: Jean Fullerton
: Felicity's War
: Corvus
: 9781838957629
: The Stepney Girls
: 1
: CHF 4.90
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 448
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
'An enthralling page-turner' DILLY COURT'A heart-warming WW2 love story' ROSIE GOODWIN'A great new series from the queen of East End sagas' ELAINE EVEREST * 1941. Whilst London is battered by air raids, Felicity 'Fliss' Carmichael has troubles of her own. Still reeling from catching her fiancé cheating, she flees to her childhood home at St. Winifred's Rectory, reuniting with her sister Prue and Hester Katz, a Jewish doctor sheltering there. Though heartbroken, Fliss finds purpose again as a journalist. On assignment, she crosses paths with Detective Inspector Timothy Wallace, who shares her passion for truth and justice - though not her political beliefs. Despite their differences, an instant spark ignites between them. But their love faces twists and turns ahead. While Fliss stumbles upon a crime and bravely intervenes, Tim's investigation into black market racketeering puts him in mortal danger... In a city under siege, Fliss and Tim forge an unlikely bond. But can their blossoming romance endure the perils ahead?

I was born within the sound of Bow Bells in Whitechapel and my family have lived in East London since the 1820s. Until Nov 2015 I was a qualified district nurse with a BSc in Community Nursing and a MSC in Teaching and Leadership. I am also a member of the Queen's Nurses' Institute and spent my entire nursing career in East London. In 2006, when I won the Harry Bowling prize I signed my first contract with Orion for my East London post-war nurses series. I moved to Atlantic in 2016, who re-published my East London Nolan Family Victorian sagas and my best-selling WW2 Ration Book series, featuring the boisterous East London Brogan family. I have a total of nineteen published novels and a non-fiction autobiography of growing up in the East End during the 50s, 60s and early 70s. I now live in Bedford with my very own Hero@Home who is a rector in the Church of England. I have three daughters and eight grandchildren plus an elderly, very affectionate cat. When I'm not tapping at my key board I enjoy travelling, walks in the country and socialising with friends and family.

Chapter one


AS GILES TURNED his burgundy-coloured Morris Eight into Wilton Road, Felicity Carmichael leaned forward and gathered up her handbag and umbrella from the footwell.

‘You know, you really don’t have to drop me at the station, Giles,’ she said, as they trundled along the road. ‘Victoria’s only just over a twenty-minute walk from the flat.’

‘I know, darling,’ said Giles, briefly taking his eyes off the road to smile at her, ‘but with so much rubble in the street I don’t want you to twist your ankle or something along the way.’

He was right. After the Luftwaffe’s six-hour visit the night before, you could barely see the tarmac outside their flat on St George’s Drive for the chunks of brickwork, glass and personal possessions strewn across the road. Although the all-clear had sounded four hours ago, the ARP heavy rescue and Red Cross volunteers were still busy: digging out basements and bandaging heads respectively.

It was just after seven thirty in the morning on the first Tuesday in February 1941 and Felicity, or Fliss as she preferred to be called, was sitting in the front seat of her fiancé’s car.

‘Plus,’ continued Giles, pausing to let a line of school children carrying their satchels and gas masks cross the road, ‘the North London Women’s Co-operative Conference is very important, so I want to make sure my best reporter is there to get a scoop before theWorkers’ Life or theDaily Worker.’

Fliss smiled. She didn’t need Giles to remind her that the conference was important. And it was for that reason Fliss had forgone her usual slacks and box-shoulder jacket and instead picked her navy suit and cream blouse out of the wardrobe that morning.

Despite the hard frost covering the rooftops of the Edwardian terraces on either side of the road, she felt a little warm glow in her chest at Giles’s unexpected praise.

Suave and eloquent, Giles Cuthbert Naylor was halfway to his thirty-first birthday. With a lean physique, high broad forehead and straight aquiline nose, he was handsome in a rather cool and collected way. However, although he always said his height was five feet eleven, in truth, he was just over five nine and a half. As Fliss was only two inches shorter, out of consideration, since they’d become a couple, she wore