JEWELS: Emma Stonex
I have found myself
longing for a Greek island. Specifically, Crete. Even more specifically, a city
called Rethymno on the north coast, where the green sea rolls right up to the
tavernas. If I close my eyes, I can almost be there. Tablecloths flapping in
the warm breeze, like white sails; the Venetian harbour with its red and blue
fishing boats; the glowing lighthouse lantern. I’m sipping Retsina over a game
of gin rummy. There’s the lemony smell of fried calamari, a greasy bowl of
olives, the blast of a moped backfiring on the sun-scorched road. People being
together.
It’s freezing in England, and the Aegean Sea many miles, and, no doubt, many months away. But when I wear this laurel-leaf bracelet, I feel a little closer to Greece. I can imagine it on a bronzed wrist, shimmering through clear water, or slipped off on a table next to pots of sun cream. My sister bought it from the Old Town when we went there together, from a shop in dappled shade on the walk up to the fort. It brings back memories of late-night Ouzo-fuelled Scrabble contests, dancing while getting ready to go out, of the crappy miniature yellow hire car we nicknamed ‘the Sweetcorn’, which kept stalling on hairpin bends, and lazy mornings floating in the hotel pool. Warm memories. Carefree memories. When not on my arm, the bracelet lives in a dish on the windowsill next to my bed. Every time I look at it, I feel hopeful that warmth will come again.
They say the sea keeps its secrets . . .
Three lighthouse keepers go missing from a remote rock miles from the English coast. The entrance door is locked from the inside. The clocks have stopped in the living room and kitchen. A table is laid for a meal not eaten. The Principal Keeper’s weather log describes a storm raging round the tower – but the skies have been clear all week.
What strange fate befell these doomed men? The heavy sea whispers their names. Black rocks roll beneath the surface, drowning ghosts. And out of the swell like a finger of light, the salt-scratched tower stands lonely and magnificent.
Outstanding. Literary and insanely gripping. -- India Knight
A remarkable book, through every page, every character, the writing resonates with the dark, powerful presence of the sea -- Raynor Winn, author of The Salt Path
An intoxicating and beautifully written mystery about love and loss, as moving as it is suspenseful -- C.L. Taylor, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Missing
Full of atmosphere and dread, it’s the perfect way to escape right now ― Stylist
Beautifully written and evocative, this is a mystery, a love story and a ghost story, all at once. It kept me gripped throughout, and I didn’t want it to end. Wonderful. -- S J Watson, bestselling author of Before I Go to Sleep
Before becoming a writer, Emma worked as an editor in publishing. Ahead of THE LAMPLIGHTERS, she wrote several books under pseudonyms, but saved her real name for the story that had always been in her heart: the real-life mystery of three lighthouse keepers who vanished from their rock light in 1900 and to this day have never been found.
She lives in Bristol with her husband and two young daughters.
