Читать книгу The Bartered Bride - ANNE WEALE - Страница 4

Dear Reader,

For twenty years, with my husband, usually in late spring and early fall, I’ve been crossing the range of mountains that separates France from Spain.

There are many different ways to cross the Pyrenees, from the sweeping curves of the autopista at the Mediterranean end to the narrower, more twisting minor roads in the central and eastern sections. We’ve tried most of them, including the route through the tiny principality of Andorra.

In between times, flying to London to meet my editor, often I’ve had an eagle’s view of inaccessible valleys so high up that the snow never melts. It never ceases to amaze me that the long, uncomfortable, perilous journey of earlier centuries can now be accomplished in two hours by air. Even by car, it takes only a few days. We like to do it slowly, picnic-lunching in woods or by the banks of streams, spending the night at quiet country hotels.

On a recent journey, it struck me that it was time to write a book about these magical mountains that, if not as remote as they once were, still retain a feeling of tranquillity long lost in more populous areas.

A short time later I happened to catch a brief glimpse of a tall, striking man and a beautiful girl, both wearing shorts and walking boots. I shall never know who they were...and they will never know they were part of the inspiration for the story you’re about to start reading.

I hope you enjoy it.