The House of Hidden Letters

by Izzy Broom

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Historical Fiction; World War II; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

“A joy from start to finish.”—Alex Michaelides, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Silent Patient

A beautiful and escapist novel full of heart, for fans of Elin Hilderbrand and readers who love book club fiction.

For sale: Greek cottage. One euro.

Skye MacKinnon is desperate for an escape. When she wins a lottery to buy a run-down cottage on a Greek island for only one euro, Skye jumps at the chance to get out of England and start over. As she unlocks the tattered blue door of her whitewashed new cottage, the sun-kissed sea glinting in the bay outside her windows, Skye immediately feels like she’s found her true home.

Skye and the other lottery winners—the first residents in these houses since the 1940s—form a tight-knit group, finding in one another the strong relationships they’d been missing in their own lives. When Skye and local contractor Andreas find a set of mysterious letters, they begin to unravel the history of the prior residents, and the truth about life on Folegandros during World War II.

Sweeping, escapist, and full of heart, The House of Hidden Letters reminds us of the importance of human connection. Izzy Broom has written a poignant and hopeful novel for those who have found love and family in unexpected places.

Release date: March 17, 2026

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 400

Sample

One

It was only a key.

Slim. Grooved. Silver.

But pressed into Skye's palm, it felt like something more. A beginning.

A paper tag dangled from it, a number inked in thick black strokes that matched the one on the plaque by the door. Her door, she reminded herself. Her house.

She slid her thumb along the shaft, rotating the key until it caught the light, a white-hot flash that made her pupils contract. The fierce heat that had greeted her at the port was dogged in its pursuit, and Skye shifted beneath the weight of it, senses alert as she breathed in the scent of dust, heard the distant buzz of a tinny engine, looked down to see lilac petals strewn in artful heaps along the stone pathway, a beauty so raw as to be insolent.

"Change Your Life for €1," the headline had read, and Skye had clicked on the link-of course she had clicked on the link. Following similarly successful schemes that had been launched in France and Italy, the municipality of a remote Greek island was offering six individuals the chance to buy a house for one euro. There were stipulations, naturally. The new owners must commit to spending a minimum of two years on Folegandros and must renovate their properties-all six of which had been abandoned since the end of the Second World War-in a manner that was in keeping with the traditional village setting. Demand was expected to be high, and in order to give every person an equal chance of winning, there would be a lottery. The button to place a one-euro bid had been at the bottom of the article, the deadline for entries just hours away. It had felt like fate.

Skye had the key in the lock when she heard the crunch of approaching feet and turned in time to see a man coming toward her. When she recoiled, he stopped, raising both hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

"English?" he asked in a voice that was heavily accented.

Skye agreed with a murmur that she was.

"You are one of the lottery winners," he said.

There was no upward inflection to the statement, and Skye did not immediately reply. Instead, she allowed herself a few beats in which to study him, take in the heavy brows above shrewd dark eyes, pale short-sleeve shirt tucked into belted jeans, workmen's boots knotted tight. He was taller than her, but not so tall that it was notable, and seemed harmless enough. Though didn't they always?

Skye folded her arms.

"You heard about that, then?" she said, to which he nodded briskly.

"Of course. We are all"-he paused, chewed over his next word, searching, perhaps, for the correct one to use-"eager to see who is coming."

"Am I the first?" she asked, though the question was rhetorical. The woman who'd presented her with the key had told her as much. Skye had registered a slight reticence on her part, as if by turning up one day prior to the agreed moving date of June 3, she'd upset the proverbial cart. It was unclear whether the locals had been consulted about the scheme, though she had to assume some form of permission had been granted. If the village of Ano Meria's existing inhabitants were hostile toward their new neighbors, it would very quickly become impossible for them to live side by side, let alone harmoniously.

The man rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw, smoothing out the beginnings of a smile.

"In Greece, we have a saying for those that like to be early," he said. "It goes something like 'The children of the wise cook before they go hungry.'"

Skye considered this.

"Where I'm from, we say it's the early bird that catches the worm," she replied, and was rewarded with a gravelly laugh.

"Where do you live in England?" he asked.

Skye motioned to the house, then more widely into the space around them.

"This is where I live now," she said. "What came before no longer matters."

"Entáxei," he said. "So, you want to become a Greek?"

"I don't think that's possible." Skye unfolded and refolded her arms.

"If you say you are a Greek, then I promise not to argue with you."

"Thank you."

"But you must understand that we do not have many Greeks here with hair like yours."

Skye patted her blond locks self-consciously.

"And you will have to work on your accent."

She narrowed her eyes, and he smiled, extending a hand.

"I am Andreas. Andreas Vithoulkas."

"Skye."

Their fingers slid together briefly, and he repeated her name several times.

"It's Skye with an e," she explained. "I was named after an island, which feels ironic."

Andreas cocked his head to one side.

"Are you going to have a look at your house?" he asked, gesturing at the still-locked door.

"In a minute I will."

When he failed to take the hint, Skye drew in a long breath and exhaled it sharply.

"Ah, sorry." Andreas pressed a hand to his forehead. "I have not explained myself. I am a contractor," he said. "A builder. I am the one who will be helping you finish the house."

"Oh, you will, will you?" Skye replied. "And do I get a say in this, or . . . ?"

He shifted from one foot to the other.

"Of course, you are free to hire another person, someone from Santorini or the mainland, but that will take a lot of time. I am the only person doing this job who lives here, on the island."

His presumption stung, however well meant it might have been, and the sigh that escaped Skye's lips was laced with mild frustration. How best to communicate politely that what she wanted was to look around her new home for the first time alone, without some stranger in tow? He was friendly, yet he was still a man-and as far as she was concerned, that meant he was also an unknown entity. An awkward silence bloomed, during which she did little more than stare at the ground.

Andreas cleared his throat.

"I am intruding," he said. "Sorry. I will come back tomorrow if that is OK with you?"

Skye drew herself up, faintly ashamed of having so clearly communicated her displeasure.

"Of course," she said, though before she had time to say more, Andreas had nodded and turned away, quickly disappearing from view through the boundary between her modest property and the larger one beyond. She waited, rooted to the spot, unsure whether he would return. Why had she left it to him to figure out what was playing on her mind? When it came to corralling a classroom full of children, she never used to have any such qualms. But then, that had been before; she had changed over the past few months in ways she didn't want to admit, was not yet ready to accept.

"Get a grip, MacKinnon," she muttered, fumbling to get the key into the lock. The door was stiff, and she had to shoulder it to get it open, flakes of blue paint falling over the threshold. It was dim inside, faint light streaming in from around the shuttered windows. She located a switch on the wall, blinking as a lone yellow bulb flickered to life from a cord in the middle of a cracked wood-paneled ceiling. The open-plan living space was empty save for several piles of timber and a scattering of bricks, while the thick shaft of a defunct fireplace banked up from one corner. Stairs leading to the second story hugged the wall closest to the door, though there was no banister. Someone had left a stack of newspapers on the bottom step. Skye made her way toward an open archway at the far side of the room, through which she discovered a kitchen, or the approximation of one. The plug sockets appeared new enough, as did the crude strip lighting, but the uneven stone tiles were scarred by another time.

There was a second door in the kitchen, which led outside, a brass key on the sill that opened it. Skye went into what she supposed was her garden-a rectangular waste ground hemmed in by tumbledown stone wall. It would need to be repaired, the weeds pulled up and the numerous heaps of what looked concerningly like animal droppings cleared away. She could not fault the view, however, and stood for a few moments to admire the sweep of mountain set against its cobalt backdrop, the confetti-like smatter of pale rooftops, and the faraway ribbon of sea beyond. A church was perched high on a distant cliff, pure white and softly edged, reminiscent of a fallen cloud.

The enormity of her decision astounded her afresh, though Skye knew that regardless of how much work was required, being on Folegandros was preferable to the alternative. She could never return to the place she had left behind.

A light breeze shifted the leaves of an overhanging tree, and the sun broke through with dazzling clarity. Turning back toward the house, Skye bent to retrieve one of the fallen rocks from the ground and held it in her hands, feeling its warmth, the uncompromising strength of it. As the sound of bells began to ring out across the hillside, she took the stone and slid it back into the wall.

All that was broken, she would rebuild. One small piece after another.

Two

Lottery wins did not happen to people like her.

That had been Skye's first thought when the email arrived, her second was that she must have fallen afoul of an elaborate hoax. She called the number provided with disbelief, and only when the man on the other end calmly confirmed that, yes, she was one of the six who had been selected, and no, he was not a fraudster who'd somehow hacked the entry list, did Skye accept that it was real.

After that, she'd had a month to make the necessary arrangements, though with no job to resign from and only a meager collection of possessions to pack, the only real task on her to-do list had been sourcing the means with which to fund her new life, and that sizable hurdle had come close to unraveling her completely.

Relief in having made it to the island had diluted any excitement she might otherwise have felt, but as the first hour slid by, Skye began to feel the tingles of something close to pleasure. The house was hers, every roughened stone and cracked tile of it. The wildflowers spilling out between the gaps in the walls were hers, as were the old latches on the internal doors, the stained marble basin in the bathroom, and the dappled glass in the window frames. She hummed to herself as she moved from room to room, a pad in hand on which she jotted down a list of jobs that would need to be done, furniture that would need to be purchased, holes that would need to be filled.

Sometime later, when she was in the process of inflating the single air bed that she'd mercifully thought to bring, a knock sounded at the door. Skye crossed to the window and peered down, immediately recognizing the broad shoulders of Andreas. He had returned sooner than promised and was holding two large carrier bags.

Scribbling security chain? at the end of her steadily growing list, she went downstairs to see what he wanted.

"Geiá sou, hello." Andreas held up one of the bags. "I have brought you a kettle, some coffee, milk, and a little sugar."

"Oh, wow." Skye thawed slightly. "You didn't need to do that."

Andreas reached into the second bag and produced a toaster.

"I had a spare one at home," he said when she started to protest. "Éla re, take it."

"I don't know what to say." Skye opened the door a fraction wider. As well as the kitchen appliances, Andreas had brought two chipped mugs, a selection of cutlery and basic utensils, a rather burned-looking frying pan, and some sort of plug-in stick blender.

"For making frappé," he said as she examined it. "You will not fool people that you are a real Greek unless you learn how to make proper coffee."

"I can pay you for all this," she offered, but he shook his head.

"We are living on the same island now. We are friends, and in Greece, we look after our friends."

Skye's mind went fleetingly to her previous neighbors, their collective gazes dropping to the pavement as she'd passed them, twitching curtains that had remained resolutely shut.

"Thank you," she said haltingly to Andreas. "This is really kind of you."

He lifted a dismissive hand. "Do you have anything to eat? Klodi closes his shop at three o'clock." Extracting a mobile phone from the back pocket of his jeans, he squinted at it and grimaced. "The taverna will open in a few hours, and-"

"It's OK," she assured him. "I have bottled water, and now coffee, thanks to you. I'll survive until morning."

"Your fridge and oven will arrive tomorrow?" He had posed it as a question, though clearly he did not need her to confirm it. If anything, he appeared to know more about the moving-in schedule than Skye herself.

"The sooner the better," she said. "It does feel a bit sparse in there."

A frown passed over his features, and Skye glanced down, her attention momentarily snagged by the eagle-head buckle of his belt. She recalled the row of motorcycles she'd seen down at the port, a battalion of polished chrome and sun-cracked leather.

"Do you like the house?" Andreas asked.

"Well . . ." Skye considered. "It still needs work, as you know, but yes, I like it. I wouldn't have bought it if I didn't."

"For one euro," he intoned.

A scruffy ginger cat had stalked up the path from the village while they'd been talking and now sat himself down in the shade of her boundary wall. Andreas clicked his tongue, and the animal stretched toward him, yawning as he stooped to pet it.

"Geiá sou, Tigri," he murmured.

Skye bent to pick up the bags.

"I should put all this away," she said. "It really was kind of you to bring it here."

Andreas straightened.

"Slowly, slowly, the unripe grape becomes honey," he said almost as if to himself, then smiled at her. "If you change your mind about eating at the taverna, you are welcome to join me, although of course I understand if you would prefer to be alone on your first evening."

"I think I would," she agreed, "but thank you."

Skye remained where she was, watching as he strode back the way he'd come, exuding a nonchalance she could not help but envy. The cat, Tigri, fixed his pale eyes on her, yowling as she closed the door on him. There was no point inviting him inside, not when she had nothing to offer save for affection, and even that would have taken considerable effort to muster. It had been a long day, a journey that had begun not hours but months ago, and all she wanted now was to sleep.