My Cousin Rachel

"From the 1st page…the reader is again within the moody, brooding surroundings of Rebecca." —The big apple Times

From the bestselling writer of Rebecca, one other vintage set in appealing and mysterious Cornwall.

Philip Ashley's older cousin Ambrose, who raised the orphaned Philip as his personal son, has died in Rome. Philip, the inheritor to Ambrose's appealing English property, is beaten that the fellow he enjoyed died faraway from domestic. he's additionally suspicious. whereas in Italy, Ambrose fell in love with Rachel, a stunning English and Italian lady. however the ultimate, short letters Ambrose wrote trace that his love had grew to become to paranoia and fear.

Now Rachel has arrived at Philip's newly inherited property. may well this beautiful girl, who turns out to really percentage Philip's grief at Ambrose's dying, quite be as merciless as Philip imagined? Or is she the sort, passionate girl with whom Ambrose fell in love? Philip struggles to reply to this question, understanding Ambrose's property, and his personal destiny, might be destroyed if his resolution is wrong.

  • Bonus analyzing workforce advisor Included

PRAISE FOR DAPHNE DU MAURIER

"Miss du Maurier is... a storyteller whose sole goal is to bewitch and beguile. And in My Cousin Rachel she does either, with Rebecca having a look fondly over her shoulder."
New York occasions

"Double-distilled readers' delight."
Manchester Guardian

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The blue bed room may still stay as much as its identify. at this time it truly is grey, no longer blue in any respect. And the quilting to the mattress has moth, yet don’t inform Seecombe. The moth of years. i've got selected you new curtains and new quilting. ” It used to be then that Seecombe entered, and seeing us it appears with out employment acknowledged, “The climate being so inclement, sir, I had inspiration the men may be positioned to additional cleansing inside doorways. Your room wishes cognizance. yet they can not airborne dirt and dust there whereas Mr. Ashley’s trunks and packing containers disguise the ground. ” i peeked at her, fearing this loss of tact may perhaps wound her, that she may well draw back, yet to my shock she took it good. “You are rather correct, Seecombe,” she stated; “the boys can't fresh the room until eventually the bins are unpacked. we now have left it a long way too lengthy. good, Philip, what approximately it? ” “Very well,” I stated, “if you're agreeable. allow us to have the hearth lit, and while the room is hot we’ll move upstairs. ” i believe that either one of us attempted to hide our emotions from the opposite. We compelled a type of brightness into our habit and into our dialog. For my sake, she was resolute to not express misery. and that i, wishing to spare an identical for her, assumed a heartiness completely international to my nature. The rain was once lashing on the home windows of my previous room, and a patch of damp had seemed upon the ceiling. the hearth, that had no longer been lit considering the fact that final iciness, burned with a fake crackle. The containers stood in a line upon the ground, ready to be opened; and on best of 1 used to be the good remembered commute rug of darkish blue, with the yellow monogram “A. A. ” in huge letters in a single nook. I had the unexpected recollection of placing it over his knees that final day, while he drove away. My cousin Rachel broke the silence. “Come,” she acknowledged, “shall we open the garments trunk first? ” Her voice was once purposely challenging and sensible. I passed her the keys, which she had left in Seecombe’s cost on her arrival. “Just as you will,” I stated. She positioned the foremost within the lock, and grew to become it, and threw open the lid. His outdated dressing costume used to be at the best. I knew it good. It was once of heavy silk in a dismal pink colour. His slippers have been there too, lengthy and flat. I stood there looking at them, and it used to be like jogging again into the prior. I remembered him passing into my room whereas he was once shaving of a morning, the lather on his face. “Look, boy, I’ve been thinking…” Into this room, the place we have been status now. donning that dressing costume, donning these slippers. My cousin Rachel took them from the trunk. “What lets do with them? ” she stated, and the voice that have been not easy used to be reduce now, subdued. “I don’t know,” I acknowledged; “it’s so you might say. ” “Would you put on them, if I gave them to you? ” she requested. It used to be unusual. I had taken his hat. I had taken his stick. His outdated taking pictures coat with the leather-based on the elbows that he had left in the back of whilst he went upon his final trip, that I wore continually. but these items, the dressing dress, the slippers—it used to be virtually as if we had spread out his coffin and seemed upon him useless. “No,” I stated, “no, I don’t imagine so.

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