Sheila Norton - talks about writing and her new book - YESTERDAY

Today I'm pleased to welcome Sheila Norton to my blog. I've just read YESTERDAY and can recommend it - an excellent read. Now over to Sheila who is going to answer some questions and tell us a bit about herself.

 Tell us a little about your new book, YESTERDAY. 

It’s set in the early 1960s, during the time of the Mods and Rockers and Beatlemania. My heroine, Cathy, is an ordinary teenager growing up in that era, who finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time during the first violent clashes between mods and rockers at Clacton at Easter 1964 – and the events which follow will haunt her for the rest of her life. Forty years later, she has to revisit her past, face her memories and find out exactly what happened.

2.      This is a completely different type of book from all your previous novels. What made you decide on the change?

After eleven contemporary novels, I did want to try something different, and I’d once been advised to write ‘something historical’. The 1960s are now considered ‘historical’– and having grown up in that era myself, I’ve always thought it was a fascinating decade when there was a lot of social change. It was great fun using my own memories as part of the background.

3.      Why did you use the theme of the Mods and Rockers?

Well of course, there has to be conflict in any story, and the two rival gangs of teenagers provided that. Quite apart from the fights and violence that broke out over the bank holidays at various seaside resorts, there was an ongoing distrust and animosity between the two factions. Mixing with the ‘other side’, going into the wrong coffee bar or hanging out with the wrong crowd, could cause trouble – as happens in YESTERDAY.

4.      Why are you self-publishing – and would you recommend it?

The first eight of my novels were published by a mainstream publisher, which was a fantastic experience. But by turning to self-publishing (for Kindle, with Amazon) I’ve been able to take complete control of my writing career. It’s quick, easy and it’s possible to make a real success of it. But if I hadn’t had the advantage of being a previously published author, I know it would have been far harder to stand out from the crowd. It’s also essential to have a self-published book properly edited, and to be prepared to do a lot of promotion.

5.      How did you start out as a writer?

Writing was always my hobby, ever since I was a little girl scribbling stories in penny notebooks for my friends. My first published stories were in children’s magazines. Then I won two first prizes in short story competitions in the early 1990s, which gave me the confidence to submit stories to the women’s magazine market, and since then I’ve had well over 100 stories published in titles like Woman, Woman’s Weekly, My Weekly, Yours and People’s Friend.  I made several attempts at writing a novel, but the first one I finally had accepted was The Trouble With Ally in 2003. It’s a Rom Com about a woman turning 50. I was around that age myself at the time!

6.       Do you have any tips for aspiring novelists?

My first piece of advice is always: Only write for one reason – because you enjoy it. It’s harder than ever to get published, equally hard to stand out as a self-publisher, and although we hear about the ‘overnight success’ stories, most of us have spent years working towards our goals, suffering rejections, hardly earning anything, before we manage even a modest kind of success. Most of us need a day job, or a pension, to support our writing – but we write because it’s what we love doing.

7.      What was your own day job, and how did it influence your writing?

For most of my working life before I retired, I was a medical secretary. It was fascinating work – I enjoyed the interaction with patients, doctors and other medical staff – but it was very busy and at times very stressful. It certainly gave me ideas for my stories, as a hospital is a place where all human life can be seen at its best and its worst! – and is also a hotbed of gossip! Many of my short stories were hospital romances, and my fourth novel Body & Soul has a hospital background.

8.      Do you have a daily routine for your writing?

Not since I’ve been retired! When I was at work, I had to do all my writing in the evenings. Now, I can write whenever I like – which is more or less whenever I’m not doing anything else! I don’t worry if some days I don’t write at all – I just make up for it another day.

9.      How do you like spending your time when you’re not writing?

I have three daughters and six little grandkids – so I love to see them all, most weeks. Other than that, I read a lot, try to have a walk or a swim every day, and enjoy holidays, photography and playing the piano.

10.  Finally, what are your ambitions for the future?

To be fit and well enough to continue my writing for the rest of my life! And if I continue to have some success, that’ll be the icing on the cake.

Sheila Norton : Author Biography

  

Sheila lives near Chelmsford, Essex, and has been a full-time author since retiring from her previous work as a medical secretary.

She has been writing all her life, her first publications being short stories for children. After twice winning first prize in the Writers’ News short story competitions in the 1990s, her stories were regularly published in women’s magazines.

Her first novel, The Trouble With Ally was published in 2003, and she went on to have a further seven books published, including three under the pseudonym of Olivia Ryan, before beginning to self-publish her novels on Amazon.

Her latest book YESTERDAY is a novel set in the 1960s, being published in 2014 to coincide with the 50^th anniversary of the ‘Mods and Rockers’ riots in 1964, which form the background of the book.

For more information please go to www.sheilanorton.co.uk.

https://tinyurl.com/pydqtwu

Lord Atherton's Ward

Available on Amazon £0.77 and $0.99

Today my latest Regency romance is live on Kindle. This is the fourth in my Lords and Ladies series. The book was previously published by DC Thomson and Linford Romance and has been available on Regencyreads as well.
I've already had a 3* review on Amazon.com – the reviewer enjoyed the book but said it was similar to another title. The  similarities are that the hero is arrogant, shares the same name as the hero in the other book, and the couple find themselves in a compromising situation. The actual plot is quite different. Unfortunately when you write as many regencies as I do, the same names will appear. Also,  I do like my heroes to be arrogant and my heroines strong-willed.
I only have two more novellas in my backlist to publish, but I intend to write a new title for my June release. I will put up a box set in May.
I really enjoyed having Cathy Mansell on my blog last week and am looking forward to hosting Sheila Norton on Thursday.
I hope you're all having an excellent Easter break.
Here is a small taster for you:

Suffolk, 1815

Sarah sent her chair crashing down, the noise loud in the hushed library. 'Surely there must be some mistake, Mr Carstairs? My father couldn't possibly have made arrangements such as those.' The elderly lawyer scratched his head, his watery blue eyes sympathetic. 'I know it's a shock, my dear Miss Ellison, but it's what Sir John wanted for you and your sister. Lord Atherton is an excellent choice as your guardian.'

Sarah heard Jane restoring the chair and she slumped back on to it, her vision clouded. This was too much; first Papa's death from a second seizure, and now this. A hand slipped into hers and she was grateful for the comfort. She straightened her shoulders, blinking away the tears. She was all Jane had now and it was up to her to protect them both from the stranger their father had arranged to take charge of their affairs.

'Thank you for your time, Mr Carstairs. We shall delay you no longer.'

She stood gracefully and left the man no option but to do the same. With her sister's hands still linked to hers, she nodded regally. 'I bid you good day, sir.'

She waited until a servant had escorted the lawyer from the room before turning in despair to her younger sister. 'I can hardly take it in. I'll be one and twenty next summer, why couldn't Papa leave things as they are? After all, I've been running the estate and the house for him since he was taken ill six months ago.'

'I expect he was thinking of you when he did it, Sarah. The last thing he said to me before his final seizure was that you work too hard, and it was time you learned how to be a young woman and enjoy yourself. Anyway, even I know you have only been able to run things here because Papa was still alive. Things will be different now he has gone, it would be better if there is someone else in charge.'

Sarah snatched her hand away. How could Father have talked in such a way to Jane, and not to her? 'You're right, but to have a complete stranger dictating our every move will be insupportable.'

'Remember, that when the year of mourning is up we cannot go abroad in society without male protection.'

Sarah had not really enjoyed the local assemblies and parties she had attended in Ipswich when she came out three years ago. When Mama had become ill and died so suddenly, she'd been happy to stay at home and run the house and supervise her younger sister. She frowned; she might not wish to parade like a prize mare and be ogled by eligible men looking for a suitable bride, but her sister might well wish to do so.

'Jane, you're almost eighteen which is more than old enough to come out; is it your wish to have a season next year?'

Her sister's expression answered the question. 'You mean we could go to London and open the town house, attend balls and soirees? I should love it above all things.' The girl's face fell. 'But only if it's what you want, Sarah, I'd not want you to be miserable whilst I am enjoying myself.'

 'In which case, my love, we shall remain where we are until this wretched Lord Atherton decides to come and find us. Then I shall insist he takes us to London next season so that you can be presented.'

Three months passed before Sarah had news from Viscount Atherton. The instructions from his lordship's lawyers were quite clear; she was to close the house, leave a skeleton staff in charge, and travel, with their elderly governess, to Highfield Hall, which was somewhere near Chelmsford. It would seem the Dowager Lady Atherton had a residence there and would be awaiting their arrival.

She read the missive and tossed it into the fire. Until their guardian appeared in person she intended to stay at Kesgrave Hall. Why should they be forced to live somewhere else when they had a perfectly good home of their own right here? The weather was better today; the sleet and biting wind that had been whipping off the North Sea had finally abated. It would be the first day of March on Friday and the daffodils would begin to bloom and the snowdrops fade away.

'I'm going to ride, do you wish to accompany me this morning?'

Her sister looked up from the sewing in her lap and shook her head. 'No, I certainly do not. I don't know how you can bear to gallop around the countryside when it is so inclement. Miss Read and I shall sit here in front of the fire and complete our embroidery in comfort.'

The governess, no longer needed but considered one of the family after having been with them so long, smiled. 'Do you intend to ride astride? I do wish you wouldn't, my dear, it's so unladylike.'

'Sir John said it was perfectly acceptable to ride this way as long as I stay on Ellison land. As we have almost five hundred acres doing that has never been a problem.' She raised her hand to stop her sister's protest. 'And yes, I shall take Bill with me this time. I know it's unwise to ever go out without a groom in attendance in case I take a tumble.'

She ran upstairs to discover that her abigail already had a dark blue military-style riding habit waiting for her. 'Mary, Miss Jane is staying inside, but I need to clear my head. This waiting for news from our guardian is like living under a dark cloud.'

'Heard nothing today, miss? I expect his lordship is far too busy in London to worry about you and Miss Jane. I reckon you could be here until Parliament rises and the season is over.'

It always surprised her how well informed Mary was about things they hadn't discussed.

'I hope so, the longer we can remain here in our own home the happier I will be. But three months is a long time without news from someone who is supposed to have our best interests at heart.'

She smoothed a fold of her habit and glanced in the mirror to check the jaunty cap was set straight on her curls. 'I am glad Sir John insisted that we mustn't wear black for him.'

Mary was fussing around her hem and glanced up, her homely face lit by a smile. 'You and Miss Jane had been wearing black for so long already. Sir John wasn't the same after Lady Ellison died, if you don't mind me saying so, Miss Ellison. I reckon he was glad to join her in heaven.'

 'I'm sure you're right, Mary. Especially after he was confined to bed. That was no life for an active man. I miss him sorely, but I'm glad his suffering is over.'

Word had been sent to the stable and Sultan, her large chestnut gelding, was waiting outside on the gravel in front of the elegant steps that led to the porticoed front door. She smiled at his antics. The unfortunate stableboy was being lifted from his feet every time the horse plunged.

'Enough of that, Sultan. I'm here now and you shall soon stretch your legs and get the fidgets out of you.'  Her habit had a divided skirt under which she wore breeches and boots. This meant she could ride astride, or sidesaddle without an indecorous display of ankles. She turned her back, taking the reins, and raised a leg for the boy to boost her into the saddle. She barely had time to ram her boots home in the stirrup irons before her horse shot forward.

Cathy Mansell: welcome to my blog.

This week I'm delighted to welcome Cathy Mansell to my blog. I've known Cathy for a long time before a few years we shared the same agent for we decided to part company with her. Over to you Cathy.

About me

I’m Cathy Mansell and I write romantic suspense novels set mainly in Ireland during the 50s, and 60s. My next book, Galway Girl, out this year is my first historical suspense, set in the early 19c. My protagonists like to travel outside of Ireland. So, my books have a flavour of other cities, Leicester, Birmingham and Manchester, places I once lived in.

When my husband retired we moved to a little village four miles from Lutterworth, Leicestershire. We don’t have a dog but usually end up looking after my daughter’s naughty Beagle, Billy. I have an attic room where I write each day overlooking green fields and trees.

Why do I write?

It’s like a drug to me, my fix, I can’t live without it. I look forward to each day and usually write from eight thirty, and then on and off throughout the day.  It’s an obsession, therefore I rarely take holidays.  Now that I’m a published writer there just isn’t enough hours in the day to do everything.  I guess, the reason I write is because I love telling stories.

Tips for new writers.

Believe that what you write is worth doing.  If you are serious about getting published, don’t ever give up.  Take advice from authors who are already published, and rewrite as many times as is necessary.  Join a good writers’ group, read your work aloud and listen to feedback.

Plus and minus of writing.

On the plus side, it’s a magical experience when you actually finish writing a novel and write those two little words, The End. It’s creative and keeps your mind young because you are always in your characters heads living their stories. As a writer you get to meet lots of like minded people throughout the year, at various activities to do with writing.

On the minus side, you don’t earn pots of money as some people like to think.  It’s hard work

and at times lonely. You often wonder if you will finish what you started. You need to be disciplined, otherwise it can get a bit chaotic.  Today, publishers like you to promote yourself and your books. You need to be computer savvy, have a website and be on lots of networking sites.

Blurb: Shadow Across The Liffey

Set in 60’s Ireland, life is hard for widow, Oona Quinn, grief-stricken by the deaths of her husband and five-year-old daughter. Struggling to survive, she meets charismatic Jack Walsh at the Shipping Office.

Vinnie Kelly, her son's biological father, just out of jail, sets out to destroy Oona and all she holds dear. Haunted by her past, she has to fight for her future and the safety of her son, Sean. But Vinnie has revenge on his mind . . .

Book links:

www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Mansell_Cathy
www.amazon.com/Cathy-Mansell/e/B00DVKNSY6
www.amazon.co.uk/Cathy-Mansell/e/B00DVKNSY6

Author bio

Member of

Leicester Writers’ Club, Just Write workshop, Life President of Lutterworth Writers’ Group, Member NAWG, Member Romantic Novelist Association and past president of Riverside Speakers club.

Cathy is an experienced writer of romantic fiction. Her early work was competition short stories and articles published in national magazines. She was Editor in Chief of the Leicestershire Anthology, ‘Taking Off’, a book promoted and supported by Arts Council UK.

In recent times, Cathy has turned to writing full-length novels that are set in Ireland/England. Her debut book, Shadow Across the Liffey, a 2013 contender for the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Joan Hessayon award was published in February 2013 by Tirgearr Publishing.  Her Father’s Daughter, Cathy’s second book, has been contracted by the same publisher.  She was a recent contestant on the TV show Food Glorious Food.

Links to Cathy:

cathy.ashbymagna@zen.co.uk

mansell-cathy@hotmail.co.uk

www.cathymansell.com

www.facebook.com/cathy.mansell4

twitter.@cathymansell3

www.linkedin.com/pub/cathy-mansell/46/B50/550

Thank you for your interesting and informative post, Cathy. I hope you do as well with your second book as you did with your first.

Reviews and Spoilers

I've been receiving some excellent reviews for my latest World War II book, Barbara's War – The Middle Years, which is wonderful. However, the latest review:  

'I was sure Barbara was going to marry John but was so pleased that she married Alex in the end. I can't wait to read more to find out if Alex is the father. I love Dr Sinclair's character and the bond he has with Barbara. I also love Alex he is such a gentleman and a true hero. A must read, very easy to read, lots of spelling mistakes noted but altogether a great story that keeps you wanting to read more.'

This was a five-star review despite the strange comment about spelling. This isn't an American reviewer so the complaint can't be about British spelling instead of American. All my books are professionally edited and proofread so I'm at a loss to know what spelling mistakes she is referring to.
Even with the most careful and expert eyes, missing words and typos get through even with the major publishers. I'm just reading Christian Cameron's books – absolutely amazing I can highly recommend them to anyone who likes thrilling, action packed ancient Greece historicals –  I stopped counting the formatting and typographical errors after twelve. He writes for Orion, one of the big five. 

When I have a spare few hours I will read through my file again and see if I can pick out anything that needs changing. I use voice recognition and this for some strange reason puts "and" for "had". I know a couple of these have been missed. It also frequently misses out 'for'and 'are'.

Also this reviewer reveals a major plot point – I do wish they wouldn't do this. I suppose it's not quite so crucial with their historical saga – but I've seen it done with reviews on thrillers and that ruins the story for the next reader.

I would be interested to know whether these ever present formatting/typos in e-books, (the process of reformatting the file is what produces them as they are rarely found in print books) actually impact on your reading pleasure. They  don't really bother me, although extra spaces in a line and between paragraphs can jerk you out of the story. There's no excuse for these as anyone can see them and they are easily removed.
What about spoilers? Do you think they are more, or less, detrimental to the reading experience?

Fenella J Miller

A Gallant Defender - new Regency.

Out now £1.99 on Amazon

I'm delighted to tell you that the last to of my back list from Robert Hale is now published as an e-book. This was titled 'A Debt of Honour' in its previous life.

My thanks to Rachel for her excellent proof reading and Jane for another brilliant cover.

Eliza Fox, devastated by the death of her father and future husband, recovers by assuming control of the family estate, firmly believing that matrimony has no place in her life. Then Lord Wydale, a notorious rake hell, wins Grove House from her brother. Edmund Fox returns to his older sister hoping she can save their home. 
Mr Fletcher Reed meets Eliza who steals his heart and she appears to return his feelings. He is her gallant defender – but can he save his beloved and her younger sister from the machinations of the villainous Lord Wydale?

Chapter One

'Eliza, you cannot possibly go outside the house looking like a farm labourer; we are expecting the rector, Mr Clarkson, to visit us today.'

'Mama, I have no choice. I am needed in the barn, the mare is foaling and there is no one competent to oversee this.'

'But men's breeches and your brother's old shirt and waistcoat are hardly suitable, even if you must go and help. I have spoken of this repeatedly, it's not right for you to dress in such a way.' Mrs Fox shuddered dramatically. 'Mama, do you not agree with me? Your granddaughter is making an exhibition of herself. Should she not behave as befits the daughter of a well-respected family?'

Mrs Victoria Dean looked up from the novel she was reading avidly. Her bright eyes summed up the situation at a glance.

'Hannah, as usual you are overreacting. Eliza has a job to do and unlike anyone else in this godforsaken place she is prepared to do it no matter what the cost to herself. If your daughter had not taken the estate in hand when your husband drowned five years ago, then where should we be today? In the poorhouse, that's where.'

Eliza grinned; she loved her grandmother and believed she had inherited her feisty spirit and total disregard for convention from her. 'Grandmamma, thank you for your support. I am doing no more than I want. After Dickon died I would have fallen into a decline without the occupation I found here. I am merely the caretaker of Grove House and its farms until Edmund comes of age.'

She pulled on the flat cap which fitted snugly over her cropped blonde hair, smiling ruefully as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mantel mirror. Mama was correct; dressed as she was it would be hard to distinguish her from one of their workers. Unfortunately she had not been given the regular features and slender build of her younger brother Edmund, nor had she been given the ravishing beauty of her younger sister Sarah.

All she had to recommend her was a pair of startlingly blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, a striking contrast to her streaked fair hair. She knew when Dickon had offered for her on her debut, five years before, she had been lucky beyond belief. She had spent every ball, every rout and every party as an overlarge, plain wallflower, sitting with the matrons watching the other debutantes dance and flirt with their potential suitors.

Eliza smiled faintly as she recalled the humiliation of being dressed in pastel muslins more suited to young women of delicate features and dainty stature. She stood head and shoulders above most of them and her statuesque figure did not show to advantage in such garments. She never understood why Captain Dickon Caruthers had given her a second look – nobody else had – but one wonderful night, at Almack's, he approached and asked her to dance a quadrille.

As soon as his strong, battle hardened hand had gripped her clumsiness fell away and she became one of the chosen. She had floated around the ballroom radiant with happiness and for some extraordinary reason Dickon had felt the same way.

Her eyes filled and she blinked hard to clear them; they had had so little time together before he was recalled to his regiment. She had received three wonderful loving letters before the final one came from his commanding officer reporting that her beloved had died a hero's death in a battle, somewhere unpronounceable, in Spain.

She had already been in mourning for her father when she received this dreadful news. For several weeks Grove House had fallen into disarray with no one making any decisions. Her mother, prostrate with grief, her grandmother also, at the loss of the man she'd considered her son. Her brother, at fifteen, away at school was untouched by the chaos at home.

With no one making decisions, rents remained unpaid, the tenants' grumbles went unheeded and revenues from the farms fell drastically. It took the death of one of their labourers to rouse her from her misery; a young man struck on the head by falling masonry in the unrepaired tithe barn.

Enough was enough, Eliza decided. Dickon would not want her to grieve for him the rest of her life. He had died a hero, she must live as a heroine.

From that moment she had taken control and within twelve months Grove House was back to normal, the cottages in good repair and the land also. Crops were sown and cottages cared for and everyone prospered once more. At about this time Eliza had decided to cut her hair and adopt men's clothing while she oversaw the farms and estate.

In spite of her mother's anguished protests she did as she pleased. After Dickon had died so had her wish to appear desirable. She would never love another and had no intention of ever appearing at a formal occasion again dressed in a hideous pale muslin gown. When her brother came of age next year he could resume control and then she might reconsider her sartorial decision.

Eliza turned from the fireplace to gaze across the park and saw a pony and trap approaching the house through the trees that ran either side of the long straight drive.

'Botheration, the vicar is here. I was waiting for Jane to bring Sarah down as I promised she could watch the foal being born. I shall have to go, I cannot risk meeting him dressed as I am.'

'Give me your arm, Eliza dear, I'm not staying in here to listen to that old bore prosing on for hours; I hear quite enough of him on Sunday morning.'

Mama was shocked by her mother's comment. 'How can you say such a thing? Mr Clarkson is a charming old gentleman and does nothing but good in the village. I have promised to help him raise money for the families whose breadwinners no longer have employment on the fields.'

Eliza leant down to offer her arm to her grandmother and assisted her from the chair. The old lady moved with surprising speed for someone of her advanced years and vanished through the wide doors, across the long narrow entrance hall and into the library. She heard the door close with a decided snap.

'Mama, could you send Jane to the stables with Sarah when they do come down?'

Her mother sniffed. 'It is the outside of enough, Eliza, that you spend most of your time up to your knees in unmentionable substances, but now you are encouraging your younger sister to do the same.'

http://amzn.to/1gI4kbD

http://amzn.to/1nMqYtc (.Uk)

Hope you enjoy reading it.

How often do you check your Amazon ranking/sales etc?

Our March 15th.

I was wondering how often anyone checks their Amazon sales figures or their all for ranking? When I first started publishing on Kindle I checked my sales everyday – I know that's ridiculous– but every time I sold a book in the early days I was thrilled.
After a few months I became less  frenetic and adopted the following system. Every Saturday morning I write down my sales the previous week, listing them according to type of book and royalty received, and then work out my weekly and daily income. I record this and store it. At the end of the year I have a record of exactly what sold best and when.
At the end of the month I total at sales for each individual book  and enter them in the back of my diary – I put in the estimated income and then adjust this up-or-down according to what I actually get paid three months later.
February last year was my worst month by 50% but this year I've sold more this month than I did in January of December . I know I have far more books available but it's still rather mystifying.
Unfortunately I forgot it was 1 March on Saturday and when I looked  my Amazon sales had vanished (as they always do on the first) and I've had to wait until today to try and work out what I sold last week.
When Amazon first introduced author ranking I was checking  far too often – now I only look when someone reminds me. I'm not selling as many books as I did a year ago but making more as the books that are selling have a higher royalty rate.  I don't really need to see a line heading downwards on a graph (as it did at the end of January) to know that my sales dipped drastically.
I do  check how sales are going by looking on the Amazon pages themselves – I love it when any of my books sneak into the top hundred of a list. (Four of them are at the moment.)
I've noticed that its harder to get into the top hundred on any list than it was last year – I think hundreds of thousands (possibly an exaggeration) of us are now publishing their blacklists, or new books, on Kindle instead of going with a traditional publisher.
I'm delighted to see that my new World War II family saga, Barbara's War – The Middle Years, is already selling well. I've done no publicity tool so these must be people who were waiting at the second in three books series to be published.
Would be interested to hear if anyone else wastes as much time as I do?

Barbara's War - The Middle Years

Out now - Amazon £1.99

Book One in the series.
Also in paperback.

http://amzn.to/1mi9ELS (UK)  http://amzn.to/1gIjtfu (.com)

Barbara's War -The Middle Years, is finally published on Amazon Kindle. The paperback will follow in the summer.
This is the second book in a three book series and the final part will be published in September. I'm about to start writing this.
This should have been released last October - thank you for your patience.


Here is an extract -hope you enjoy it enough to read the rest.

Mountnessing, Essex, December 1939

It seemed odd to be sitting in the glow of the little electric lights on a Christmas tree with no presents. Barbara had suggested they take it down now Boxing Day was over, but her grandparents wouldn't hear of it. The tradition was to have the tree up until twelfth night, so until then it would remain, taking up a third of the space in the study.

The study door opened and Barbara turned to greet her grandfather. "Are the boys still outside? It's knee deep in snow out there, I don't want them to get cold."

His grey hair was liberally sprinkled with snow, but his faded blue eyes were bright and his cheeks glowed. "Remember, Babs, I'm a medical man, your brothers are safe with me."

'Is John with them, Edward?' Grandma smiled at him. He nodded and poured himself a mug of tea. "I must say I've really taken  to your young man, Barbara. It's a great shame we can't have a small celebration to mark your engagement."

John had persuaded her to make their engagement official last week. Her mouth curved. He was a lovely man; and she was finding she quite enjoyed being kissed by him. He had hinted he would like to take things further, come to her bedroom, but so far she'd managed to put him off.

"Why don't we have that bottle of champagne we've been saving, Elspeth? John will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning, God knows when Barbara will see him again."

"What a good idea, Edward. I'll go along and speak to Mrs Brown, I'm sure she can make us a special meal to go with it. Perhaps fricassee with the remainder of the capon?" She hurried off to speak to the cook.

Grandpa groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I am heartily sick of leftover chicken, I'd be happy with boiled eggs, if we had any."

"I promise you it won't taste anything like chicken. By the time everything else is added it will be delicious and it's usually served with rice. That will make a pleasant change, won't it?"

 "'If you say so, my dear. It's strange, but I could eat leftover Christmas pudding, mince pies and cake until the cows come home – it's just the wretched chicken that seems to go on and on."

Laughing at his curmudgeonly attitude, she collected the empty mugs and headed for the door. "We should be counting our blessings, Grandpa. Next year we will probably be having spam fritters for

John burst into the kitchen chivying her two small brothers in front of him. "It's arctic out there, sweetheart. I think we're all going to need a hot water bottle up our jumpers in order to thaw out."

David, his fair hair plastered to his head by melting snow, grinned happily. "Your mare's had her supper and is being shut up for the night. The chickens didn't get up at all today, they stayed in the barn."

Tom shoved his younger brother. "Don't blame them. It's my turn to feed the puppies and yours to empty the dirt tray." Amiably squabbling they ran to the large wicker basket at the far end of the kitchen. They were greeted by Lavender, the large cat who was the puppies' surrogate mother, who purred like a sewing machine.

Leaving them happily playing she wandered through to the breakfast room, which doubled as the dining room at night. John followed her. "I hear we're having champagne tonight. What's that in aid of?" He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her gently until she was resting against his chest. The buttons and buckle of his RAF jacket pressed uncomfortably into her back.

"Grandma and Grandpa want to have a special meal to celebrate our engagement and to wish you good luck for your trip to Canada."

"You don't sound too keen on the idea, Babs. Not having second thoughts are you?"

She was glad he couldn't see her face. "Of course not. It's just Canada is so far away, crossing the Atlantic with all the U-boats about, in this horrible weather, is going to be dangerous."

He turned her until she was facing him. With his thumbs he brushed away her tears. "I'll be alright, darling. It's a damned nuisance having to train on the other side of the world. I don't want you to be sad; remember what I told you? Go out and enjoy yourself whilst I'm away. Good God, you're not even nineteen yet, I don't expect you to stay in with the old folk just because I'm not here."

"I don't suppose I'll get asked out anywhere, but if you're sure you don't mind, I won't say no if it's somewhere I want to go." She stretched out and pulled his head down so she could press her lips against his. They were cold, in fact his face was icy, the bristles standing to attention on his upper lip. She flinched as they rasped across her cheeks. Immediately he raised his head, his eyes dark.

"Sorry, I haven't shaved today. I'll go and do it now; Mrs Brown said the boiler's just been stoked and the water's hot."

"Don't use it all, the boys will need a bath shortly. If we're going to have a small celebration they'll need to change first; in fact I think we should all dress up tonight." She smiled, her initial reservations about a party gone. "I’ll make the breakfast room look pretty, use the candles and things we had on Christmas Day."

Tom appeared, a wriggling puppy in his arms. "We having a party? Good show – can we have balloons and crackers too?'

"What's this about a party? Is it someone's birthday?" David peered round the kitchen door with the second puppy perched precariously on his chest, its little pink tongue busy cleaning strawberry jam from his chin.

"Grandma and Grandpa think it would be a good idea to have a little family do to celebrate our engagement. I'm going to sort out the table, why don't you two finish playing with the puppies and then come in and help me?"

"Righty ho – as long as we don't have chicken again," David said as he elbowed his brother out of the way in order to be first there.

By the time the breakfast room was prepared, and the boys' bath had been supervised, there was barely enough time for her to have a quick wash and change. She flicked through the long row of frocks hanging in her enormous closet. Should she select one of the smart dresses her grandma had chosen, or wear something she was more comfortable in? Perhaps the russet velvet with the cream lace collar and elbow length sleeves would be dressy, but not over the top.

She snatched the frock from the hanger and dropped it over her petticoat. As this was a special occasion she'd worn her new silk stockings, her Christmas present from John. The others were going down already and she still had to find her shoes, check her lipstick wasn't smudged and her hair tidy. At least now they were using the rear of the house they no longer had to creep about with torches. The blackout made it impossible to have any lights on in the main hall because of the central glass rotunda.

"You look splendid, my dear, that colour suits your complexion."

"Thank you, Grandpa, this is one I've not worn before. Is John down?"

Her grandmother answered. "He has gone with the boys to fill up the litter tray, Barbara, I don't suppose he'll be very long."

"I'm not comfortable having any sort of celebration at the moment; John's leaving tomorrow and I don't know when I'll see him again." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Grandpa, do you think we should be drinking champagne?"

"This is going to be a brute of a war. We've got to enjoy ourselves whilst we can." He squeezed her shoulder. "Remember, Barbara, celebrating your engagement tonight is a way of sending your young man away happy. It doesn't mean you'll actually marry him – a lot can happen before that day comes."

He was right, both her grandparents understood why she'd accepted John’s proposal when she wasn't in love with him. This didn't make it any easier; she loved John, but not in an exciting way – more as a brother. She was being selfish and immature; his parents wouldn't be seeing their only child before he set sail for Canada and here she was moping about drinking a glass of champagne in his honour.

"I'm sorry to be a wet blanket, Grandpa, I'm being silly. From now on I'll take every day as it comes and thank God we're warm and safe here and not freezing in France like our brave soldiers."

John arrived with her half-brothers, his face pink from the cold; he really was an attractive young man. She was a lucky girl to have him as her fiancé. "I hope you all washed your hands—"

All three waved them in the air and John put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His hip was hard against hers, his arm firm and protective. She relaxed into his embrace and smiled at him. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest at the scorching look he gave her.

David pushed past making rude noises. "Yuck! They've gone all soppy, Grandma, it's putting me off my supper."

Grandma directed the boys to the far side of the table. "Over there, young men, and be careful not to tip over the candles. Edward, we shall sit opposite them and, Barbara and John, you sit at either end as you are the guests of honour tonight."

A large tureen of leek and potato soup steamed appetisingly in the centre of the table next to the freshly baked rolls. John grinned and held out his bowl. "This is my favourite food. I wonder if Canadians eat soup."

"From what I hear, dear boy, they serve steaks the size of dinner plates. No danger of you doing without – with rationing starting soon we'll be the ones on short commons."

The champagne was drunk, the meal consumed and by the end of the evening Barbara was beginning to enjoy herself. She was unused to alcohol and normally avoided it, but tonight was a special occasion and she hadn't the heart to refuse.

"Shall we go into the study?" Grandma suggested. "I believe there are some chocolates left; I'm sure the boys wouldn't say no to them."

"And a small glass of brandy to go with the last of the coffee, my dear, will make a perfect ending to a delightful evening." Grandpa pulled out her chair and she smiled lovingly at him. It hardly seemed possible her grandparents were now happy together, the misery of the past eighteen years finally put behind them. Losing their only son so tragically in a motorbike accident, and not knowing about her existence, had caused a rift which her arrival a few months ago had remedied.

The abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her deranged mother was going to take a little longer to forget, but tonight, surrounded by the people she loved best, she truly believed it might be possible to put the past behind her.

At ten o'clock she decided her brothers should go to bed. "Come along, boys, it’s past your bedtime. Say good night to everyone."

Their storm of protest was ignored and John grabbed David and tossed him over his shoulder squealing and laughing. "Right, I've got this one, can you manage Tom?"

"Babs, I would like you to read a bit more of Treasure Island tonight – it's so much better listening to it than reading it myself."

By the time she'd read the chapter the children were asleep. Quietly she put the book on the bedside table and stood up, surprised to find John had remained in the room. "I'm not going down again, I'm really tired, can you say good night to Grandpa and Grandma for me please?"

"Of course, I shan't be long myself. Don't forget I have to catch the eleven o'clock train tomorrow. I want to spend every last moment with you – we don't know when we'll meet again."

He moved closer and she tilted her head expectantly. For some reason the thought of kissing him was sending the blood fizzing around her body. Her hands encircled his neck and she pressed herself against him, loving the feel of his body against her soft curves.

His lips were hard on hers, they tasted of brandy and champagne. "Would you like me to bring you a brandy and cup of cocoa when I come up?"

"That would be lovely, but put the brandy in the cocoa as I don't really like it on its own. I can't promise I'll still be awake. I'm really tired, so you'd better not be too long."

"You go ahead, I'll join you soon."

How kind he was, he was the most loving man and she wished she loved him as much as he loved her. She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind and began to get ready for bed. She hung up her dress and carefully folded her underwear onto a chair. She had only been wearing her camiknickers and petticoat for a few hours so there was no need to put them in the laundry.

She had two new novels to read, a Christmas present from Grandpa, both by Georgette Heyer, The Devil’s Cub and Regency Buck. This was an author unknown to her, but a good romance was exactly what she needed right now. She would curl up in bed and start reading one of them and hope she hadn't fallen asleep before John returned with her drink. She was glad she'd bought some flannelette nighties, the ones grandma had bought were pretty, but not warm enough in this freezing weather.

Her grandparents walked past twenty minutes later and she wondered why John hadn't arrived with her cocoa. She was about to call out and ask Grandma, but they sounded so engrossed in their conversation she didn't want to interrupt them. Maybe John had forgotten and gone straight to his bedroom – he was sleeping at the far end of the corridor so she should have heard him go past.

She yawned, her jaw cracking, and put the book down on the side table. Reaching behind her she switched off the bedside light and wriggled under the blankets. The remains of the fire flickered with a comforting red glow softening the edges of the furniture, making the room look different somehow.

She was on the verge of sleep when the door opened softly and John slipped in. "Sorry, darling, I thought it better to wait until the old folk had gone to bed before I came in here. I know we're engaged but I don't think they would approve." She pushed herself up the bed and waited for him to make his way across the shadowy room.

"I was just going to sleep, I thought you'd forgotten all about me." He dropped down beside her on the bed, the rich aroma of brandy and chocolate wafted towards her. "Golly, that smells a bit strong."

He chuckled and his warm breath tickled her cheek. "Doctor Sinclair put it in, I just made the cocoa and grabbed the last few chocolates from the box. Here you are – which do you want first?"

"Both – can you drop the chocolates on my lap and hand me the mug, please?"

"Budge up, sweetheart, there's plenty of room for both of us on here."

Her drink was sweet and heady, the sweets rich and velvety in her mouth. "These will probably be the last ones we get until the end of the war. How am I going to live without chocolate?"

"I promise I'll bring you back as much as I can carry when I return from Canada. It's hard to believe there's a war on when we're snuggled up in here with so many luxuries." He slurped his drink and she nudged him sharply with her elbow.

"I don't want any of your bad habits here, thank you. You sound like one of the boys." She relaxed against his shoulder and he put his arm around her. "Do you think you'll pass all the exams on navigation and things? I'd no idea learning to be a pilot was harder than being at school."

"That's why so many bods didn't get through the preliminary training. As I'm going into Bomber Command, I'll have a navigator, I won't have to plot my own route. Fighter pilots have to learn it all though."

At his mention of fighter pilots an image of Alex Everton flashed through her head. She wondered what he was doing tonight; he hadn't come home for Christmas as he'd volunteered to remain on duty so the married chaps could spend time with their families. She drained her mug and choked, spraying him with a mouthful of liquid.

"Bloody hell! What a waste – are you okay? What happened, did it go down the wrong way?" He wiped his face on the corner of a sheet and his teeth gleamed white in the semi-darkness.

"No, there was neat brandy at the bottom of the mug." She giggled and bit into the last chocolate. "Are you going to finish yours?"

"Not half! You've had more than enough for one night, I think you're a bit tiddly."

He was probably right, she did feel rather lightheaded and silly. "It's a good thing you took off your jacket. If you take off your shirt I can rinse the cocoa out and it should be dry by tomorrow morning." She expected him to argue but he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt immediately.

"Right you are. Dammit! It's gone right through so I'd better take my vest off as well."

Before she could protest he was stripped to the waist. She scrambled out of bed and was about to pick up his shirt from the floor when she froze. She'd never seen a man half-naked – she couldn't take her eyes away. Something compelled her to move closer and the shirt fell unnoticed to the floor. The firelight silhouetted his broad shoulders in a golden glow making him look like something from a Greek myth.

Her breath caught in her throat and she swayed towards him. "Are you sure, darling, because once we start to make love I won't be able to stop."

She should say no, this was all wrong, but he was so beautiful, so handsome, so desirable that she wanted him to show her what physical love was like.

Fenella J Miller