Read more
Informationen zum Autor One of the most popular authors of all time! V.C. Andrews has been a bestselling phenomenon since the publication of Flowers in the Attic ! first in the renowned Dollanganger family series! which includes Petals on the Wind ! If There Be Thorns ! Seeds of Yesterday ! and Garden of Shadows . The family saga continues with Christopher’s Diary: Secrets of Foxworth ! Christopher’s Diary: Echoes of Dollanganger ! and Secret Brother ! as well as Beneath the Attic ! Out of the Attic ! and Shadows of Foxworth as part of the fortieth anniversary celebration. There are more than eighty V.C. Andrews novels! which have sold over 107 million copies worldwide and have been translated into twenty-five foreign languages. Join the conversation about the world of V.C. Andrews at Facebook.com/OfficialVCAndrews. Klappentext Cathy and Chris are prisoners of a past they cannot escape. Foxworth Hall And so it came to pass the summer when I was fifty-two and Chris was fifty-four that our mother's promise of riches, made long ago when I was twelve and Chris was fourteen, was at last realized. We both stood and stared at that huge, intimidating house I'd never expected to see again. Even though it was not an exact duplicate of the original Foxworth Hall, still I quivered inside. What a price both Chris and I had paid to stand where we were now, temporary rulers over this mammoth house that should have been left in charred ruins. Once, long ago, I'd believed he and I would live in this house like a princess and prince, and between us we'd have the golden touch of King Midas, only with more control. I no longer believed in fairy tales. As vividly as if it had happened only yesterday, I remembered that chill summer night full of mystical moonlight and magical stars in a black velvet sky when we'd first approached this place, expecting only the best to happen. We had found only the worst. At that time Chris and I had been so young, innocent and trusting, believing in our mother, loving her, believing as she led us and our five-year-old twin brother and sister through the dark and somehow scary night, to that huge house called Foxworth Hall, that all our future days would be colored green for wealth and yellow for happiness. What blind faith we'd had when we tagged along behind. Locked away in that dim and dreary upstairs room, playing in that dusty, musty attic, we'd sustained our selves by our belief in our mother's promises that someday Foxworth Hall and all its fabulous riches would be ours. However, despite all her promises, a cruel and heartless old grandfather with a bad but tenacious heart refused to stop beating in order to let four young and hopeful hearts live, and so we'd waited, and waited, until more than three long, long years passed, and Momma failed to keep her promise. And not until the day she died -- and her will was read -- did Foxworth Hall fall under our control. She had left the mansion to Bart, her favorite grandson, my child by her own second husband, but until he was twenty-five, the estate was held in trust by Chris. Foxworth Hall had been ordered reconstructed before she moved to California to find us, but it wasn't until after her death that the final touches were completed on the new Foxworth Hall. For fifteen years the house stood empty, overseen by caretakers legally supervised by a staff of attorneys who had either written or called Chris long distance to discuss with him the problems that arose. A waiting mansion, grieving, perhaps, waiting for the day when Bart decided he'd go there to live, as we'd always presumed one day he'd do. Now he was offering this house to us for a short while, to be our own until he arrived and took over. There was always a catch in every lure offered, whispered my ever...
