Anna Brett grew up in the home of her parsimonious Aunt Charlotte, who had charge of her while her parents were in India due to her father’s military position. An antique furniture dealer, her aunt taught her everything about the business, and the student soon surpassed the teacher. When Aunt Charlotte dies mysteriously, some speculate that Anna had a hand in her passing. Looking for a change, Anna finds herself caught up in a mystery with an affluent neighbor, Redvers Stretton.
From coastal England to Australia and the South Sea islands, this adventure is full of intrigue. There is the Crediton matriarch, who named the infamous ship, The Secret Woman. There is the heir, Rex Crediton, stepping into his father’s shoes and his half-brother, Redvers Stretton, captain of the fleet. Anna and her vibrant friend and companion, Chantel, are pitted against impossible jealousy within the family and must navigate carefully to find their own happiness at the end of the voyage. The many players in this book—servants, business partners, extended family—make up a compelling tale with a central theme: What is the real story behind The Secret Woman?
By now I’m accustomed to the author’s usual formula of painting the leading man as problematic, but ultimately redeemed through misunderstandings that come to light. This one is no different, but she casts plenty of doubt his way—down to the fact that he was married to another woman when he visited Anna early on and failed to mention it.
Anna herself is not a sparkling protagonist. Her friendship with Chantel is what made this story compelling. I wasn’t sure at first if the use of a back-and-forth journal would move the story along, but it was a clever inclusion that helped mask the mystery that was to come.
You can really see the author’s personal interests and travel experiences captured in this book. The inclusion of the Queen’s House with the bed slept in by Queen Elizabeth is a home Eleanor Hibbert owned, including the royal legend. She was fascinated by antiques and, according to a 1972 interview, had travelled the world by ship 8 times—with many stops at Australia.
While reading a Victoria Holt novel, I imagine the author as she has described herself when asked about her writing process—sitting in her cabin on a cruise ship from January to April, writing for five hours her day directly onto her typewriter. Reading this multifaced story, I wonder how she was able to weave such an intricate plot without the use of complicated notes and timelines or reference materials for historical details. We, as a society, are losing these skills to technology and genuinely talented writers are becoming scarce or at least muddled in the industry and suspect to doubt. I foresee a movement to read classics and pre-21st century books that are free from artificial intelligence.