This book started life about three or so years ago as a short story called Dancing Man. It then morphed through several drafts, and names (including a suggested Waltzing Matilda! but that's another story - literally) before finally becoming Convergence. Which is an amazing name as not just lives, but time convergences within it's pages.
Blurb:
Even
as a teenager Yvetta Graham had vivid dreams. Ones she couldn't tell from
reality. Only now she's almost thirty and beyond such things.
Only
the new store manager is a dead ringer for the man from those dreams. Who is
John Smyth? What is his reason for coming to Headley Cross? Is he really a time
traveller?
As
dreams and reality converge Yvetta is in a fight for both her sanity and soul.
Extract:
Someone was following
her. The steps were light, but audible on the large grey flagstones that lined
the floor of the castle. It couldn’t be Blaize. He’d had to go out, fulfil his
duty as sheriff and deal with something in the village.
Yvetta didn’t mind
being alone. After all, as Blaize kept pointing out, with the amount of
servants he had, she’d never be truly alone. What she objected to was being
followed. She spun around, determined to have a go at whoever it was, but there
was no one there. Shaking her head, she turned back to face the other way and
crashed straight into a tall, black figure standing there.
‚I’m sorry. I didn’t
see you,‛ she began.
The figure turned. The
faceless, nameless one moved towards her. ‚Etta.‛
She screamed.
Terror filled her. She
backed away. Her feet tangled in her floor length skirt, and she reached out,
struggling to regain her balance.
Her outstretched palm
caught the flame of the torch on the wall.
Pain seared as she
fell.
Her arms flailed, legs
kicked as she tumbled endlessly down, down, down.
****
Yvetta glanced at the clock as she stood in the kitchen waiting
for the kettle to boil. Three AM; or stupid o’clock as she preferred to call
it. She couldn’t think, the music running through her mind made thought
impossible. Her hands shook as she tossed a teabag into her favourite mug. Her
hand hurt. She glanced down and ran her fingers over the vivid red mark across
the palm. She winced. If she didn’t know better she’d say she’d burnt it while
she slept, but she wouldn’t tell anyone it was happening again.
It was far safer not to.
The nightmare still floated on the corners of Yvetta’s mind.
She hadn’t thought about him for years, never mind dreamed about him
anymore—until tonight. But nothing had changed—not even the dream injuries
transferring to reality. Music, dancing, the castle, and him.
Blaize—her Dancing Boy had grown to be a man. He was tall;
easily over six feet now, but he’d towered over her even in her teens. He was a
few years older than her, no more than five, but that hadn’t mattered. His
piercing gaze had shot straight through her, almost as if he could see her
innermost thoughts, which on reflection, maybe he did because he always knew
what she was thinking; and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, either.
Sometimes he wore his long, blond hair spiked up, sometimes
it flowed loosely across his shoulders, but tonight it had been tied back with
a simple, black velvet ribbon.
He was slimly built, but with an athletic body encased in
fawn, old fashioned breeches, dark brown knee length boots, and a navy blue
frock coat, with gold buttons. He cut a dashing figure. His white shirt had a
bunch of lace at his chin—like the highwaymen had in story books, but Blaize
wasn’t a scoundrel or cad—he was one of the nicest people she knew. He was
always accompanied by a monkey, a tiny, ugly thing with a penchant for wearing
clothes.
How long had it been since he’d crossed her mind? Blaize
that was, not the monkey. She’d been seventeen, so almost half a lifetime,
since she’d last seen him. Why now?
Comments
Good luck and God's blessings with your new release
PamT