetts
The first photograph arrives in the mail on the same day that my husband appears on television at the Medal of Honor ceremony. It s accompanied by the customary note written in block capital letters. By now, I know enough about politics and about my husband s family, I suppose to suspect this isn t a coincidence.
There s no return address (of course, there wouldn t be, would there?), but the envelope was postmarked yesterday in Boston, and the stamps are George Washington, five cents each. A plain manila envelope, letter size, of the sort they use in offices: I flip it back and forth between my fingers, while my heart bounds and rebounds against my ribs.
Tiny, my dear. It s my husband s grandmother, calling from the living room. Aren t you going to watch the ceremony?
She has a remarkable way of forming a sociable question into a court summons, and like a court summons, she can t be ignored. I smooth my hand against the envelope once, twice, as if I can evaporate the contents poof, presto! in the stroke of a palm, and I slide it into one of the more obscure pigeonholes in the secretary, where the mail is laid every day by the housekeeper.
Yes, of course, I call back.
... mehr
The television has been bought new for the occasion. Generally, Granny Hardcastle frowns on modern devices; even my husband, Franklin, has to hide in the attic in order to listen to Red Sox games on the radio. The wireless, she calls it, a little disdainfully, though she s not necessarily averse to Sinatra or Glenn Miller in the evenings, while she sits in her favorite chintz chair in the living room and drinks her small glass of cognac. It drowns out the sound of the ocean, she says, which I can never quite comprehend. In the first place, you can t drown out the ocean when it flings itself persistently against your shore, wave after wave, only fifty yards past the shingled walls of your house, no matter how jazzy the trumpets backing up Mr. Sinatra.
In the second place, why would you want to?
I pause at the tray to pour myself a glass of lemonade. I add a splash of vodka, but only a tiny one. Have they started yet? I ask, trying to sound as cool as I look. The vodka, I ve found, is a reliable refrigerant.
No. They re trying to sell me Clorox. Granny Hardcastle stubs out her cigarette in the silver ashtray next to her chair she smokes habitually, but only in front of women and chews on her irony.
Lemonade?
No, thank you. I ll have another cigarette, though.
I make my way to the sofa and open the drawer in the lamp table, where Mrs. Hardcastle keeps the cigarettes. Our little secret. I shake one out of the pack and tilt my body toward the television set, feigning interest in bleach, so that Franklin s grandmother won t see the wee shake of my fingers as I strike the lighter and hold it to the tip of the cigarette. These are the sorts of details she notices.
I hand her the lit cigarette.
Sit down, she says. You re as restless as a cat.
There. Do you see what I mean? Just imagine spending the summer in the same house with her. You d be slipping the vodka into your lemonade in no time, trust me.
The French doors crash open from the terrace.
Has it started yet? asks one of the cousins Constance, probably before they all clatter in, brown limbed, robed in pinks and greens, smelling of ocean and coconuts.
Not yet. Lemonade?
I pour out four or five glasses of lemonade while the women arrange themselves about the room. Most of them arrived as I did, at the beginning of summer, members
The television has been bought new for the occasion. Generally, Granny Hardcastle frowns on modern devices; even my husband, Franklin, has to hide in the attic in order to listen to Red Sox games on the radio. The wireless, she calls it, a little disdainfully, though she s not necessarily averse to Sinatra or Glenn Miller in the evenings, while she sits in her favorite chintz chair in the living room and drinks her small glass of cognac. It drowns out the sound of the ocean, she says, which I can never quite comprehend. In the first place, you can t drown out the ocean when it flings itself persistently against your shore, wave after wave, only fifty yards past the shingled walls of your house, no matter how jazzy the trumpets backing up Mr. Sinatra.
In the second place, why would you want to?
I pause at the tray to pour myself a glass of lemonade. I add a splash of vodka, but only a tiny one. Have they started yet? I ask, trying to sound as cool as I look. The vodka, I ve found, is a reliable refrigerant.
No. They re trying to sell me Clorox. Granny Hardcastle stubs out her cigarette in the silver ashtray next to her chair she smokes habitually, but only in front of women and chews on her irony.
Lemonade?
No, thank you. I ll have another cigarette, though.
I make my way to the sofa and open the drawer in the lamp table, where Mrs. Hardcastle keeps the cigarettes. Our little secret. I shake one out of the pack and tilt my body toward the television set, feigning interest in bleach, so that Franklin s grandmother won t see the wee shake of my fingers as I strike the lighter and hold it to the tip of the cigarette. These are the sorts of details she notices.
I hand her the lit cigarette.
Sit down, she says. You re as restless as a cat.
There. Do you see what I mean? Just imagine spending the summer in the same house with her. You d be slipping the vodka into your lemonade in no time, trust me.
The French doors crash open from the terrace.
Has it started yet? asks one of the cousins Constance, probably before they all clatter in, brown limbed, robed in pinks and greens, smelling of ocean and coconuts.
Not yet. Lemonade?
I pour out four or five glasses of lemonade while the women arrange themselves about the room. Most of them arrived as I did, at the beginning of summer, members
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Beatriz Williams
Beatriz Williams lives with her husband and children in Connecticut. She is the New York Times bestselling author of Along the Infinite Sea, Tiny Little Thing, The Secret Life of Violet Grant, A Hundred Summers, Overseas and Husbands & Lovers. She also writes under the pseudonym Juliana Gray.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Beatriz Williams
- 2016, 416 Seiten, Masse: 13,5 x 20,3 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Berkley
- ISBN-10: 0425278867
- ISBN-13: 9780425278864
- Erscheinungsdatum: 15.03.2017
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Tiny Little ThingGet to know Christina Tiny and Frank Hardcastle in this winner of a novel. The Kennedy-esque couple have a bright political future...but both have dangerous secrets. US Weekly
Elegantly written...the book is strewn with unexpected heroes and villains and makes an exclusive, Kennedy-esque world accessible...A fascinating look at wealth, love, ambition, secrets, and what family members will and won't do to protect each other. Kirkus Reviews
More Praise for Beatriz Williams and her novels
Fabulous...A perfect summer read. Examiner.com
Riveting. US Weekly
Smart and engrossing. New York Times bestselling author Elin Hilderbrand
Sparkles like the New England summer sun. New York Times bestselling author Karen White
Hard to stop reading. The Missourian
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