Aucun appareil Kindle n'est requis. Téléchargez l'une des applis Kindle gratuites et commencez à lire les livres Kindle sur votre smartphone, tablette ou ordinateur.

  • Apple
  • Android
  • Windows Phone
  • Android

Pour obtenir l'appli gratuite, saisissez votre numéro de téléphone mobile.

Prix Kindle : EUR 4,49

Économisez
EUR 2,88 (39%)

TVA incluse

Ces promotions seront appliquées à cet article :

Certaines promotions sont cumulables avec d'autres offres promotionnelles, d'autres non. Pour en savoir plus, veuillez vous référer aux conditions générales de ces promotions.

Envoyer sur votre Kindle ou un autre appareil

Envoyer sur votre Kindle ou un autre appareil

The Other Daughter (English Edition) par [Gardner, Lisa]
Publicité sur l'appli Kindle

The Other Daughter (English Edition) Format Kindle

4.2 étoiles sur 5 5 commentaires client

Voir les 21 formats et éditions Masquer les autres formats et éditions
Prix Amazon
Neuf à partir de Occasion à partir de
Format Kindle
"Veuillez réessayer"
EUR 4,49
Broché
"Veuillez réessayer"
EUR 14,41 EUR 1,51
CD, Livre audio
"Veuillez réessayer"
EUR 2 420,99
Cassette, Livre audio
"Veuillez réessayer"

Longueur : 418 pages Word Wise: Activé Composition améliorée: Activé
Page Flip: Activé Langue : Anglais

Description du produit

Extrait

Twenty years later

She was late, she was late, oh, God, she was so late!

Melanie Stokes came bounding up the stairs, then made the hard left turn down the hall, her long blond hair whipping around her face. Twenty minutes and counting. She hadn't even thought about what she was going to wear. Damn.

She tore into her room with her sweatshirt half pulled over her head. A strategic kick sent the heavy mahogany door slamming shut behind her as she shed the first layer of clothes. She toed off her tennis shoes and sent them sailing beneath the pine bureau that swallowed nearly a quarter of her bedroom. A lot of things came to rest beneath the battered dresser. One of these days she meant to clean it out. But not tonight.

Melanie hastily shimmied out of her ripped-up jeans, tossed her T-shirt onto the sleigh bed, and hurried to the closet. The wide plank floorboards felt cool against her toes, making her do a little cha-cha-cha along the way.

"Come on," she muttered, ripping back the silk curtain. "Ten years of compulsive shopping crammed into one five-by-five space. How hard can it be to locate a cocktail dress?"

To judge by the mess, pretty hard. Melanie grimaced, then waded in fatalistically. Somewhere in there were a few decent dresses.

At the age of twenty-nine, Melanie Stokes was petite, capable, and a born diplomat. She'd been abandoned as a child at City General Hospital with no memory of where she came from, but that had been a long time ago and she didn't think of those days much. She had an adoptive father whom she respected, an adoptive mother whom she loved, an older brother whom she worshiped, and an indulgent godfather whom she adored. Until recently she had considered her family to be very close. They were not just another rich family, they were a tight-knit family. She kept telling herself they would be like that again soon.

Melanie had graduated from Wellesley six years earlier with her family serving as an enthusiastic cheering section. She'd returned home right afterward to help her mother through one of her "spells," and somehow it had seemed easiest for everyone if she stayed. Now she was a professional event organizer. Mostly she did charity functions. Huge black-tie affairs that made the social elite feel social and elite while simultaneously milking them for significant sums of money. Lots of details, lots of planning, lots of work. Melanie always pulled them off. Seamless, social columnists liked to rave about the events, relaxed yet elegant. Not to mention profitable.

Then there were the nights like tonight. Tonight was the seventh annual Donate-A-Classic for Literacy reception, held right there in her parents' house, and, apparently, cursed.

The caterer hadn't been able to get enough ice. The parking valets had called in sick, the Boston Globe had printed the wrong time, and Senator Kennedy was home with a stomach virus, taking with him half the press corps. Thirty minutes ago Melanie had gotten so frustrated, tears had stung her eyes. Completely unlike her.

But then, she was agitated tonight for reasons that had nothing to do with the reception. She was agitated, and being Melanie, she was dealing with it by keeping busy.

Melanie was very good at keeping busy. Almost as good as her father.

Fifteen minutes and counting. Damn. Melanie found her favorite gold-fringed flapper's dress. Encouraged, she began digging for gold pumps.

During the first few months of Melanie's adoption, the Stokeses had been so excited about their new daughter, they'd lavished her with every gift they could imagine. The second floor master bedroom suite, complete with rose silk wall hangings and a gold-trimmed bathroom, where she needed a stool just to catch her reflection in the genuine Louis IV mirror, was hers. The closet was the size of a small apartment, and it had been filled with every dress, hat, and, yes, gloves ever made by Laura Ashley. All that in addition to two parents, one brother, and one godfather who were shadowing every move she made, handing her food before she could think to hunger, bringing her games before she could think to be bored, and offering her blankets before she could think to shiver.

It had been a little weird.

Melanie had gone along at first. She'd been eager to please, wanting to be happy as badly as they wanted to make her happy. It seemed to her that if people as golden and beautiful and rich as the Stokeses were willing to give her a home and have her as a daughter, she could darn well learn to be their daughter. So she'd dressed each morning in flounces of lace and patiently let her new mom cajole her straight hair into sausage curls. She'd listened gravely to her new father's dramatic stories of snatching cardiac patients from the clutches of death and her godfather's tales of faraway places where men wore skirts and women grew hair in their armpits. She spent long afternoons sitting quietly with her new brother, memorizing his tight features and troubled eyes while he swore to her again and again that he would be the perfect older brother for her, he would.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect. Melanie stopped being able to sleep at night. Instead, she would find herself tiptoeing downstairs at two a.m. to stand in front of a painting of another golden little girl. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, who wore flounces of lace and sausage-curled hair. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, who'd been the Stokeses' first daughter before some monster had kidnapped her and cut off her head. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, the real daughter the Stokeses had loved and adored long before Melanie arrived.

Harper would come home from emergency surgeries and carry her back to bed. Brian grew adept at hearing the sound of her footsteps and would patiently lead her back to her bedroom. But still she'd come back down, obsessed by the painting of that gorgeous little girl whom even a nine-year-old girl could realize she was meant to replace.

Jamie O'Donnell finally intervened. Oh, for God's sake, he declared. Melanie was Melanie. A flesh-and-blood girl, not a porcelain doll to be used for dress-up games. Let her pick her own clothes and her own room and her own style before the therapy bills grew out of control.

That piece of advice probably saved them all. Melanie left the master bedroom suite for a sunny third-story bedroom across from Brian's room. Melanie liked the bay windows and low, slanted ceilings, and the fact that the room could never be mistaken for, say, a hospital room.

And she discovered, during a clothing drive at school, that she liked hand-me-downs best. They were so soft and comfortable, and if you did spill or rip something, no one would notice. She became Goodwill's best customer for years. Then came the trips to garage sales for furniture. She liked things banged up, scarred. Things that came with a past, she realized when she was older. Things that came with the history she didn't have.

Her godfather was amused by her taste, her father aghast, but her new family remained supportive. They kept loving her. They grew whole.She was late, she was late, oh, God, she was so late!

Melanie Stokes came bounding up the stairs, then made the hard left turn down the hall, her long blond hair whipping around her face. Twenty minutes and counting. She hadn't even thought about what she was going to wear. Damn.

She tore into her room with her sweatshirt half pulled over her head. A strategic kick sent the heavy mahogany door slamming shut behind her as she shed the first layer of clothes. She toed off her tennis shoes and sent them sailing beneath the pine bureau that swallowed nearly a quarter of her bedroom. A lot of things came to rest beneath the battered dresser. One of these days she meant to clean it out. But not tonight.

Melanie hastily shimmied out of her ripped-up jeans, tossed her T-shirt onto the sleigh bed, and hurried to the closet. The wide plank floorboards felt cool against her toes, making her do a little cha-cha-cha along the way.

"Come on," she muttered, ripping back the silk curtain. "Ten years of compulsive shopping crammed into one five-by-five space. How hard can it be to locate a cocktail dress?"

To judge by the mess, pretty hard. Melanie grimaced, then waded in fatalistically. Somewhere in there were a few decent dresses.

At the age of twenty-nine, Melanie Stokes was petite, capable, and a born diplomat. She'd been abandoned as a child at City General Hospital with no memory of where she came from, but that had been a long time ago and she didn't think of those days much. She had an adoptive father whom she respected, an adoptive mother whom she loved, an older brother whom she worshiped, and an indulgent godfather whom she adored. Until recently she had considered her family to be very close. They were not just another rich family, they were a tight-knit family. She kept telling herself they would be like that again soon.

Melanie had graduated from Wellesley six years earlier with her family serving as an enthusiastic cheering section. She'd returned home right afterward to help her mother through one of her "spells," and somehow it had seemed easiest for everyone if she stayed. Now she was a professional event organizer. Mostly she did charity functions. Huge black-tie affairs that made the social elite feel social and elite while simultaneously milking them for significant sums of money. Lots of details, lots of planning, lots of work. Melanie always pulled them off. Seamless, social columnists liked to rave about the events, relaxed yet elegant. Not to mention profitable.

Then there were the nights like tonight. Tonight was the seventh annual Donate-A-Classic for Literacy reception, held right there in her parents' house, and, apparently, cursed.

The caterer hadn't been able to get enough ice. The parking valets had called in sick, the Boston Globe had printed the wrong time, and Senator Kennedy was home with a stomach virus, taking with him half the press corps. Thirty minutes ago Melanie had gotten so frustrated, tears had stung her eyes. Completely unlike her.

But then, she was agitated tonight for reasons that had nothing to do with the reception. She was agitated, and being Melanie, she was dealing with it by keeping busy.

Melanie was very good at keeping busy. Almost as good as her father.

Fifteen minutes and counting. Damn. Melanie found her favorite gold-fringed flapper's dress. Encouraged, she began digging for gold pumps.

During the first few months of Melanie's adoption, the Stokeses had been so excited about their new daughter, they'd lavished her with every gift they could imagine. The second floor master bedroom suite, complete with rose silk wall hangings and a gold-trimmed bathroom, where she needed a stool just to catch her reflection in the genuine Louis IV mirror, was hers. The closet was the size of a small apartment, and it had been filled with every dress, hat, and, yes, gloves ever made by Laura Ashley. All that in addition to two parents, one brother, and one godfather who were shadowing every move she made, handing her food before she could think to hunger, bringing her games before she could think to be bored, and offering her blankets before she could think to shiver.

It had been a little weird.

Melanie had gone along at first. She'd been eager to please, wanting to be happy as badly as they wanted to make her happy. It seemed to her that if people as golden and beautiful and rich as the Stokeses were willing to give her a home and have her as a daughter, she could darn well learn to be their daughter. So she'd dressed each morning in flounces of lace and patiently let her new mom cajole her straight hair into sausage curls. She'd listened gravely to her new father's dramatic stories of snatching cardiac patients from the clutches of death and her godfather's tales of faraway places where men wore skirts and women grew hair in their armpits. She spent long afternoons sitting quietly with her new brother, memorizing his tight features and troubled eyes while he swore to her again and again that he would be the perfect older brother for her, he would.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect. Melanie stopped being able to sleep at night. Instead, she would find herself tiptoeing downstairs at two a.m. to stand in front of a painting of another golden little girl. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, who wore flounces of lace and sausage-curled hair. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, who'd been the Stokeses' first daughter before some monster had kidnapped her and cut off her head. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, the real daughter the Stokeses had loved and adored long before Melanie arrived.

Harper would come home from emergency surgeries and carry her back to bed. Brian grew adept at hearing the sound of her footsteps and would patiently lead her back to her bedroom. But still she'd come back down, obsessed by the painting of that gorgeous little girl whom even a nine-year-old girl could realize she was meant to replace.

Jamie O'Donnell finally intervened. Oh, for God's sake, he declared. Melanie was Melanie. A flesh-and-blood girl, not a porcelain doll to be used for dress-up games. Let her pick her own clothes and her own room and her own style before the therapy bills grew out of control.

That piece of advice probably saved them all. Melanie left the master bedroom suite for a sunny third-story bedroom across from Brian's room. Melanie liked the bay windows and low, slanted ceilings, and the fact that the room could never be mistaken for, say, a hospital room.

And she discovered, during a clothing drive at school, that she liked hand-me-downs best. They were so soft and comfortable, and if you did spill or rip something, no one would notice. She became Goodwill's best customer for years. Then came the trips to garage sales for furniture. She liked things banged up, scarred. Things that came with a past, she realized when she was older. Things that came with the history she didn't have.

Her godfather was amused by her taste, her father aghast, but her new family remained supportive. They kept loving her. They grew whole.

From Publishers Weekly

In her newest, Gardner (The Perfect Husband) indulges her fascination with the dark side of family life, where the ties that bind also gag, choke and strangle. Professional event planner Melanie Stokes does not suspect that the death of a serial killer in a Texas electric chair 20 years before could have any relevance to her neatly ordered existence. But as it becomes clear that the life she's known (as the adopted daughter of Boston cardiologist Harper Stokes and his trophy wife, Patricia) is based on ugly secrets and bloody lies, her world unravels. With the help of FBI Agent David Riggs, who makes up for his lack of physical agilityAthe result of ankylosing spondylitis (bad back problems)Awith finely honed reflexes, street smarts and pure sex appeal, Melanie unearths what an intricately planned 25-year-old cover-up can't hide: the gruesome truth about her parentage. Once again, Gardner serves up suspense at a furious pace. (July)
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 2927 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 418 pages
  • Editeur : Headline (5 juillet 2012)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B008EA041S
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Activé
  • Lecteur d’écran : Pris en charge
  • Composition améliorée: Activé
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.2 étoiles sur 5 5 commentaires client
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°68.187 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
  • Voulez-vous nous parler de prix plus bas?


Quels sont les autres articles que les clients achètent après avoir regardé cet article?

click to open popover

Commentaires en ligne

4.2 étoiles sur 5
Partagez votre opinion avec les autres clients

Meilleurs commentaires des clients

Format: Poche Achat vérifié
Even if we know what the end will be, I could not guess how and it is really a page-turning. I am a fan of Ms. Gardner!
Remarque sur ce commentaire Une personne a trouvé cela utile. Avez-vous trouvé ce commentaire utile ? Oui Non Commentaire en cours d'envoi...
Merci pour votre commentaire.
Désolé, nous n'avons pas réussi à enregistrer votre vote. Veuillez réessayer
Signaler un abus
Format: Broché
C'est encore un très bon thriller par Gardner. Avec une héroïne qui ne sait plus où elle en est et qui elle est, presque littéralement. Le piège semble se refermer sur elle, personne n'est vraiment qui il semble être, surtout pas les personnes de sa famille!

Comme d'habitude, on retrouve ici des personnages attachants ou terrifiants, mais toujours très bien construits. Tous ont leur part d'ombre, leurs peurs enfouies et leurs désirs inassouvis.

Melanie veut de l'amour et de la reconnaissance, Harper de l'argent, Patricia veut la rédemption et l'affection de son mari, et David se bat contre lui-même et ses rêves perdus.

J'ai trouvé parfois l'intrigue un peu compliquée, mais néanmoins captivante. Un régal!
Remarque sur ce commentaire 2 personnes ont trouvé cela utile. Avez-vous trouvé ce commentaire utile ? Oui Non Commentaire en cours d'envoi...
Merci pour votre commentaire.
Désolé, nous n'avons pas réussi à enregistrer votre vote. Veuillez réessayer
Signaler un abus
Format: Broché
A school shooting rips aparta quiet peaceful town as thay try to come to turms with the deaths and the fact the a child committed the murders. Even thought the whole scene seems wrong to offcer Raine Conner, something bugs her about the case and with the help of attractive FBI Agent Quincy, they try to uncover the plot.
Although not as fast moving as other novels, this book comes complete with twists and turns and lots of psyhcological talk. overall this is an amazing book and definatly unmissable
Remarque sur ce commentaire Avez-vous trouvé ce commentaire utile ? Oui Non Commentaire en cours d'envoi...
Merci pour votre commentaire.
Désolé, nous n'avons pas réussi à enregistrer votre vote. Veuillez réessayer
Signaler un abus
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
L'intrigue est originale mais traîne un peu en longueur. Les personnages ont de l'épaisseur et on s'intéresse à eux. Au final, c'est un bon livre et je ne regrette pas mon achat.
Remarque sur ce commentaire Avez-vous trouvé ce commentaire utile ? Oui Non Commentaire en cours d'envoi...
Merci pour votre commentaire.
Désolé, nous n'avons pas réussi à enregistrer votre vote. Veuillez réessayer
Signaler un abus
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
Well written, complex characters, thrilling plot: a great book, that you might end up reading from cover to cover in one night
Remarque sur ce commentaire Avez-vous trouvé ce commentaire utile ? Oui Non Commentaire en cours d'envoi...
Merci pour votre commentaire.
Désolé, nous n'avons pas réussi à enregistrer votre vote. Veuillez réessayer
Signaler un abus