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ANN T UR NER

staring instead at her designer sandals, in blue and white leather of the finest quality. I could feel Priscilla’s hands making pincer movements. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said, looking down at her sandals. ‘They’re an unusual colour. I’ve never seen a blue quite like it,’ I commented and walked out, leaving Priscilla studying her footwear. By the time I slumped back to my office, one of my brightest PhD students, Carl, had arrived for his monthly meeting. I fought to banish the awful prospect of mediation with Priscilla as he spoke passionately about a dig on Lefnakos, an idyllic Greek island he was due to visit this European summer. I had been, and I shuddered at the memory. Several years ago, the day after I’d flown out, the place had caved in, killing five tourists and two archaeologists; I felt incalculably sad for them. I’d been working in the very spot of the collapse, sitting just a day before in my tiny air-conditioned tent, with all my high-tech equipment for analysing the constitution of the glass fragments that were painstakingly dug from the soil and handed over like fragile babies to have their secrets slowly revealed. One of my closest friends, Burton, had been badly hurt. He now got around in a wheelchair, his once-powerful legs crushed and useless, and had moved to Crete. I hadn’t been back and was uneasy about Carl going, even though the area had been reopened and declared safe. It was a freak accident, unlucky, one that could happen anywhere at any time. Yet I still didn’t want him there. Carl had stopped and was watching expectantly. ‘You know my feelings about that dig.’

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The Lost Swimmer PAGES.indd 12

15/04/2015 11:52 am

THE LOST SWIMMER by Ann Turner  

A haunting literary thriller that explores the consequences of love and trust

THE LOST SWIMMER by Ann Turner  

A haunting literary thriller that explores the consequences of love and trust