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The Memory Tree

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Blurb

From Jennifer Scoullar, author of the bestselling Fortune’s Son, comes the third book in the Tasmanian Tales series. The Memory Tree carries on this gripping saga of ambition, betrayal and dangerous love.

Playing God is a Dangerous Game

When forest protests engulf a tiny Tasmanian timber town, one family’s century of secrets threatens to destroy a marriage - and bring down a government.

Matt Abbott, head ranger at beautiful Binburra National Park, is a man with something to hide.  He confides his secret to nobody, not even his wife Penny. The deception gnaws away at their marriage.

 Matt’s father, timber and mining magnate Fraser Abbott, stands for everything Matt hates. Son disappoints father, father disappoints son – this is their well-worn template. But Fraser seems suddenly determined to repair the rift between them at any cost, and Matt will discover that secrets run in the family. When Sarah, a visiting Californian geneticist, tries to steal Matt’s heart, the scene is set for a deadly betrayal.              

The Memory Tree is a haunting story of family relationships, the unbreakable ties we all have to the past and the redemptive power of love.           

 

Praise for Jennifer Scoullar

‘Scoullar’s writing has a rich complexity. Poetic and visual … the landscape vivid and alive.’ Reading, Writing  and Riesling 

‘Jennifer Scoullar’s passion for the land shines through … Highly recommended.’ Sunshine Coast Daily

‘An absorbing story … beautifully written.’ Reading, Writing and Riesling‘Scoullar, it turns out, is a writer of documentary calibre … lovely, lyrical prose.’ The Australian.

Jennifer Scoullar lives on a farm in West Gippsland and has previously published six novels with Penguin Random house. A committed conservationist, she writes about the land, people and wildlife that she loves

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Prologue
Prologue Matt spun the wheel hard, navigating another hair-raising bend in the narrow gravel road. He glanced at the clock on the dash. Midnight. His wife called it the witching hour – a time of ghosts and magic. He wasn’t superstitious like Penny, but tonight, hemmed in by the dark forest, he could almost believe it. Matt stifled a yawn and turned on the radio. Music would help him stay awake. He’d been up since dawn. What was that? Something swift crossed the corner of his vision and Matt slammed on the brakes. They gave a tortured squeal, but it was too late. He felt the sickening thud of metal on flesh. Matt cursed and stopped the car. Nothing showed in the headlights. No trace of the shadow that had raced across the road. Shoulders hunched against the cold, Matt walked back along the corrugated track. The fog was a night shroud swallowing the torchlight. There – sprawled on the rutted roadside. He knelt down and felt its warmth, felt the final fragile flutters of life until the animal was beyond fear or care. It lay quite still now. Blood oozed from its mouth and nose, and moon shadows striped its coat. Matt could barely breathe. This couldn’t be. He shook his head, hot tears flowing as the impossible became reality. A dog? No – a phantom.

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