He lay rigid, ears aching, willing himself to hear the feathers rustling in his pillow. Nothing. He tried to touch his ears. Nothing moved. Then faintly, through the walls, came voices singing.


Heloise took hold of his head, and turned it gently so that his cheek lay in her right hand; she moved the fingers of her left hand methodically over every reachable part of his scalp. Then she turned his head into her left palm and repeated the investigation with her right hand. So peaceful and caressing was her touch that, with the edges of his mouth nestled against the ball of her thumb, he had to stop himself turning to kiss her hand.

She gave a satisfied sigh. ‘No, I think it is mostly dried blood right at the back, though I think you’ve got a cut on your forehead too. I can feel something on my palm.’ She put his head down on the floor again. And very delicately ran her fingers over his hairline and down to his eyebrows. He gasped as her fingers encountered the area over his right temple. ‘Sorry. There’s definitely a wound of some kind there. At least it’s stopped bleeding now. It may have bled quite a lot in all these hours.’


They listened, trying not to breathe, for about thirty seconds. Random clinks and grating noises occurred, but no regular sounds and nothing that could be construed as rescue noises. Suddenly sober, she whispered, ‘This is it, isn’t it? We’re going to die... There’s too much brick and concrete between us and the rescuers; they can’t hear us. We’ll die like people in an earthquake.’ Unwilling to allow these thoughts in, Luca started to hum gently, searching for the right key. She went on, ‘Humans are so stupid; I thought I wouldn’t mind dying. But I do mind and I don’t want glass and dust and thirst with my death.’ He could hear the tears in her throat, and he gripped at the cloth of his jeans in frustration. If his hands had been free he could have dug a way out for both of them. As he took a breath to argue against her pessimism, an upsurge of power flooded with the air into his lungs.

With quite deliberate tenderness, he sang from Corsaro, ‘Oh, così tetre immagini dal tuo pensier discaccia... (Oh, cast these darkest imaginings from out of your thoughts...)’

3 extracts from Chapter 1

London: Luca

Valerie Solti Writes:

This is a fantastic novel, not only is it a great story which I think would make a wonderful film script, but it encapsulates so much of the hopes, ambitions and struggles faced by young people starting out in careers in the arts today. It is beautifully researched, how a young tenor embarks on an international career and the unbelievable hurdles faced by a young woman. It is passionate, romantic and a great read. I loved it!  

Elaine Simpson-Long writes:

I opened it up ... and soon became totally absorbed. I, personally, found this book even more interesting because of the opera references. Please don’t think you have to be an opera lover to enjoy this book, it stands on its own merits.

Luca stopped shouting, not because someone had moved the weight off his chest but because his voice had been stolen; snatched out of his mouth and silenced before it reached his ears. Or perhaps it was the other way round, perhaps his ears...? Not deaf, surely not deaf?

Now available as an eBook at 
from iTunes through the iBooks app 
Barnes & Noblehttp://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Unseen-Unsung?keyword=Unseen+Unsung&store=ebookshapeimage_4_link_0

Luca, a brilliant and self-absorbed young opera singer, is buried in the rubble of a collapsed building. A girl crawls through the debris to comfort him and then vanishes. Did she die in the ruins or was she just a figment of his imagination? When he discovers the strange truth, he is unwilling to accept it.

This is a story of love between two people who would never have met and never have found common ground without one of the catastrophes of modern life.

Unseen Unsung celebrates the power of music and the force of human survival in a complex world.

ISBN: 9780956012715

ISBN: 9780956012708