White Stones



White Stones

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What  strange forces are at work causing Penny Cornwall to see and hear people from the past and feel all their emotions? More disconcerting is the tune she doesn’t recognise play over and over inside the Cotswold stone cottage she shares with Harry Winchester. Music that will not go away, threatening to destroy the rural idyll she and Harry have found. Thus begins a fruitless search to find the source of the music and its title begins, a quest that rapidly becomes an obsession taking over her life.

Can the intervention of an eminent archaeologist find the answer to the music’s connection to their cottage in time and, in so doing, unravel the tragic story of a love bound by the music transcending the barriers of space and time?

“Walls have ears, but sometimes they also have mouths with which to speak.”


The door shook again, the brass letterbox beating a tattoo against the unnatural wail forcing its way through the constricted space. Bitter bile rising from her stomach quelled when she realized with body-sagging relief it was only the wind battering against the door, not some night-time prowler or, heaven forbid, Alex trying to get in. The wind died away allowing the tick…tock of the clock to fill the void once more.

In the bay of the window, the white grand piano stood silent, its lid closed. Behind it, heavy chenille curtains billowed and sank back, but their movement didn’t worry her; they always did that when the wind blew up the valley from the west, according to Harry. The room felt cold, the chilled air making her pull the dressing gown even tighter around her waist as she headed into the kitchen.

The fluorescent ceiling tube buzzed loudly before flickering into frigid brightness, showing her that here, too, everything was undisturbed. Not one item out of place, and the radio, perched in its usual position on the worktop by the breadbin, was as she had left it – unplugged. A loud clanging near the back door made her jump…


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