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Memories of Another Day
The most powerful, most explosive novel from America’s master storyteller…
“Harold Robbins is a master!”—Playboy
“Robbins’ books are packed with action, sustained by a strong narrative drive and are given vitality by his own colorful life.”—The Wall Street Journal
Robbins is one of the “world’s five bestselling authors… each week, an estimated 280,000 people… purchase a Harold Robbins book.”—Saturday Review
“Robbins grabs the reader and doesn’t let go…”—Publishers Weekly
Memories of Another Day
Harold Robbins
Copyright
Memories of Another DayCopyright © 2014 by Jann RobbinsCover art, special contents, and electronic edition © 2014 by RosettaBooks LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover design by Alexia GaraventaISBN Mobipocket edition: 9780795341182
Many thanks to the man who wears the hat, Bradley Yonover.
CONTENTS
Now
Book One: Another Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Now
Book Two: Another Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Now
Book Three: Another Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Now
Harold Robbins, Unguarded
Harold Robbins titles from RosettaBooks
Now
The last time I saw my father, he was lying quietly on his back in his coffin, his eyes closed, an unaccustomed blandness on his strong features, his thick white hair and heavy eyebrows neatly brushed. I stood there in the silence of the funeral chapel staring down at him. There was something wrong. All wrong. After a moment I realized what it was. My father had never slept on his back. Not once in all the years I knew him.
Usually my father slept balanced on his side, his barrel chest and big belly sinking into the mattress, one arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the light, a scowl of concentration fierce even in sleep on his face. Now there was noth ............

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