RHYLLA’S SECRET
Fortuitous Tide
Reminder: Free short story see below “A Pearl for Your Enjoyment”
The fourth novel Rhylla’s Secret has now been uploaded into the safe hands of Ingram Spark. The writhing bag of insecurities now churning in my guts is not unlike how a mother feels when her teenager leaves home.
I hear you asking, “Stop with all the waffle. What is it all about?”
Okay then here is a tasty morsel.
One punch thrown in anger can cause repercussions that echo through a family for generations.
RHYLLA’S SECRET – FOR RELEASE 30th November 2021
Current Weather and Tides
And another morsel …
What was to have been a wonderful year for Rhylla MacBurnie disintegrates into heartache and secrets.
After a moment of fury, her husband Robbie MacBurnie stares at his brother Greg, lying in a widening halo of blood while Rhylla and Robbie’s daughter, Kirsty, lies unconscious and in disarray.
To protect his family, Robbie, disguised as his brother Greg, hops a train to Mount Isa. The police want to arrest Greg while a Sydney razor gang seeks to silence him forever.
Rhylla is left to cope with the challenges of Kirsty’s pregnancy, not knowing if her husband is alive.
Keep safe, Keep smiling, Keep reading, Keep writing.
Elizabeth Rimmington
www.elizabethrimmington.com.au
facebook.com/elizabethrimmington.author
A Pearl for your Enjoyment
CLOSED CURTAINS
Silence shouted throughout the small flat before high-heeled footsteps hammered down the hallway threatening to pierce the timber flooring with every step. The muted thuds of rubber-soled sneakers stomped off in the opposite direction. Grim faces, a replica of each other, displayed tight lips and narrowed eyes.
The high-heeled footsteps ceased. The bed groaned as she flung herself upon the bedcovers. A pillow held scrunched into a tight ball within the curve of her body will possibly never retain its normal shape again.
The whirlpool of her mind swirled with recriminations, accusations, and dire promises of reprisals.
A door slammed. Muted rubber soles clumped down the steps and squelched across the lawn, wet with earlier rain, to the garage. His long fingers feathered the bodywork of the shiny car as he made his way to the driver’s door. It opened on well-oiled hinges and he flicked the engine bonnet release switch. Another flicked switch and loud music blared out across the yard. A satisfied grin flashed a moment on his lips. She hated loud music. The bonnet lifted without a sound to reveal a well-kept engine shining in the afternoon light beaming through the gaps in the shed wall. At the front of the vehicle, he stood with a gaze, not unlike Sinbad the sailor might wear when standing in front of a sea-chest of treasure.
Hunched above the engine, the thoughts within his head travelled two roads: the main highway, paved with impatience, disbelief and reassurance of his own importance; road two, a minor road – a track even – paved with curiosity and determination to discover the cause of a knock he had heard coming from the car engine when he was out running her errands. “Her errands!” A mumble spat out of his lips. His mind spun back onto the main road.
Upstairs a cupboard door rattled when the pillow struck it with force. The shapely figure stretched out and jumped up before unshod stockinged feet whispered across to the mirror. She glared at the blue eyes glaring back. Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears.
“Sour face equals sour soul. Don’t count the things your man can do for you; count those things you can do for your man.”
Down in the garage, a smile spread his lips and a sparkle drowned the resentment in the brown eyes when he pressed the accelerator and smooth purring rewarded his efforts. His father came to mind and a piece of advice he’d offered up the last time they’d worked on the car together.
“A woman is not unlike a car, Sonny. Be tolerant, treat it with respect, take care of it and the engine will purr all you want.”
His head snapped up at the sound of high-heeled footsteps clattering down the back steps. His rubber soles squished back across the lawn.
Author’s note: Curtain Call. No one here today is old enough to see what goes on behind closed curtains.
THE END
