A Christmas Gift
The third in a series of books featuring four young women whose lives will be forever changed by WWII. Perfect for fans of Katie Flynn.As the daughter of the local cinema manager, Sally Brewer has always dreamed of stardom. When she gets offered a theatre job in London, any fancy notions she has are quickly dashed when faced with the reality of long hours with no prospect of a speaking part.But all of this goes out of Sally’s mind once the nightly hail of German bombs start to rain down on London. She joins the newly-formed ENSA, the Entertainments National Service Association and is soon raising morale all over the bombed-out city – there is little time for love.One night, Sally discovers a valuable ring sewn into the lining of a cloak. Intrigued, she tracks down the owner – a Naval Officer called Jonathan – but they barely have time to get to know each other before he is recalled to sea. Then Sally gets the terrible news that his ship has been destroyed. With only the ring to remember him by, can Sally face the future without the man she loves?
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Cover photography by Henry Steadman (woman); Other photographs © Monty Fresco/Getty Images (child); Carl Mydans/Getty Images (snow); Alamy (fir trees); Shutterstock (all other images)
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Ruby Jackson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007506316
Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007506330
Version: 2014-09-19
This book is for my American sisters, Susan A, Trisha S, and Holly McG
Contents
January 1945, Somewhere in Egypt
Not for the first time Sally wondered how she would cope. They were so young, younger even than the boys who had been at school with her – children some of them, not even the slightest shadow of down on their soft, young faces.
‘Pull yourself together, Sally Brewer. You’ve seen injured servicemen before.’
I know, she argued with herself, but they were all nicely bandaged and in clean hospital beds. She shuddered as she relived climbing out of the lorry to find herself turning to face three field ambulances. From each ambulance, injured men in bloodied, torn uniforms were carried gently, but as rapidly as possible, into the field hospital.
What use here was a pretty girl in a pretty dress? It was capable hands they needed.
Sebastian, as always, was just behind her, and, as always, seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Come along, Sally, there are medicines that don’t come from a pill bottle. A smile from your beautiful eyes does wonders. I know. I’ve seen it. Wear the silver frock tonight. They’ll think you’re the Christmas fairy.’
Two days later.
‘Come on, Sally darling, let’s go over that number again.’
Sally pulled off her uncomfortable but very flattering long blond wig and threw it across the room at Prince Charming who did not, at that moment, look at all attractive. His blond peruke was bouncing on the top of his own thick brown hair and likely to fall off at any moment.
He caught Sally’s wig, stuck it on top of his slipping peruke and ogled her. ‘Arr, but you’re a dainty wench, and I don’t doubt these soldier lads’ll be slobbering at your door in a minute.’ Just as quickly he changed back to serious. ‘I can hear the clumping of the great clods already, Sal, and we have to get the number right.’
‘The only thing that can be heard approaching over sand, Sebastian, is an armoured vehicle. These men are not clods, and I have the dratted number right.’
‘Darling,’ he held out his arms in supplication, ‘it’s not my fault we’re doing panto in the desert in January. I think the CO sounds like a really decent chap. Imagine some of the permanently constipated officers we’ve met over the years suggesting a pantomime. And Father Christmas. Wait till you see me as Santa Claus.’
‘They’ll never believe that you’re Santa, Sebastian, you’re too tall and too thin.’
‘Picky. Let me tell you, Cinderella, that when the engineers and two of the nurses from the hospital have finished with me, Father Christmas himself will have doubts about his authenticity. Think, Sal. Some of these boys have been away from home for two, even three, Christmases. Realistically, odds are that more than one of the youngsters who follow you around like puppies will never see another Christmas. Lovely idea to have a late one and it is only January. Pretty please, I’d rather not dance by myself. One does look rather a fool.’
The ENSA company was stationed in an abandoned settlement somewhere, they believed, in the Egyptian desert. Apart from a half-finished aircraft hangar, their accommodation consisted of a ruined, deconsecrated church, its dilapidated hall and several barely standing wooden huts. There was one rather tired-looking date palm growing, or perhaps not – they could not be sure.
