The Midnight Feast by Lucy Foley EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Lucy Foley
- Language: English
- Genre: Thriller / Suspense
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 7 MB
- Price: Free
Bella
JUNE 2025, OPENING NIGHT
IT’S OPENING NIGHT OF THE Manor, the “new jewel of the Dorset coastline.”
The drama is all out front: soaring ocean views, emerald lawns stretching to
the cliff edge, the Owen Dacre–designed infinity pool. But on this side, the
landward side, there’s another world. A bristle of dense ancient forest
behind the main building, which guests can access via a series of gravel
paths that wind between the “Woodland Hutches.” One of these is mine.
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I close the door. Follow the sound of music and laughter through the
purple twilight to the welcome drinks, which are taking place on the very
edge of the trees. I step into a chic take on a woodland grotto. Hundreds of
lanterns hang from branches. An actual harpist plays. Antique rugs and huge
scatter cushions have been strewn about the forest floor with bohemian
abandon. I sit down on one, gulp back a “Woodland Spirit” cocktail—“a
dash of locally harvested birch bitters and rosemary infused gin.”
My fellow guests loll around, chatty and giddy with the anticipation of a
weekend in the sun beside the sea with nothing to do but eat, drink, swim,
and make merry. Many of them seem to know one another: wandering
about shrieking as they bump into old friends, some reclining on the rugs
and calling to acquaintances to join them. The vibe is relaxed, albeit spiced
with a faint note of social competition.
No one needs the ultra-soft woolen blankets provided because—though
the sun is setting—it’s still warm enough to wear only a single layer of
linen (there’s a lot of linen). The first flare of the impending heatwave.
In the middle of the scene, like a fairy queen—like Titania on her
woodland throne—sits the owner of The Manor. Francesca Meadows.
Radiant in a pale rose, off-shoulder fantasia of washed silk, hair rippling
down her back, face aglow with candlelight. The culmination of a dream:
that’s what she said in the article. I’m so excited to share this place with
everyone. Well, everyone who can afford it, anyway. But who’s quibbling?
I look around me. I suppose it’s all pretty idyllic if you’re part of a
couple or larger group, if you’ve come here for a weekend of escaping the
city. Maybe it’s just me for whom it doesn’t feel quite so mellow and
chummy.
I wait for the alcohol to hit, my gaze flitting toward the deepening
shadows between the trees, to the ragged ceiling of branches uplit by the
lanterns, down to my own outfit: linen, yes, but with the tell-tale creases
that show it’s just been pulled from a packet. But the one place my eyes
linger time and again—I can’t help it—is on the face of Francesca
Meadows. She looks so zen. So very fucking content.
Suddenly there’s a commotion, deep in the wood. Her gaze snaps in that
direction. The guests fall silent and peer into the gloom. The harpist stops
playing.
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