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1. Please make a list of every possession you consider essential to your life.
Then: Emma
It’s a lovely little flat, the agent says with what could almost pass for genuine enthusiasm. Close to the amenities. And there’s that private bit of roof. That could become a sun terrace, subject of course to the landlord’s consent.
Nice, Simon agrees, trying not to catch my eye. I’d known the flat was no good as soon as I walked in and saw that six-foot stretch of roof below one of the windows. Si knows it too but he doesn’t want to tell the agent, or at least not so soon it’ll seem rude. He might even hope that if I listen to the man’s stupid patter long enough I’ll waver. The agent’s Simon’s kind of guy: sharp, brash, eager. He probably reads the magazine Simon works for. They were exchanging sports chat before we even got up the stairs.
And here you have a decent-sized bedroom, the agent’s saying. With ample—
It’s no good, I interrupt, cutting short the charade. It’s not right for us.
The agent raises his eyebrows. You can’t be too choosy in this market, he says. This’ll be gone by tonight. Five viewings today, and it’s not even on our website yet.
It’s not secure enough, I say flatly. Shall we go?
There are locks on all the windows, he points out, plus a Chubb on the door. Of course, you could install a burglar alarm, if security’s a particular concern. I don’t think the landlord would have any objection.
He’s talking across me now, to Simon. Particular concern. He might as well have said, Oh, is the girlfriend a bit of a drama queen?
I’ll wait outside, I say, turning to leave.
Realizing he’s blundered, the agent adds, If it’s the area that’s the problem, perhaps you should have a look farther west.
We already have, Simon says. It’s all out of our budget. Apart from the ones the size of a tea bag.
He’s trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, but the fact that he needs to riles me even more.
There’s a one-bedroom in Queen’s Park, the agent says. A bit grotty, but . . .
We looked at it, Simon says. In the end we felt it was just a bit too close to that estate. His tone makes it clear that we means “she.”
Or there’s a third-floor just come on in Kilburn—
That too. There was a drainpipe next to one of the windows.
The agent looks puzzled.
Someone could have climbed it, Simon explains.
Right. Well, the rental season’s only just started. Perhaps if you wait a bit.
The agent has clearly decided we’re time-wasters: He too is sidling toward the door. I go and stand outside, on the landing, so he won’t come near me.
We’ve already given notice on our old place, I hear Simon say. We’re running out of options. He lowers his voice. Look, mate, we were burgled. Five weeks ago. Two men broke in and threatened Emma with a knife. You can see why she’d be a bit jumpy.
Oh, the agent says. Shit. If someone did that to my girlfriend I don’t know what I’d do. Look, this might be a long shot, but . . . His voice trails off.
Yes? Simon says.
Has anyone at the office mentioned One Folgate Street to you?
I don’t think so. Has it just come on?
Not exactly, no.
The agent seems unsure whether to pursue this or not.
But it’s available? Simon persists.
Technically, yes, the agent says. And it’s a fantastic property. Absolutely fantastic. In a different league from this. But the landlord’s . . . to say he’s particular would be putting it mildly.
What area? Simon asks.
Hampstead, the agent says. Well, more like Hendon. But it’s really quiet.
Em? Simon calls.
I go back inside. We might as well take a look, I say. We’re halfway there now.
The agent nods. I’ll stop by the office, he says, see if I can locate the details. It’s been a while since I showed anyone around, actually. It’s not a place that would suit just anyone. But I think it might be right up your street. Sorry, no pun intended.
Now: Jane
“That’s the last one.” The agent, whose name is Camilla, drums her fingers on the steering wheel of her Smart car. “So really, it’s time to make up our minds.”
I sigh. The flat we’ve just viewed, in a run-down mansion block off West End Lane, is the only one in my price range. And I’d just about persuaded myself it was all right—ignoring the peeling wallpaper, the faint smell of someone else’s cooking seeping up from the flat below, the poky bedroom and the mold spattered across the unventilated bathroom—until I’d heard a bell being rung nearby, an old-fashioned hand bell, and the place was suddenly filled with the noise of children. Going to the window, I found myself looking down at a school. I could see into a room being used by a toddler group, the windows hung with cutouts of paper bunnies and geese. Pain tugged at my insides.
“I think I’ll pass on this one,” I managed to say.
“Really?” Camilla seemed surprised. “Is it the school? The previous tenants said they rather liked the sound of children playing.”
“Though not so much they decided to stay.” I turned away. “Shall we go?”
Now Camilla leaves a long, tactical silence as she drives us back to her office. Eventually she says, “If nothing we saw today took your fancy, we might have to think about upping your budget.”
“Unfortunately, my budget can’t budge,” I say drily, looking out the window.
“Then you might have to be a bit less picky,” she says tartly.
“About that last one. There are . . . personal reasons why I can’t live next to a school. Not right now.”
I see her eyes going to my stomach, still a little flabby from my pregnancy, and her eyes widen as she makes the connection. “Oh,” she says. Camilla isn’t quite as dim as she looks, for which I’m grateful. She doesn’t need me to spell it out.
Instead, she seems to come to a decision.
“Look, there is one other place. We’re not really meant to show it without the owner’s express permission, but occasionally we do anyway. It freaks some people out, but personally I think it’s amazing.”
“An amazing property on my budget? We’re not talking about a houseboat, are we?”
“God, no. Almost the opposite. A modern building in Hendon. A whole house—only one bedroom, but loads of space. The owner is the architect. He’s actually really famous. Do you ever buy clothes at Wanderer?”
“Wanderer . . .” In my previous life, when I had money and a proper, well-paid job, I did sometimes go into the Wanderer shop on Bond Street, a terrifyingly minimalist space where a handful of eye-wateringly expensive dresses were laid out on thick stone slabs like sacrificial virgins, and the sales assistants all dressed in black kimonos. “Occasionally. Why?”
“The Monkford Partnership designs all their stores. He’s what they call a techno-minimalist or something. Lots of hidden gadgetry, but otherwise everything’s completely bare.” She shoots me a look. “I should warn you, some people find his style a bit . . . austere.”
“I can cope with that.”
“And . . .”
“Yes?” I prompt, when she doesn’t go on.
“It’s not a straightforward landlord–tenant agreement,” she says hesitantly.
“Meaning?”
“I think,” she says, flicking down her indicator and moving into the left-hand lane, “we should take a look at the property first, see if you fall in love with it. Then I’ll explain the drawbacks.”
Présentation de l'éditeur :
Then: Emma
It’s a lovely little flat, the agent says with what could almost pass for genuine enthusiasm. Close to the amenities. And there’s that private bit of roof. That could become a sun terrace, subject of course to the landlord’s consent.
Nice, Simon agrees, trying not to catch my eye. I’d known the flat was no good as soon as I walked in and saw that six-foot stretch of roof below one of the windows. Si knows it too but he doesn’t want to tell the agent, or at least not so soon it’ll seem rude. He might even hope that if I listen to the man’s stupid patter long enough I’ll waver. The agent’s Simon’s kind of guy: sharp, brash, eager. He probably reads the magazine Simon works for. They were exchanging sports chat before we even got up the stairs.
And here you have a decent-sized bedroom, the agent’s saying. With ample—
It’s no good, I interrupt, cutting short the charade. It’s not right for us.
The agent raises his eyebrows. You can’t be too choosy in this market, he says. This’ll be gone by tonight. Five viewings today, and it’s not even on our website yet.
It’s not secure enough, I say flatly. Shall we go?
There are locks on all the windows, he points out, plus a Chubb on the door. Of course, you could install a burglar alarm, if security’s a particular concern. I don’t think the landlord would have any objection.
He’s talking across me now, to Simon. Particular concern. He might as well have said, Oh, is the girlfriend a bit of a drama queen?
I’ll wait outside, I say, turning to leave.
Realizing he’s blundered, the agent adds, If it’s the area that’s the problem, perhaps you should have a look farther west.
We already have, Simon says. It’s all out of our budget. Apart from the ones the size of a tea bag.
He’s trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, but the fact that he needs to riles me even more.
There’s a one-bedroom in Queen’s Park, the agent says. A bit grotty, but . . .
We looked at it, Simon says. In the end we felt it was just a bit too close to that estate. His tone makes it clear that we means “she.”
Or there’s a third-floor just come on in Kilburn—
That too. There was a drainpipe next to one of the windows.
The agent looks puzzled.
Someone could have climbed it, Simon explains.
Right. Well, the rental season’s only just started. Perhaps if you wait a bit.
The agent has clearly decided we’re time-wasters: He too is sidling toward the door. I go and stand outside, on the landing, so he won’t come near me.
We’ve already given notice on our old place, I hear Simon say. We’re running out of options. He lowers his voice. Look, mate, we were burgled. Five weeks ago. Two men broke in and threatened Emma with a knife. You can see why she’d be a bit jumpy.
Oh, the agent says. Shit. If someone did that to my girlfriend I don’t know what I’d do. Look, this might be a long shot, but . . . His voice trails off.
Yes? Simon says.
Has anyone at the office mentioned One Folgate Street to you?
I don’t think so. Has it just come on?
Not exactly, no.
The agent seems unsure whether to pursue this or not.
But it’s available? Simon persists.
Technically, yes, the agent says. And it’s a fantastic property. Absolutely fantastic. In a different league from this. But the landlord’s . . . to say he’s particular would be putting it mildly.
What area? Simon asks.
Hampstead, the agent says. Well, more like Hendon. But it’s really quiet.
Em? Simon calls.
I go back inside. We might as well take a look, I say. We’re halfway there now.
The agent nods. I’ll stop by the office, he says, see if I can locate the details. It’s been a while since I showed anyone around, actually. It’s not a place that would suit just anyone. But I think it might be right up your street. Sorry, no pun intended.
Now: Jane
“That’s the last one.” The agent, whose name is Camilla, drums her fingers on the steering wheel of her Smart car. “So really, it’s time to make up our minds.”
I sigh. The flat we’ve just viewed, in a run-down mansion block off West End Lane, is the only one in my price range. And I’d just about persuaded myself it was all right—ignoring the peeling wallpaper, the faint smell of someone else’s cooking seeping up from the flat below, the poky bedroom and the mold spattered across the unventilated bathroom—until I’d heard a bell being rung nearby, an old-fashioned hand bell, and the place was suddenly filled with the noise of children. Going to the window, I found myself looking down at a school. I could see into a room being used by a toddler group, the windows hung with cutouts of paper bunnies and geese. Pain tugged at my insides.
“I think I’ll pass on this one,” I managed to say.
“Really?” Camilla seemed surprised. “Is it the school? The previous tenants said they rather liked the sound of children playing.”
“Though not so much they decided to stay.” I turned away. “Shall we go?”
Now Camilla leaves a long, tactical silence as she drives us back to her office. Eventually she says, “If nothing we saw today took your fancy, we might have to think about upping your budget.”
“Unfortunately, my budget can’t budge,” I say drily, looking out the window.
“Then you might have to be a bit less picky,” she says tartly.
“About that last one. There are . . . personal reasons why I can’t live next to a school. Not right now.”
I see her eyes going to my stomach, still a little flabby from my pregnancy, and her eyes widen as she makes the connection. “Oh,” she says. Camilla isn’t quite as dim as she looks, for which I’m grateful. She doesn’t need me to spell it out.
Instead, she seems to come to a decision.
“Look, there is one other place. We’re not really meant to show it without the owner’s express permission, but occasionally we do anyway. It freaks some people out, but personally I think it’s amazing.”
“An amazing property on my budget? We’re not talking about a houseboat, are we?”
“God, no. Almost the opposite. A modern building in Hendon. A whole house—only one bedroom, but loads of space. The owner is the architect. He’s actually really famous. Do you ever buy clothes at Wanderer?”
“Wanderer . . .” In my previous life, when I had money and a proper, well-paid job, I did sometimes go into the Wanderer shop on Bond Street, a terrifyingly minimalist space where a handful of eye-wateringly expensive dresses were laid out on thick stone slabs like sacrificial virgins, and the sales assistants all dressed in black kimonos. “Occasionally. Why?”
“The Monkford Partnership designs all their stores. He’s what they call a techno-minimalist or something. Lots of hidden gadgetry, but otherwise everything’s completely bare.” She shoots me a look. “I should warn you, some people find his style a bit . . . austere.”
“I can cope with that.”
“And . . .”
“Yes?” I prompt, when she doesn’t go on.
“It’s not a straightforward landlord–tenant agreement,” she says hesitantly.
“Meaning?”
“I think,” she says, flicking down her indicator and moving into the left-hand lane, “we should take a look at the property first, see if you fall in love with it. Then I’ll explain the drawbacks.”
IF YOU ONLY READ ONE BOOK THIS YEAR, MAKE IT THE GIRL BEFORE...
'An outstanding debut that is more than a match for Paula Hawkins's The Girl on the Train' Sunday Times
THE SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER
THE SUNDAY TIMES THRILLER OF THE MONTH
THE SIMON MAYO RADIO 2 BOOK CLUB PICK
THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
'DAZZLING' - Lee Child
'ADDICTIVE' - Daily Express
'DEVASTATING' - Daily Mail
'INGENIOUS' - The New York Times
'COMPULSIVE' - Glamour Magazine
'ELEGANT' - Peter James
'SEXY' - Mail on Sunday
'ENTHRALLING' - Woman and Home
'ORIGINAL' - The Times
'RIVETING' - Lisa Gardner
'CREEPY' - Heat
'SATISFYING' - Reader's Digest
'SUPERIOR' - The Bookseller
'This is going to be the buzziest book of 2017 . . . This year The Girl Before will be that book' InStyle
**********
Enter the world of One Folgate Street and discover perfection . . . but can you pay the price?
Jane stumbles on the rental opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to live in a beautiful ultra-minimalist house designed by an enigmatic architect, on condition she abides by a long list of exacting rules. After moving in, she discovers that a previous tenant, Emma, met a mysterious death there - and starts to wonder if her own story will be a re-run of the girl before.
As twist after twist catches the reader off guard, Emma's past and Jane's present become inexorably entwined in this tense, page-turning portrayal of psychological obsession.
**********
Following in the footsteps of Gone Girl and The Girl on the Train, The Girl Before is being brought to the big screen by Academy Award-winning director Ron Howard.
**Believe Me, the riveting new thriller from JP Delaney is available to preorder now. Coming August 2018.**
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- ÉditeurQuercus
- Date d'édition2017
- ISBN 10 1786480298
- ISBN 13 9781786480293
- ReliureRelié
- Nombre de pages416
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The Girl Before
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Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : New. Etat de la jaquette : New. 1st Edition. A mint condition 1st edition, 1st printing of the psychological thriller SIGNED and dated by JP Delaney. A 4-episode series adapted from the novel to premiere on HBO in 2021. Starring Ben Hardy, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, and David Oyelowo. Bren-Books specializes in books into film and TV, many signed. Signed by Author(s). Book. N° de réf. du vendeur 009669
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Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : Brand New. 416 pages. 9.45x6.26x1.42 inches. In Stock. N° de réf. du vendeur zk1786480298
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