BLOG TOUR Spotlight: The Last Wife by Karen Hamilton @KJHAuthor @harlequinbooks #GraydonHouse
The Last Wife
by Karen Hamilton
In Karen Hamilton’s shocking thriller, THE LAST WIFE (Graydon House, July 7) Marie Langham is distraught when her
childhood friend, Nina, is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Before Nina
passes away, she asks Marie to look out for her family—her son,
daughter, and husband, Stuart. Marie would do anything for Nina, so of course,
she agrees.
Following Nina's
death, Marie gradually finds herself drawn into her friend's life—her family, her large house in the countryside. But
when Camilla, a mutual friend from their old art-college days, suddenly
reappears, Marie begins to suspect that she has a hidden agenda. Then, Marie
discovers that Nina had long suppressed secrets about a holiday in Ibiza the
women took ten years previously when Marie's then-boyfriend went missing after
a tragic accident and was later found dead.
Marie
used to envy Nina's beautiful life, but now the cards are up in the air and she
begins to realize that nothing is what it seemed. As long-buried secrets start
surfacing, Marie must figure out what’s true and who she can trust before the
consequences of Nina’s dark secrets destroy her.
Karen Hamilton spent her childhood in Angola, Zimbabwe, Belgium and
Italy and worked as a flight attendant for many years. Karen is a recent
graduate of the Faber Academy and, having now put down roots in Hampshire to
raise her young family with her husband, she satisfies her wanderlust by
exploring the world through her writing. She is also the author of the
international bestseller The Perfect
Girlfriend.
Facebook: @KarenHamiltonWriter | Goodreads
Q&A with Karen Hamilton
Q: What's the "story behind the story" with The Last Wife?
A:
The idea for The Last Wife first came to me when I was setting up a book-group with some friends in my village. While I was researching book-group reads and recommendations online, I came across some stories which suggested that not all groups were friendly and welcoming. This really surprised me. While creating Marie’s character, I thought about how she would go about trying to join a well-established group. I also knew that I wanted the house that Marie so desperately covets to be in the woods because although they can be stunning, they can also set the scene for somewhere creepy and menacing.
Q: So much of the story takes place in Ibiza, why did you choose that location? Have you ever been there?
A:
It’s one of my favourite places to visit, even though I haven’t been as recently as I’d like. Although it has a reputation for being a party island, it has the most stunning beaches and scenery. I thought that this would be a likely place for Marie and her friends to visit at that time in their lives.
Q: Which character in this novel is most like you and why?
A:
Oooh, hopefully none! 😊 Although I’m now fortunate to have three children, I did experience fertility issues so I was able to write from personal experience about how it may feel for Marie not to be able to conceive. I also went to therapy ‘in character’ (a psychotherapy service called Characters on the Couch) to delve deep into Marie’s manipulative mind.
Q: Do you have any specific writing rituals?
A: I’m definitely a morning person. Prior to lockdown, I would keep to school hours. Since then, it has been harder with home-schooling, but I try to write as much as I can when I first wake up. I usually write at home, but prior to lockdown I was happy to write anywhere: on trains, in cafes, on planes.
Q: What message do you hope readers take away from The Last Wife?
A:
That the grass isn’t necessarily greener.
Q: What can you tell us about your next project?
A: That I’ve been to ‘therapy’ again for this protagonist! It’s another manipulative main character within an international setting.
Thank you so much for all your kind support.
EXCERPT:
PROLOGUE
Clients trust me because I blend in. It’s a natural skill—my gift, if
you like. I focus my lens and capture stories, like the ones unfolding tonight:
natural and guarded expressions, self-conscious poses, joyous smiles, reluctant
ones from a teenage bridesmaid, swathed in silver and bloodred. The groom is an
old friend, yet I’ve only met his now-wife twice. She seems reserved, hard to
get to know, but in their wedding album she’ll glow. The camera does lie. My
role is to take these lies and spin them into the perfect story.
I take a glass of champagne from a passing server. I needn’t be totally
on the ball during the latter half of the evening because by then, people
naturally loosen up. I find that the purest details are revealed in the
discreet pictures I snatch during the final hours, however innocuously an event
starts. And besides, it Q&A seems this event is winding down.
The one downside of my job is the mixed bag of emotions evoked. I
rarely take family photos anymore, so normally, I’m fine, but today, watching
the wedding festivities, the longing for what I don’t have has crept up on me.
People think that envy is a bad thing, but in my opinion, envy is a positive
emotion. It has always been the best indicator for me to realize what’s wrong
with my life. People say, “Follow your dreams,” yet I’d say, “Follow what makes
you sick with envy.”
It’s how I knew that I must stop deceiving myself and face up to how
desperately I wanted to have a child. Delayed gratification is overrated.
I place my camera on a table as the tempo eases and sit down on a
satin-draped chair. As I watch the bride sweep across the dance floor with her
new husband, I think of Nina, and an overwhelming tide of grief floods through
me. I picture her haunted expression when she elicited three final promises
from me: two are easy to keep, one is not. Nonetheless, a vow is a vow. I will
be creative and fulfill it. I have a bad—yet tempting—idea which occasionally
beckons me toward a slippery slope.
I must do my best to avoid it because when Nina passed the baton to me,
she thought I was someone she could trust. However, as my yearning grows, the
crushing disappointment increases every month and the future I crave remains
elusive. And she didn’t know that I’d do anything to get what I want. Anything.
ONE
Ben isn’t at home. I used to panic when that happened, assume that he was unconscious in a burning building, his oxygen tank depleted, his colleagues unable to reach him. All this, despite his assurance that they have safety checks in place to keep an eye out for each other. He’s been stressed lately, blames it on work. He loves his job as a firefighter, but nearly lost one of his closest colleagues in a fire on the fourth floor of a block of flats recently when a load of wiring fell down and threatened to ensnare him.
No, the reality is
that he is punishing me. He doesn’t have a shift today. I understand his hurt,
but it’s hard to explain why I did what I did. For a start, I didn’t think that
people actually sent out printed wedding invitations anymore. If I’d known that
the innocuous piece of silver card smothered in horseshoes and church bells
would be the ignition for the worst argument we’d ever had, I wouldn’t have
opened it in his presence.
Marie Langham plus guest…
I don’t know what annoyed
Ben more, the fact that he wasn’t deemed important enough to be named or that I
said I was going alone.
“I’m working,” I
tried to explain. “The invitation is obviously a kind formality, a politeness.”
“All this is easily
rectifiable,” he said. “If you wanted me there, you wouldn’t have kept me in
the dark. The date was blocked off as work
months ago in our calendar.”
True. But I couldn’t
admit it. He wouldn’t appreciate being called a distraction.
Now, I have to make
it up to him because it’s the right time of the month. He hates what he refers
to as enforced sex (too much pressure), and any obvious scene-setting like
oyster-and-champagne dinners, new lingerie, an invitation to join me in the
shower or even a simple suggestion that we just shag, all the standard methods
annoy him. It’s hard to believe that other couples have this problem, it makes
me feel inadequate.
One of our cats
bursts through the flap and aims for her bowl. I observe her munching,
oblivious to my return home until this month’s strategy presents itself to me:
nonchalance. A part of Ben’s stress is that he thinks I’m obsessed with having
a baby. I told him to look up the true meaning of the word: an unhealthy
interest in something. It’s not an obsession to desire something perfectly normal.
I unpack, then
luxuriate in a steaming bath filled with bubbles. I’m a real sucker for the
sales promises: relax and unwind and revitalize. I hear the muffled sound of a
key in the lock. It’s Ben—who else would it be—yet I jump out and wrap a towel
around me. He’s not alone. I hear the voices of our neighbors, Rob and Mike.
He’s brought in reinforcements to maintain the barrier between us. There are
two ways for me to play this and if you can’t beat them…
I dress in jeans and a T-shirt, twist my hair up
and grip it with a hair clip, wipe mascara smudges from beneath my eyes and
head downstairs.
“You’re back,” says
Ben by way of a greeting. “The guys have come over for a curry.”
“Sounds perfect,” I
say, kissing him before hugging our friends hello.
I feel smug at the
wrong-footed expression on Ben’s face. He thought I’d be unable to hide my
annoyance, that I’d pull him to one side and whisper, “It’s orange,” (the color my fertility app suggests is the perfect
time) or suggest that I cook instead so I can ensure he eats as organically as
possible.
“Who’s up for
margaritas?” I say with an I’m game for a
big night smile.
Ben’s demeanor
visibly softens. Result. I’m forgiven.
The whole evening is
an effortless success.
Indifference and
good, old-fashioned getting pissed works.
Excerpted from The Last Wife by
Karen Hamilton, Copyright © 2020 by Karen Hamilton
Published by Graydon House Books
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