Garden of Stars: A gripping novel of hope, family and love across the ages. Rose Alexander

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       1

       London, 2010

       Dear Sarah

       How are you? All well I hope.

       I have a commission I’d like to offer you - 5,000 words following the story of natural cork from tree to bottle. It needs a Portuguese speaker which is why I thought of you. You’ll need to set up interviews in Lisbon, Porto and at a cork farm.

       Let me know if you can take this on and we can talk details.

       Best,

       Rosalind

      In her office at the top of her house, Sarah Lacey read and reread the email, the thrill of anticipation causing her stomach to leap and dance. A story to write about something important, interesting, worthwhile. Some meaty research to get her teeth into. Decent money. It was the most exciting commission she’d been offered in a long time, putting her back on the radar of editors looking for writers, giving her a career boost just when she needed it after having had time out for the children. It would not be easy, though; there was so much to sort out, so many logistical arrangements to make, from organising childcare to booking flights, hotels and car hire. She’d need to seek out the best interviewees, find the most compelling locations and draw up schedules. She began urgently tapping search terms into Google, bringing up web pages from cork producers and port wine makers, noting down key facts and figures that might be useful for the article. She spent a long time looking at maps; so many years had passed since she’d been to Portugal that she’d forgotten where some towns lay in relation to others, and it was incredible to see how the road network had developed.

      Eventually, however, she could not marvel at new motorways and bridges any longer and pretend to herself that navigating them was the only thing that concerned her about taking the job. The doubt that had lodged itself in her stomach the minute she saw the destination the article required began to spread, icily and insidiously, through her veins. There was a reason she had not set foot in the country since her gap year. Her hands fell still on the keyboard, and she stared at the screen with sightless eyes. Maybe now was the time to face up to what had happened so long ago, to confront the ghosts of the past. Could you hide from your own history forever? A whirlwind of jumbled memories and emotions flooded her mind, tearing her in different directions, making it impossible to discern a clear path.

      The bleep of a text coming through startled her out of her reverie. Instinctively, she picked up her phone and, in so doing, caught sight of the time. She swore out loud; she had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she was going to be late for school pick up. Grabbing her jacket and pulling it on as she shut the front door behind her, she headed down the road, half running, half walking, her head full of a potent mix of dread and excitement.

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